


Gordlock Fills

by falsteloj



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gotham City Police Department, M/M, One Shot Collection, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 308
Words: 744,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: Various Jim/Harvey oneshots. For more info on individual stories check out theChapter Index.My other Gordlock stuff:★Stay.Fandom Stocking 2016 Drabble.★Talking Point. Chocolate Box 2017 Treat Fic.★Control. Smut Swap 2017 Treat Fic.★Confessions. Gotham Buddy Exchange 2017 Fic.I've also started a weekly ship round-up - it's out every Saturday via TinyLetter. Check it outHERE. :)





	1. Chapter Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Index

_I post a weekly ship round-up every Saturday via TinyLetter. Check it out[ **HERE**](https://tinyletter.com/falsteloj/archive). :)_

 

★. Chapter Index. (You are here!)

I've written so much fic for this ship that it was kind of difficult to know how best to split it into sections. In the end I went for type of fic, so you'll find it categorised under:

 - Regular Ship Fic

 - Alternate Universe

 - Canon Divergence AU / Episode Specific

 - Family Feels 

 - PWP

 - Other

* * *

**Regular Ship Fic**

The get togethers, the relationship drama, the times it doesn't work out... you know the score.

★. [69](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22104041). Harvey's never been into guys - but he's got eyes in his head. [E]

★. [All Out Of Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26240574). Jim manages to curse Harvey into falling out of love with him. [T]

★. [All the Songs Make Sense](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28275093). Jim realises his feelings for Harvey have changed. [T]

★. [Amnesia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21270431). Jim gets injured and Harvey rethinks what is important to him. [T]

★. [Amnesia - Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28147911). Revisiting the trope; Jim can't seem to remember exactly what his relationship with Harvey is. [T]

★. [Bathing Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29701791). Jim looks after Harvey when he's ill. [T]

★. [Break Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22729688). An argument proves final. [T]

★. [Christmas Tree](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26919318). Christmas themed fluff. [T] And [a companion piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27603360) from Jim's POV. [M]

★. [Closet Case](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26344599). Jim catches Harvey watching gay porn and struggles with his own identity. [E]

★. [Dancing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23534100). Harvey teaches Jim to dance. [G]

★. [Decorating](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22474241). When Harvey's away Jim takes it upon himself to brighten the apartment up a bit. [G]

★. [Defending Each Other](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28594144). Jim and Harvey stand up for one another. [T]

★. [Double Date](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31437378). Jim and Harvey are on a Valentines' date, kind of. At least until Ed and Oswald turn up. [G]

★. [Drive You Crazy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28754724). Harvey loses his mind over Jim - literally. [T]

★. [Drunk Kissing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28761652). They kiss - but Jim is too drunk to remember it. [T]

★. [Everyone Assumes They're a Couple](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23610849). Harvey doesn't understand why people keep giving him such a hard time for trying to score a date for the weekend. [T]

★. [Fake Relationship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30743295). Jim needs a plus one for his brother's wedding. [T]

★. [Faultline](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27943869). Harvey gets abducted, Jim decides he needs to back off and ensure it doesn't happen again. [T]

★. [First Anniversary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28180083). Jim messes up, Harvey forgives him. [T]

★. [First Date](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23547669). Harvey wants their first date to be perfect. Of course, Gotham has other ideas. [G] I also wrote a little prequel to this, with Harvey actually asking Jim out [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23721624). [G]

★. [Fluff](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27787098). Just some fluffy banter fic. [T]

★. [Friends With Benefits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32720283). [T]

★. [Fuck Buddies To Lovers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23061582). [E] 

★. [Giving Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30426498). Harvey gives up hope of Jim ever loving him back. [T]

★. [Gobblepot With Unrequited Gordlock](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24548736). 'It hurts that Jim would sooner fuck a psycho murderer (Penguin) than be loved by him.' [M]

★. [Going Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27580722). Inevitable 'trapped in an elevator' fic. [G]

★. [Hair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29720400). Jim has a thing for Harvey's hair. [T]

★. [Harvey Gets Injured](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22687829). Harvey doesn't know if it's better to wait for Jim to get sick of nursing him or to simply push him away and be done with it. [T]

★. [Harvey Revisits His Old School](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25708821). He wants Jim to pretend to be his date for the occasion. [T]

★. [Harvey Sleeps With Lee](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23240256). Harvey's afraid a drunken mistake is going to result in him losing Jim forever. [E]

★. [Harvey Wants More Than Sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24188976). All his life Harvey's only ever made one kind of connection with people. [E]

★. [Horoscopes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24897870). Jim doesn't believe in astrology, something Harvey ascribes to his being a textbook Capricorn. [G]

★. [IKEA Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25428369). Harvey asks Jim to move in with him. [G]

★. [In Print](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27758469). Jim gets more than he bargained for when he asks Harvey to read to him. [T]

★. [Jealous Jim](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28840317). Jim hears that Harvey's seeing someone. He doesn't like it. at. all. [T]

★. [Jealousy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22129589). When someone starts hitting on Harvey, Jim gives in to the green eyed monster. [T]

★. [Jealousy, Take II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32747076). Harvey's into Fox. Jim is not happy about it. [T]

★. [Jim's Always Had a Thing For Older Guys](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24842826). Jim swears off the kind of guy who is only going to break his heart. [E]

★. [Jim's Army Boyfriend Returns](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23297502). Harvey finally screws up the courage to tell Jim how he feels when a blast from the past arrives in Gotham. [T]

★. [Jim Chooses Lee](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24299223). Instead of Harvey. :( [T]

★. [Jim Heads a PR Campaign](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23574447). Jim is so proud of his work with the GPU, Harvey does whatever he can to shield him from what people really think of it. [G]

★. [Jim Loses His Memory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23707890). More amnesia fic. [T]

★. [Jim Pines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22192838). 'Jim wasn't shallow, but if someone were to ask him to draw a diagram of what exactly did do it for him, it would look a hell of a lot like Harvey Bullock.' [T]

★. [Jim Uses Harvey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23818578). Harvey is utterly and completely in love with Jim. Jim knows. Harvey knows Jim knows. They don't talk about it. [T]

★. [Jim Woos Harvey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23265693). Jim does his best to win Harvey over. [G]

★. [Last To Know](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26676357). Harvey thinks they're the real deal - Jim's taking things to the next level with Sofia. [G] This one also has [a sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26761155) where Sofia lives up to her comics moniker of The Hangman. [T] Plus a domestic little [curtain!fic sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26838588) to round it off. [T]

★. [Letting Go](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22239665). Harvey tries to be selfless and let Jim go; Jim doesn't like the idea. [T] Also, from [Jim's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27926943). [T]

★. [Libido](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32651934). Harvey says he's not in the mood, Jim worries that it's his fault. [T]

★. [Life Affirming Sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22913472). The death of a fellow cop makes them think about life and what they want from it. [E]

★. [Listening In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30763881). Jim overhears Harvey says 'I'm so in love with him' and jumps to the wrong conclusions. [T]

★. [Lunchtime Dates](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28296546). The guys get together over a bunch of dates that aren't really dates... [E]

★. [Marriage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22626140). Jim can't work out why he's so put out by the fact Harvey has found himself a boyfriend. [M]

★. [Matchmaker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31107210). Harper opens Jim's eyes to his own feelings. [T]

★. [Mixtape](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33711990). Jim needs some help to say 'I love you'. [G]

★. [More Than Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31055835). Harvey tries to confess how he feels but it just keeps coming out wrong. [T]

★. [Movie Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22790396). Harvey takes Jim on a date. [G]

★. [Mutual Pining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32223114). [T]

★. [No More Angels](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30018045). Jim isn't an angel - Harvey doesn't care. TW for attempted suicide. [T] Plus a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32594682). [T]

★. [Non-Con](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23894082). The duo are kidnapped and when Jim is threatened, Harvey offers himself up instead. TW for rape. [E]

★. [(Not A) Love Story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26996955). Jim tries to pick up where Fish Mooney left off. [T]

★. [Now You're Gone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26400897). Jim fakes his own death for an undercover job, but doesn't tell Harvey. TW for suicidal thoughts, grief, etc. [M]

★. [Oblivious](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29310450). Harvey doesn't notice people hitting on him - Jim can't pay attention to anything else. [T]

★. [Online Dating](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21413894). Harvey finds out Jim has set up an online dating profile; he can't help but fake his own to start messaging him. [T]

★. [Overrated](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26603811). Jim thinks sex is overrated. [T]

★. [Overworked](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28789770). Fluffy fic with Harvey being overworked and Jim wanting to look after him. [T]

★. [Payback](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26942892). Harvey made a promise to get Jim back, now he's got to fulfil it. [G]

★. [Pick Up Lines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27832968). They both try to one up each other with cheesy chat up lines. [T]

★. [Presumed Dead](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21587483). After an explosion Jim is presumed dead, but Harvey just can't stop hoping. TW for attempted suicide. [T]

★. [Proposal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22022723). The glurgiest, most tooth rotting proposal fic I ever wrote. [G]

★. [Proposal, take two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27959874). I was prompted to write another proposal fic. [G]

★. [PTSD](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25870260). How Jim deals or, more realistically, doesn't deal with it. [T]

★. [Realisation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30110541). Jim realises he has been pining for Harvey. [T]

★. [Santa's Lap](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22550897). Harvey has to play the man in red for the department's Christmas outreach. [G]

★. [Save The Last Dance For Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27508014). Drifters' inspired ficlet. [G]

★. [Second Chances](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30354759). Jim gives his life for Harvey - but he finds a way to bring him back. [T]

★. [Secret Marriage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28884717). Jim and Harvey have been married a while - much to the surprise of their colleagues. [T]

★. [Secret Santa](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30049689). Exchanging gifts! [T]

★. [Secrets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26531517). Jim doesn't know what to do when a case he's working points to Harvey as prime suspect. TW for past child abuse. [E]

★. [Sharing Body Heat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22843388). Because it is a trope as old as time. [T]

★. [Sharing Clothes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22762319). Jim wants to feel closer to Harvey. [G]

★. [Size Kink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25069497). Harvey knows from experience that bigger isn't always better. Plus a [sequel from Jim's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25940838). [E]

★. [Slow Burn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28381852). The guys take years to realise they're head over heels for each other. [T]

★. [Somebody Else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30821025). Jim realises his feelings too late, Harvey's already found someone else. [T]

★. [Stay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9266918). Ficlet - Jim doesn't know what he does to him. [M]

★. [Sticks and Stones](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29097414). Jim and Harvey are kidnapped and forced to beat each other up for the amusement of their captors. [T] And [again with the roles reversed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31103379). [M]

★. [Suicide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28734896). Harvey takes his own life. [T]

★. [Suicide Attempt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22371686). Harvey finds Jim just in time. TW for the obvious. [T] I had another bash at a [similar prompt set in S4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32064099) [T] and a [fluffy sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32092719). [T]

★. [Summer Holiday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26056695). Harvey wins a couples' holiday and bets Jim he can't convince the other holidaymakers they're on honeymoon. [E]

★. [Talking Point](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9489929). In which they're sharing a bed but Harvey is still painfully slow on the uptake. [T]

★. [Tattoos](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23963937). The boys get drunk and end up with matching tattoos. [T] Also, [another little ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27741291) where it's just Harvey with the ink. [M]

★. [Tell Me More](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25260966). Harvey tries to turn Jim on by talking about his conquests. [E]

★. [Things That Go Bump In The Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30718500). Harvey's afraid of ghosts. [T]

★. [Time Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30818838). Jim gets injured but his time in recovery gives him a new perspective. [T]

★. [Trapped](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28582884). Jim thinks he isn't going to get out alive so tells Harvey that he loves him. Also a [companion piece from Harvey's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29002797). [T]

★. [Trust](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23998623). Jim turns to Harvey because he's the only person he can trust anymore. [E]

★. [Truth Serum](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27537102). Jim has no choice but to confess his feelings. [T]

★. [Too Late](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32304012). Jim realises how he feels but it's too late. TW for character death. [T]

★. [Unrequited](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22158827). 'Being in love with Jim Gordon was the most painful thing Harvey had ever experienced.' [E]

★. [Walking After You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28559844). Ficlet based on the song by the Foo Fighters. [T]

★. [Watching You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25842030). People think it funny when Jim has a sex tape go viral, but the joke soon turns sour. [M]

* * *

  **Alternate Universe**

★. [A/B/O](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22960992). The obligatory A/B/O AU smut fic. [E] Other A/B/O fics include:

 - [Omega Jim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31355448) falls pregnant after an unintended heat. [E]

 - And the same thing with [Omega Harvey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30640308). [E] Plus [a sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30731967). [E]

★. [Age Reversal AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30613665). Gotham/Life on Mars mash up! [E]

★. [Arranged Marriage AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31084464). Set in ye fantasy olde days. [M]

★. [Bartender AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33326385). Jim is a patrol officer who befriends a bartender. [E]

★. [Batman '66 Mashup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33297039). [T]

★. [Cookery Show AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33752139). Harvey is a contestant, Jim is a top chef who can't help falling for him... [T]

★. [Determination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31031130). Jim set his sights on Harvey long before they ever got partnered together. [T]

★. [Florist AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28177359). Teen! Jim crushes on Officer Bullock with the intensity of a thousand firey suns. [M]

★. [High School AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23417469). In which Harvey is the patrol officer who saves Jim from the car crash that killed his father, and Jim is a troubled kid who ends up crushing on the one person he can rely on. [T]

★. [High School AU - Sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23502843). Essentially just some jailbait wait smut. [E]

★. [Hooker AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33574755). Jim is a prostitute and Harvey is one of his regular clients. [M]

★. [Love Letters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31339194). Harvey writes to Jim while he's in the army. [T]

★. [Merman AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29937342). Harvey is a fisherman waiting to be called out to sea. [M]

★. [Pirate AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25732566). Jim is an upstanding member of the Royal Navy and Harvey is a pirate captain. [T]

★. [Priest AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25968744). Father Bullock keeps crossing paths with a certain GCPD homicide detective. TW for attempted suicide. [T]

★. [Priest (Seminary / College) AU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33548310). Jim is a photography major who can't stop thinking about the subject of one of his pictures. [T] Plus [a sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33847689). [M]

★. [Private Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32511210). Harvey is a PI, Jim wants his assistance. [T]

★. [Reassignment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31188984). Jim and Harvey aren't working together in the beginning, instead they get reassigned as partners. [T]

★. [Soulmarks AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24222129). Jim thinks soul marks are outdated nonsense - meeting Harvey Bullock only confirms his opinion. [G]

★. [Soulmates AU - writing on skin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29315157). [T]

★. [Suit Shop/Nerd Store AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30210807). Jim's fresh out of college and Harvey's undercover. [T] Plus a companion piece from Jim's POV [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30248628). [T]

★. [Training Officer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28625560). Jim goes for the police academy instead of the army, and ends up with Harvey as his FTO. [T]

★. [Undercover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30871593). Jim was badly injured in the car crash, they meet when Harvey goes undercover to bring down Uncle Frank [E]

★. [World War Two AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22272725). Harvey is a Detective Inspector on the British homefront and Jim is just another yank causing him problems. [T]

★. [World War Two AU - Sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24761637). Harvey plays at being a war bride, but it's harder than he thought it would be. [E]

* * *

**Canon Divergence AU / Episode Specific**

★. [Sexuality Angst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22518770). Harvey pulled Jim from the wreck of his father's car back when he was a uniformed patrol officer. [T]

★. [Hooker AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24557604). Harvey met Jim pre-show, when Jim was working undercover with Vice. [T]

★. [Harvey Never Forgets a Face](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23901924). Harvey knows he has seen Jim somewhere before, he just can't remember where. [E]

★. [Locked In](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21978419). Harvey doesn't care what it takes, he just needs to get Jim out of Blackgate. TW for mentions of rape. [T]

★. [MPreg](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24139671). Ficlet exploring the potential after effects of Jim's brush with Indian Hill. [T]

★. [Phone Sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23844936). Jim helps Harvey with his speech for the cadets in S3:E15. [E]

★. [Harvey Worked for the Court](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24042669). Harvey was involved in the death of Jim's father. [T]

★. [Virus!Jim Angst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24652611). Written between S3:E20 and E21/22; Jim and Lee leave Harvey to die. [T]

★. [Jim Refused the Virus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24939936). Divergence from S3:E20; Jim doesn't take the virus and Harvey has to dig up his body. [T]

★. [Tetch Virus AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24866625). Harvey couldn't get through to Jim in S3:E22 and paid the ultimate price. [T]

★. [Harvey gets infected with the virus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25037406). Set just after S3:E22. TW for non-con themes. [T]

★. [R&R](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24811200). Harvey needs a vacation after the events of S3:E22. [T]

★. [Redemption](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25032522). Jim did way more damage throwing him into a train in S3:E22 than Harvey let on, when he's finally hospitalised because of it Jim begins to wonder how well he really knows his partner. [T]

★. [Hit Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27972645). Set during S4:E03 - Harvey always knew it wouldn't last forever. [T] Plus a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30787599). [T]

★. [Emergency Contact](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29493768). Post S4:E08 Jim and Harvey don't speak - until Harvey gets a call to say Jim's in hospital. [T]

★. [What Can I Say?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30268950) Harvey doesn't walk away from Jim's request to talk in S4:E11. [E]

★. [Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29677110). Harvey leaves Gotham for a while after S4:E11 and Jim realises what he's lost. [T] Plus [a sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30143043). [M]

★. [No Happy Endings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29643819). Post S4:E11, Harvey carries out a hit on Jim. [T]

★. [Apology](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31737336). Post S4:E11, Jim tries to make things right. 

★. [Double Cross](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31331280). Set post S4:E11, it turns out that Jim never betrayed Harvey... [T]

★. [Home Truths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32079963). Harvey shows Jim how he really feels about him and Sofia. [M]

★. [Get Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32619591). Some fluff set after S4:E16. [T] Plus a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31814406) where Jim is being tempted away but Harvey refuses to fight for his man. [T]

★. [Persistence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32175795). Jim tries to win Harvey over after the events of S4:E14. [T]

★. [Soulmates AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22991622). Jim has always seen flashes of a life that isn't his own. [T]

★. [Mind-Reading AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23749140). Kind of - Harvey can see Jim's emotions. [T]

★. [Gender Swap](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27108837). Weird science and body horror for Jim. [E] Plus a [fix it sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27179862). [E]

* * *

**Family Feels**

★. [5 Times...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27887547) People thought they were together, and one time they were certain. [T]

★. [Anniversary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28153410). Jim helps Harvey through a difficult anniversary. [T]

★. [Baby Blues](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28975764). Harvey finds out that he's a dad. [T] Plus a [sequel from Jim's POV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31270620). TW for domestic abuse, though not between Jim and Harvey. [M]

★. [Cat](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23559609). Jim takes home a stray kitty. [G]

★. [Chip Off The Old Block](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27185502). Jim doesn't know how to deal with the knowledge that his dad and Carmine Falcone were in a relationship. [T]

★. [Definitions of Happiness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25086996). Happiness means different things to different people. [G]

★. [Dog Day Afternoon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21659591). Harvey gets a dog. [T]

★. [Don't Look Back In Anger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24575448). Jim went to school with one of Harvey's step-kids. TW for attempted suicide. [M]

★. [Drunken Mistakes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27514833). Ostensibly a sequel to [this PWP ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27462834), Harvey has to deal with some ghosts of the past and Jim makes a confession. [M]

★. [First Date](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31285464). Jim and Harvey prepare for their little girl's first date. [G]

★. [Fluffy Miscommunication](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23333852). Jim accompanies Harvey to a family wedding. [G]

★. [Half a World Away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24631512). Harvey throws in the towel and goes to stay with family in Ireland. Jim begins to realise what he's missing. [G] Plus a [companion piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28237188) from Jim's POV. [M]

★. [Jim is Touch Starved](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24546684). Jim meets Harvey's family for the first time at the man's hospital bedside. [M]

★. [Kid! Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22381166). Jim gets custody of baby Babs after his brother's death - he really can't cope with it. [T]

★. [Lucius Plays Matchmaker](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23804070). Everyone else can see what they can't. [T]

★. [Memories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26737896). Harvey tells Jim why he can't quit Gotham. [G]

★. [Mother Knows Best](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31064595). Harvey's mom gets them together. [T]

★. [No Contest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24973323). Jim meets Harvey's step-daughter and jumps to conclusions. [T]

★. [Odds and Ends](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26276325). Jim keeps Harvey as his bit on the side. [T]

★. [Outsider POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29569314). Jim's mother thinks about the relationship she and Jim never had. [T]

★. [Sing It Loud](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27546531). Jim learns that Harvey can sing, and then can't stop thinking about it. [G]

★. [Trans! Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22433309). Jim's brother Roger comes to visit and spills all Jim's secrets. [G] Also [a companion piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27250383) from Jim's POV. [G] Plus [some PWP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31322424) with Jim sitting on Harvey's face. [E]

★. [Visitors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33679209). Future fic where Bruce visits Commissioner Gordon and his trophy husband. [G]

* * *

**PWP**

★. [Bathtime](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22698680). Handies in the bath. [E]

★. [Blindfolded](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23217501). Jim works through some of his trust issues. [E]

★. [Cheerleading](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29519703). Jim in a cheerleader outfit. For science... [E]

★. [Control](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10657794). Harvey has a new method for keeping Jim in line. (AKA sex toys under clothing kink.) [E]

★. ['Don't Ask Me That'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24987117).  _Catching Jim in a state of undress was a precise science_. [E]

★. [Dirty Talk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21761615). Harvey tells Jim what he's going to do to him - then goes ahead and does it. [E]

★. [Double Penetration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28358814). Harvey and Alfred teach Jim a lesson. [E]

★. [Drunken Hook-Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21290489). Jim gets drunk and eager. [E]

★. [Drunken Mistake](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27462834). Harvey knows that's all he'll ever be to Jim. [E]

★. [Dub-Con](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24137703). Jim pushes Harvey past breaking point. TW for dub-con. [E]

★. [Fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30986814). Jim fantasises about Harvey during his time in prison. [E] When he's free once more, [Harvey acts it out with him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31037292). [E]

★. [First Aid](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24634614). Jim wears a nurse's uniform - Harvey gets hot and bothered. [E]

★. [Foot Fetish](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22441637). Harvey has a thing for feet, especially when they have Jim attached to them... [E]

★. [Forced Sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28587656). Jim and Harvey are kidnapped and made to have sex with each other. [E]

★. [Glasses Kink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23686047). Jim has a thing for Harvey in his glasses. [E]

★. [Handcuffs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23269689). Jim misuses some GCPD issue equipment. [E]

★. [Hair Trigger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25310703). Harvey can't help being over responsive. [E]

★. [Heat Wave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25677357). Jim gets what he wants. [E]

★. [Lap Dance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30789897). Jim gives Harvey a show. [M]

★. [Like a Porn Star](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21241181). For a prompt on the kink meme: Harvey stumbles across some porn videos starring a young Jim Gordon... he just can't. stop. watching. [E]

★. [Making Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28865064). A fight turns into sex which turns into something more. [E]

★. [Manscaping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31854159). Written for the most fabulous prompt I ever had: Harvey walks in on Jim manscaping one morning, how does he react? [E]

★. [Moustache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31862106). Jim grows a 'tache, Harvey shows his appreciation. [E]

★. [Nipple Play](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28358979). [E]

★. [One Sided](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30392241). Jim wants it to be a love thing but Harvey isn't interested. [E]

★. [Oral Fixation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21384836). Harvey has an oral fixation, Jim's sure of it. [E]

★. [Orgasm Denial](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29342877). [E]

★. [Playing To Type](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24873690). Jim's porn stash is a revelation. [E]

★. [Porno Tapes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33760752). Jim is surprised by the content of Harvey's collection. [E]

★. [Praise Kink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/34011719). [E]

★. [Prostate Milking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33997775). [E]

★. [Random Smutlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23220840). [E]

★. [Red Lace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21564578). Harvey likes to wear women's underwear. Jim finds the discovery very relevant to his interests. [E]

★. [Reverse Size Kink](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21731732). Barbara tries to humiliate Jim by revealing that he has to overcompensate. [E]

★. [Rimming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30793506). Harvey gives Jim the rim job of his life. [E]

★. [Sex Pollen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21243260). What it says on the tin. [E]

★. [Sex Pollen Threesome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32800896). Jim/Harvey/Lucius. [E]

★. [Sexting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30506085). Harvey shows Jim how it's done. [E]

★. [Spanking](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21317003). Harvey punishes Jim. [E]

★. [Sparring](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28149801). A fight turns into something more. [E]

★. [Suit Porn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33937704). [E]

★. [The Widow and The Devil](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26548797). Jim is very demanding. In the bedroom. [E]

★. [Threesome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31835748). [E] Plus a [prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250412/chapters/31782858) [M] and a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32681901) [T] where Jim admits it was Harvey he really wanted.

★. [Tied Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24230505). Harvey has to act out some D/s to keep their cover from being blown. Jim doesn't object too much. [E]

★. [TLC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27653943). Harvey gives Jim some TLC after yet another beating. [E]

★. [Under the Desk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/21687752). Jim interrupts an important phone call between Harvey and the Commissioner. [E]

* * *

**Other**

Meta, art, fanmixes, etc.

★. [I Love How It Hurts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25997652). Fanmix. [G]

* * *

 

If you have a prompt, feel free to leave it here as a comment or send me an ask over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	2. Chapter Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [this](http://gothamkink.dreamwidth.org/551.html?thread=29991#cmt29991) prompt on the kink meme: _Bullock/Gordon, Porn Star, Harvey stumbles across some gay porn videos starring a slightly younger Jim Gordon... and Harvey just. can't. stop watching them._
> 
> First of many, probably. I am a willing convert to this ship!

“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it!”

Jim glared over at him, overbearing morality seeping from every pore, and Harvey determined not to let it get to him. Just because the Great Jim Gordon had turned his nose up at the prospect of working through the haul of black market videos, it didn’t mean he had to renege on his offer of assistance to help catalog them.

Truth be told, he was looking forward to it. They weren’t dark, they weren’t deviant. They weren’t even illegal, per se. Just trashy old pornos with trashier cover graphics.

Sitting through them really wasn’t going to be a hardship.

(Unless it was. A guy could hope, couldn’t he?)

Except then he actually got started. It wasn’t as though he’d prefer to be sat around knitting and singing Kumbaya, or whatever the hell it was Jim did with his free time, it was just that it was kind of boring. Women with lacquered hair and blue mascara, and guys with mustaches and nylon y-fronts.

It was no wonder the stuff had been stockpiled, some of it looked older than he was.

Finally, finally, things began to get interesting. Fewer ill equipped plumbers and less corny dialog. Less dialog, period, and he shifted in his seat when a particularly pretty guy entered stage right because if he didn’t know better, he could have sworn he was watching a young Jim Gordon.

Harvey squinted at the screen, then scrabbled for his glasses. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

There was no way Gotham’s Golden Boy was on his knees in some low budget porn production, moaning shamelessly around the dick in his mouth.

He had to watch it through once, twice, three times before he was certain. Had to freeze frame the close ups of the guy’s face so he could scrutinize the size of his nose and the shape of his jaw. Had to take a break, heat washing over him at the sight of the flush on his cheeks and the moisture caught in his lashes.

It was.

Holier than thou Jim Gordon, the twink porn star. Jim ‘Boy Scout’ Gordon, getting thoroughly prepared and fucking loving it. If he wasn’t, the kid ought to have been in the running for an Oscar.

Harvey went through the rest of the titles with renewed vigor. Found another video with Jim on his back, on his front, propped up on hands and knees, biting back whimpers as some other guy licked into him.

This was the motherload.

With this he could do anything. Eat all the chili and garlic he wanted in the car, and offload a week’s - no, a month’s - worth of reports onto Jim’s desk. He could work loose any secret he liked from Jim’s skeleton packed closet, or insist that he finally do the decent thing and let them reopen the office pool on McKenna and the feisty new desk sergeant.

All he needed to do was stop watching.

Because it was easy enough to lift the tapes and take them home with him. Simple enough to wipe all record of their existence from the official GCPD paperwork.

Completely impossible to destroy them, or hand them over to Jim for a bit of lighthearted blackmail.

He couldn’t quit playing the damn things, over and over, alone in his empty apartment. Began to be sure he was going to do himself an injury, the way he couldn’t keep his hand out of his pants, hips jerking and breath stuttering at the idea of having Jim in front of him, reenacting the scenario.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t imagined it once or twice before, more maybe, the prospect of Jim’s mouth being too full to spout his usual self-righteous bullshit so very satisfying. Then things had changed between them, turned and twisted until he actually cared what Jim had to say, even if he didn’t agree with it. Suddenly, Jim could make all the noise he wanted in his fantasies.

Could gasp and groan and beg him to help him forget his problems. To touch him until he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the burdens he kept piling on his own shoulders. To kiss him afterwards, and hold him close, and tell him what an absolute perfect mess of a man he was.

Now fate had seen fit to provide him with visual proof that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t being completely fucking delusional.

It screwed with a guy’s head, got him acting crazy, and that was how he found himself staring too intently at Jim’s impossibly handsome profile, filling the stagnant silence of their stakeout with,

“You missed some quality footage the other night, you know. You ever try not being so uptight all the time?”

Jim shook his head, all fond amusement, and carried right on gazing out the car window.

“I don’t think a few hours of bootleg porn is going to change anyone’s opinion of me.”

Harvey almost choked, Jim’s words entirely too pertinent to what he was really getting at, but he had been watching closely. There had been no recognition. No realization. He just had to push further,

“I dunno, this might have.”

There was a frown this time, the barest hint of color highlighting those cheekbones, and when Jim turned to look at him there was a flash of panic in his eyes that pulled at something deep inside him. Made him wish he had had the sense to keep his big mouth shut.

“Really?” Jim asked, trying so hard for casual. “What happened in this seminal piece of cinema?”

He should stop now. Should laugh it off and change the subject. Should leave Jim his dignity.

“There was this guy,” he said instead, unable to look away, “all blond hair and blue eyes. Looked a little like you, if I’m being honest.”

Jim stared back at him, and the air was too hot. Too thin. He could scarcely breathe for it.

“Yeah?” Jim managed finally, barely a whisper, and Harvey had to say it, couldn’t bear to see that fearful look on his partner’s face a moment longer,

“Yeah. He was absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

They had never talked about this. He wasn’t one for levity, and Jim struggled with anything that wasn’t directly work related, but it had always been there. Had always been obvious, really, in the lingering press of his hand against Jim’s shoulder, and the way his thumb wandered sometimes, straying to the soft skin at Jim’s nape.

Jim had to know what it meant - he was the department’s star detective.

He flushed up all the same, the tips of his ears burning as though he hadn’t heard the exact same thing a thousand times, hadn’t seen it writ clear across the face of almost everyone he came into contact with. Jim swallowed, the movement of his throat mesmerizing, and this wasn’t something they were going to be able to pretend never occurred, not when Jim said, voice rough,

“He was probably young and stupid. Needed the money.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

Jim searched his face, for what Harvey couldn’t say. He simply let Jim take his fill, figured if it was really important Jim would explain himself. Remembered that this was Jim Gordon, and of course he wouldn’t elaborate on what it was he was looking for.

What it was he was worrying about.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. It doesn’t change what I think of you.”

And, okay, that wasn’t quite true and Jim knew it.

“You’re still too stubborn for your own good,” Harvey clarified, “You’re still the most irritating son of a bitch I’ve ever worked with.” He reached out, took hold of Jim’s unresisting fingers, something that felt like electricity juddering up his arm. “I’d still take a bullet for you.”

Jim made a sound at that, breathy and helpless, and then he was kissing him, one hand curling in his hair even as the other clutched more tightly at his own fingers. This was a bad idea, a monumentally stupid thing to be doing in a parked car in broad daylight, but he kissed back just as enthusiastically. Bit down playfully at Jim’s bottom lip and got busted at his own game, Jim all but surging out of the passenger seat into his lap, grinding against him like an uncoordinated teenager.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, startled at Jim’s desperation, “I got you.”

Jim only seemed to grow more impatient, both hands tangling in his hair now, kissing like his life depended upon it, and this was such a dumb move. It was going to create so many problems. Harvey couldn’t make himself care. He had Jim Gordon panting, frantic for him, and it wasn’t as though they were sat in some residential area where anybody could see them.

He stroked down the expanse of Jim’s back, worked the seat back a little to give them some space, then settled his grip on Jim’s waistband, tried to calm his movements into something a little less fevered. Gave up and pushed his hands up under Jim’s shirt, under the soft cotton of his undershirt, brain shorting out at the way Jim gasped like it was the hottest thing he could imagine, like he didn’t have beautiful women - men too, most likely - throwing themselves at him.

Like this was Jim’s wet dream come to life, not Harvey’s, and then Jim was pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, pupils blown and voice wrecked as he said,

“I’m not usually like this.”

No kidding, Harvey thought, rolling his hips up into him. He loved the way Jim’s eyes fluttered shut, adored the way he groaned into the heated air between them, self-control slipping still further. Jim might spend the majority of his life repressed and uncommunicative, might suck at expressing anything other than anger and frustration, but that didn’t mean this was something he needed to be ashamed of.

Was really exactly the kind of thing Harvey was interested in encouraging.

“No?” He said against the shell of Jim’s ear, renewing his attempt to control the rhythm of Jim’s hips. “But I bet you want to be. I bet you’ve thought about this a hundred times, haven’t you?”

Jim _whined_ and Harvey licked a hot stripe up the side of his neck. Latched onto the spot that made Jim shiver and cry out, teeth and tongue laving against it as his hands forced Jim to rock slow and even.

“I bet you want me to take charge. Want me to press you back against your fancy sheets and work you until you don’t care what you look like. Don’t care how loud you’re being, just so long as I don’t stop touching you.” He went back to Jim’s ear, took note of how it made Jim forget himself, fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders. “Is that what you want, Jim? Tell me.”

“Yes,” Jim begged, and it was a sound tore out of him, could have been lifted straight from one of Harvey’s late night video sessions.

It had him tightening his hold on Jim’s hips. Had him moving faster, with more purpose, suddenly desperate to see Jim come apart for him.

“That’s what I’ll do then. I’m going to take my time, going to spend hours on you. Going to get you so close to the edge you can’t quit shaking, don’t think you can hold back any longer, and then I’m going to sit back and watch you calm down so I can start all over again.”

Jim was shaking now, wild eyed and feverish, and Harvey had to kiss him. Had to push up against him even as Jim ground down, even as the edge of Jim’s badge dug in hard enough to leave bruises.

“Come on,” he heard himself plead, “come on, Jim.”

That was all it took to push Jim over. To have him pant and shudder and bring Harvey with him, the force of it leaving him sweating and breathless. Jim collapsed against him, heavy and sated, face buried in the crook of his neck.

Harvey let him cling to him, let one arm rest around him even as he shifted the other experimentally. Winced at the aches and pains from the uncomfortable seat and the awkward angle, the entirely too obvious condensation streaking the car windows.

Jim groaned against his throat, sharing at least some of the same sentiments. Inhaled deeply like he was committing the scent of him to memory - Harvey’s own body twitching at the idea - and finally slid back into his own seat, his hair mussed and his skin still damp and reddened.

Harvey grinned at the sight of him. Rolled the windows down a bit and took a long drag from his hip flask before offering it over.

“I hope you’re not going to protest that we’re on duty,” Harvey said, just to see the belligerent look Jim gave him, and then took pity. Didn’t have to try too hard, not with Jim still soft around the edges, and the waves of endorphins messing with his own thought processes. “Because by my reckoning we should have clocked off ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked and lifted the flask to his lips for a long pull of whiskey, gaze never leaving his own, like the act was some kind of challenge.

“Yeah,” Harvey agreed, and now it was his voice which was a trifle unsteady. His pulse which was racing.

Jim screwed the cap back on the flask. Reached one hand to his throat and tugged at his already loosened tie, sliding the fabric free from his collar. Harvey followed the movement, couldn’t look away, and this time it was Jim who smiled.

“Good, because I think you said something about my place and taking hours.”

He had. Had the car moving almost before Jim finished speaking.

He was a man of his word.

There was no reason why he couldn't have a lot of fun proving it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	3. Sex Pollen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was sex pollen, so I went with some kind of weird Gotham drug. Nothing but smut really.

Harvey’s never claimed to be a saint, never pretended to be a better person than he needs to be, but here, now, he wishes some of Jim’s inherent goodness would rub off on him.

Because Jim’s begging, pleading, cheeks flushed and arousal pressed into Harvey’s thigh, where Jim is attempting to rut against him. He looks like a wet dream, one of Harvey’s own, and with every passing second it’s becoming more difficult to remember why giving in would be such a very bad idea.

“It’s the drug,” Harvey says, as reasonably as he’s able. “This isn’t what you want, Jim.”

Not in his right mind, he wouldn’t. Harvey knows this. Knows that if they do this things will never be the same between them. Knows that Jim will never forgive him.

“Please,” Jim whines, helpless, like he can’t form a complete sentence. “Please, Harvey.”

Jim still knows who he is at least. Understands that he isn’t one of Jim’s impossibly beautiful women, all sleek hair and mega watt smiles. He must do because he seizes on the indecision in Harvey’s eyes, the urge to pull Jim close and to hell with the consequences, and slides smoothly to the floor, graceful like a professional.

Except Harvey’s all but given that up, has been all but celibate for fucking months now, and Jim’s nuzzling his cheek against the bulge in his pants. Looking up at him through his lashes, blue eyes almost black with how much he wants it, and Harvey’s only human.

“Let me,” Jim breathes, and Harvey’s nodding dumbly. Fingers sliding into Jim’s already disheveled hair, even as Jim’s fingers fumble with his belt buckle.

He can’t help but watch, couldn’t look away if his life depended upon it. He’s going to be replaying this scene for the rest of his life, on those lonely nights when there’s nothing but his right hand to turn to. He’ll know that one time, at least, he had Jim Gordon’s mouth on him.

Jim Gordon’s hand wrapped around him, his other pushed into his own underwear, movements frantic and desperate.

“Jim,” he pants, and he can’t quite believe that sound is his own voice. Can’t quite believe any of it, not when Jim moans, the vibration making his toes curl, and not when he’s the one pulling Jim up and off his cock, because he needs to kiss him more than he needs to come.

Because this might be the only chance he ever gets to do it.

He’s got Jim back against the wall, one hand cupping his jaw. Just looks at him for a moment, wants to etch this vision into his memory. The high color painting Jim’s cheekbones and the glistening sheen on his lower lip.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, in too deep already, and then he’s crushing their lips together. It’s hot, wet, perfect, and he works a hand between them, the mix of precome and saliva making the slide slick and easy.

Jim’s hands come up to claw at his back, to clutch at his shirt, and Harvey wishes he had the willpower to pull away because this shouldn’t be happening.

Because it would be so much better laid out across Jim’s comfortable mattress, all clean sheets and crisp hospital corners.

All he does is move his hand faster and swallow down the sounds that spill from Jim. The harsh gasps and the pathetic whimper he can’t control when his body goes taut, shaking and shuddering as he reaches completion.

Harvey has to follow, has to push into the too tight grip of his own fist and let his lips seek out the soft skin of Jim’s neck, biting down even as he spurts over his fingers, Jim panting and wrecked against him.

They just stand there for a long moment in the aftermath. His hands awkwardly settling at Jim’s hips, his waist, his shoulders, and Jim with his head buried in his shirt front, the silence stretching.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says eventually, like he’s the one at fault, and Harvey throws caution to the wind. Slides the backs of his fingers against Jim’s chin, tilts Jim’s head up until he has no choice to look at him. Leans in slow and careful, in case Jim wants to pull away, because he knows the drug is still flooding his system, and presses a chaste kiss to Jim’s lips.

Jim tries to follow when he pulls back, pupils still blown, and Harvey hopes Jim won’t hate him later for his honesty.

Hopes it won't hurt too badly when Jim claims it meant nothing.

“Don’t be. I loved it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	4. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets injured and Harvey rethinks what is important to him.

Jim Gordon looked like he had walked straight out of the pages of a top shelf magazine, and that alone should have been enough to prove that this was a really bad idea.

Because Harvey still remembered how it was before the easy anonymity of the internet. Knew what it was to bluff and to bluster and to pretend, the cashier totting up smokes and candy and a newspaper you both knew would never be read, just to detract from the fact you needed fresh spank material.

Understood only too well what it was to be young and idealistic. Naieve even. He had fallen for his own superior officer once, had almost fucked up his entire career before it had even got started because it had still mattered back then, who you did and you didn’t get hard at the thought of, even when you kept your goddamn mouth shut about it.

Jim wouldn’t have, that was a given.

Had no sense of self-preservation, and that was why it had to be Harvey who turned him down. Harvey who put a strictly platonic hand on his shoulder and said carefully,

“I think somebody’s shitfaced, Jimbo.”

Jim scowled and protested. Pouted and swore it wasn’t the drink talking.

Harvey bundled him into a cab all the same, gave the driver strict instructions, then went home to his empty bed and pushed frantically into his own fist, mind’s eye fixed on Jim’s teeth worrying at his bottom lip, baby blues soft and wanting.

He was only human.

The following morning he determined not to mention it. To let Jim cling to his dignity.

Jim, of course, couldn’t wait to dissect the entire conversation.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he murmured during the morning briefing, and when Harvey pretended like he hadn’t heard him he only made a point of leaning against the edge of his desk afterwards to say, “I wasn’t joking either.”

Harvey focused on his paperwork - there was always so much goddamn paperwork - and not on Jim’s backside or the proud tilt of his jaw. Chewed on the end of his pen for a distraction and said, voice light as he could make it,

“If you’re that lonely I got a number you can call. You won’t remember your own name by the time she’s done with you.”

Jim only stared at his mouth, at the way he was working the pen, and suddenly the air in his office felt stifling. It was a relief when a scuffle broke out in the bullpen, two detectives old enough to know better coming to blows over some extracurricular investigation, and this was why he wasn’t letting Jim’s pretty face override his reason.

It was why he pressed a case file into Jim’s hands, assigned him a bubbly blonde rookie to go check it out with, then found himself pacing the corridors of Gotham General a few hours later, praying to whoever might be up there that the surgery proved successful.

“He’s stable,” a nurse told him eventually, and when he pressed for further info it was either his aura of authority or the wild look in his eyes that got him admission to Jim’s bedside.

“Why have you gotta be such an idiot?” He asked Jim’s unconscious form, throat thick with emotion. “Do you actually want to end up six feet under?”

The machines blipped indifferently, the sound of the ventilator overwhelming in the small space. Jim looked so awful, matching black eyes and his lips bust up and swollen around the breathing tube. They had removed the bullet, stopped the bleeding, but there were no guarantees. Absolutely no way Jim would be bouncing right back from this one.

Harvey touched his hand, just for a moment, wary of the wires and the splint binding his broken fingers.

He had to get out of there.

Back at the precinct Steadson was pale faced but determined as she described the shooter, and the sketch artist lead her through the finer details, the resulting portrait getting close scrutiny from everyone.

Because Jim was a pain in the ass, the worst kind of moral crusader, but he was still one of their own. They weren’t about to stand around doing nothing while he lingered just outside death’s door.

“I want this bastard found,” Harvey told them all, pinning a copy of the artist’s impression to the central notice board. “If he happens to get roughed up a little along the way, well, Jim ain’t in no fit state to worry about it.”

A grim chuckle went around the room, the darker side of the job that Jim always wanted to sweep under the carpet, and then they were out pounding pavement, calling on all the usual scumbags and degenerates.

It didn’t take long, scarcely took any time at all, and Jim still wasn’t breathing independently when Harvey went back to the hospital to tell him about it. Dumped the cheap bouquet of carnations on his bedside table and ran a hand through his hair, questioning what the fuck he was playing at.

He had told Jim no, had made his position crystal clear. Yet here he was, bringing the man flowers like some lovestruck idiot. Jim would never know, at least. Showed no signs of coming around, not that day, and not three weeks later, not even when his brain remembered how to tell his lungs to suck in oxygen and the doctors downgraded him to a shared ward.

Nothing was the same without him.

There was nobody to protest about the inadequacies of his diet, and nobody to complain about the state of his in-tray. Nobody to laugh at his jokes, the curve of a smile on Jim’s face in spite of his better judgment, and nobody to simply stare at him, like he wasn’t a grizzled old cop, long past his sell by date.

It made him turn to the bottle. Made him get drunk and maudlin, and wish that he hadn’t ever tried to be the responsible one.

If he could do it over, he wouldn’t care. He’d have beat his own head against the wall a few times to knock some sense into it. If Jim wanted him, what did the hows or whys matter?

He would have hauled Jim close and kissed him back that night in the bar. Might have made the first move, even, and watched the way Jim’s eyes went wide, because the cocky little shit didn’t want to believe that Harvey was a good enough detective to put the pieces together.

He’d have done anything Jim wanted because the alternative, holding Jim’s unresponsive hand night after night and knowing he might never get a chance to make it up to him, felt as though it was killing him.

It almost killed him for real when he looked up one night to find Jim looking back at him, frightened but focused, and maybe he needed to take it easy on the drink and the take out, because the way his heart pounded in his chest couldn’t be at all healthy.

He made enough noise to wake the entire ward, got a sound telling off from the health care professionals, and learned that recovery didn’t work quite the same way it did in the movies. It was slow, it was painful, and when Lee came with him after a hectic shift to tell Jim that she was glad he was alive, even if it didn’t mean she wanted to spend any time alone with him, he realized that there were more than the physical repercussions to worry about.

Jim only frowned at her, like he couldn’t quite work out who she was, let alone why she was apologizing for not visiting sooner, and Harvey couldn’t find the words to explain.

Couldn’t do anything but press a kiss to Jim’s brow once Lee was gone and he was asleep, and wonder what it would mean if Jim was never well enough to return to the GCPD. What he was going to do if Jim never recalled that he had once been enamored of a wisecracking old bum, and how much it was going to hurt, having to watch Jim get sucked straight back into that spiral of self-destruction without the job to focus on.

Because Jim put on a brave face, and Harvey took the easy way out and went along with it. Didn’t comment when Jim groped helplessly for simple words and phrases, and said nothing when Jim stared at his own apartment building with blatantly obvious fear, clearly not recognizing anything about it.

Harvey watched closely as Jim moved around the rooms carefully, still weak from the prolonged inactivity, fingers trailing over his dust covered possessions.

He felt guilty, wished he had thought to clean the place up a bit, and then Jim stopped dead in front of a framed photograph of a couple who had to be his parents and all the bravado - all the studied indifference and the military training - crumbled away.

“I don’t like it here,” Jim said, voice strained. “I don’t think I ever liked it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harvey agreed, for all that Jim had never come right out and admitted it, and just like that Jim was trembling. Was pressing his face into his hand, as though it would be enough to prevent an emotional breakdown, and Harvey wasn’t having any of it.

He hadn’t sacrificed god knows how many drinking hours to sit at Jim’s side, only to pretend now that he didn’t care what Jim was feeling. To pretend that what Jim was feeling hadn’t become his major preoccupation. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled Jim to him, literally felt the moment Jim gave in and stopped trying to play the tough guy.

Jim let himself be held, hot tears soaking through the fabric of Harvey's shirtfront, and when he was finally done, wiped out and exhausted, Harvey put him to bed and got acquainted with Jim's sofa for the night. Devoted all his free time to getting Jim to smile, and sweet talked HR into letting Jim return to desk duties at the earliest possible juncture, simply because he didn’t trust Jim to be left to his own devices all day.

Selfishly didn’t want him out of his sight for long stretches, and at the end of that first week realized suddenly that he had been forcing Jim to be in his company almost 24/7 since he came out of hospital.

“I expect to see you bright and early Monday morning,” he said when the day was done, his false smile threatening to desert him at any moment. “So don’t get doing anything I wouldn’t.”

Jim blinked at him, bewildered, and Harvey shrugged,

“All right, don’t do anything I would. Better?”

Apparently not, not if the wounded look on Jim’s face was anything to go by. Not if he was going to still feel responsible five drinks in, wishing that he had just followed through on all the things he had promised himself he would do if Jim ever rejoined the land of the living.

He gave up after the sixth and forced himself not to detour on the way home. Jim was ill, he didn’t need his drunk ass waking him and unloading sentiment Jim most likely couldn’t even remember he had ever wanted.

Except when he stuck his key in the door of his own apartment, he sobered up pretty quickly to find the door already unlocked, opening easily under his touch. He hesitated for a long moment to steady himself for the worst. Drew his gun from its holster and moved forward cautiously.

“People who leave spare keys in their mail box are just asking to be murdered.”

Harvey put the gun away. Sighed heavily and dropped to sit on his grotty sofa.

“People who go stealing things from mail boxes are just asking to be arrested.”

Jim grinned at him, face transformed by the expression, and Harvey was no match for it. Watched dumbly as Jim moved to sit closer to him. Sat numb as Jim took one of his hands in his own and looked him in the eye, radiating the same stubborn determination he practiced when there was a case he didn’t want to abandon, or a lost cause he refused to give up on.

“What is this about, Jim?” He asked, wary, and Jim only frowned, like he was dredging up the words of a speech he had spent all evening preparing.

“Sometimes I think the things I can’t remember are the things I don’t want to,” he said, tone even and careful, “because when you brought Lee to the hospital I knew that she hated me. I didn’t know why, but I knew that I deserved it.”

Harvey opened his mouth to protest, because Lee didn’t hate him, not really, and taking her there had never been his idea, but Jim just kept talking,

“And you looked at me like I mattered. Like,” he trailed off, the meaning clear regardless. “I knew I must have screwed it up somehow. The same way I screw up everything.”

“You never,” Harvey breathed because he hadn’t expected this. Had never imagined this - Jim Gordon admitting that he was fallible. Clinging to his hand as he laid bare his soul, like he couldn’t understand that he was the one who was supposed to get sick of Harvey’s bullshit, not the other way around.

“Whatever I did, I'm sorry,” Jim offered, contrite and so miserable it made Harvey ache to see the smile return. Made him remember that he still had hold of Jim's hand. That he was sat so close it would be nothing to reach over and show rather than tell what he was thinking.

“You almost got yourself killed,” he said, anyway, because it had to be done and he doubted Jim's ability to ever be this forthcoming again. “You left me to sit there and think I'd never get to see you do anything again. If you want this, if we do this, I don't care how badly you fuck-up. It won't matter what you do - there will be no getting rid of me.”

Jim smiled at that, positively beamed, and perhaps it really was the drink talking but, from now on, Harvey could tell that life was going to be _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	5. Drunken Hook-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was 'Drunk Fic'.

Jim had never been much of a social drinker. Alcohol was something to be sipped, sparingly, as an aid to surviving the tedium of whatever function he had been dragged to, or else it was something to be drank neat, from the bottle, alone in his apartment when he couldn’t bear to spend another minute thinking about his latest fuck-up.

If he wasn’t looking for oblivion, it seemed pointless. If he liked his company, counter-intuitive.

Harvey took it as a personal affront, saw it as a challenge, and it didn’t take long before Jim had to admit that it was kind of nice sometimes. It was more than nice, maybe, to feel warm and buzzed, relaxed against Harvey’s shoulder and laughing unreservedly at whatever stupid joke he chose to share with him.

The problem was that Jim had never known how to quit while he was still ahead. Had always had to push just that little bit further, and it was almost inevitable when one night he went from telling Harvey not to be an idiot, to staring into the other man’s eyes, his entire world contracting until it was just the two of them.

“Earth to Jim,” Harvey said, cheeks flushed with either drink or the close scrutiny - both perhaps - and then Jim was pressing forward, suddenly desperate to know what exactly the scratch of Harvey’s beard would feel like.

Good, that was the answer. Really really good, and the fingers of one hand found their way into Harvey’s hair, because he had wondered too often whether Harvey might get off on that. More than likely, Jim decided, because Harvey kissed him back with enthusiasm. Slid a hand up his neck, along his jaw, held him still even as he squirmed, overwhelmed, Harvey’s mouth detouring to suck at his throat.

He made a noise at that, louder than he had intended, and when Harvey pulled away it took a moment for the haze to clear. To realize that they were actually in a public place, the bar booth no protection against prying eyes and strangers’ scrutiny.

“Didn’t think you were into this,” Harvey said, too casual, and finished off his drink while Jim tried to make sense of what was happening.

Because he wasn’t into any of it. Not other people knowing and not losing control of himself. He had never been particularly interested in other guys, even, but right now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the way his pulse was pounding in his ears and the way Harvey was looking at him, eyes dark and wanting.

He drained the remnants of his own drink, didn’t look away, and said with a confidence he couldn’t quite lay claim to,

“Are you saying you’re not interested?”

Just like that they were leaving, Harvey’s hand on his back, heavy and possessive. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, the promise of it exciting, and he had never been gladder to fall through the door of Harvey’s dive of an apartment because he couldn’t wait any longer.

Had already shoved Harvey back against the wall of the building’s dingy hallway, teeth and tongues clashing like he wasn’t half terrified, like he could remember the last time he had been the one to make the first move with anybody.

“We don’t have to,” Harvey told him in the present, fingers working on his shirt buttons, and the challenge of it was enough to sweep any lingering doubts away. Was enough to get his own movements frantic, scrabbling at buttons and fastenings until Harvey simply took hold of his wrists and pushed him down onto the bed, the rush of _this is really happening_ sending thrills through him.

“If you could see yourself,” Harvey breathed, more to himself than for Jim’s benefit, and then Harvey joined him, thigh falling between Jim’s legs as he kissed him with purpose, his fingers trailing sparks of sensation everywhere he put them.

Ordinarily he’d think about it, talk himself in and out of it being a good idea a thousand times before somebody else made the decision for him, but here, now, Jim gave as good as he got. Worked his hand between them and felt his own dick twitch at the sound Harvey made, when he succeeded in getting a hand wrapped around him.

“Jesus,” Harvey gasped, eyes wide like he scarcely knew him, and then he was moving out of Jim’s reach, tugging his pants and underwear down and off him. Got rid of two sets of shoes and socks, and then slid his hands up Jim’s legs, mouth following.

Jim had to watch, had to suck in great lungfuls of overheated air, because Harvey was looking up at him, strands of hair falling in front of his face. Was licking a hot stripe up the length of Jim’s dick, never once breaking eye contact.

It was too much, it wasn’t enough, and Harvey understood. Held a steadying hand against his hip and swallowed him down, so perfect he tried to buck up all the same, helpless, sounds he scarcely recognized as his own voice falling from his lips. Harvey didn’t let up, tongue doing things that made Jim’s toes curl, and it was only when the pitch of Jim’s desperate babbling changed that he pulled back, eyes dark as he waited for Jim to regain some control over his body.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked when the need wasn’t quite so desperate, the peak not quite so imminent, and still Jim couldn’t keep his hand off himself. Couldn’t help the way his legs were trembling, nor the flush that was enveloping him.

“I want this,” he managed. “I want you.”

Beyond that he didn’t know. He had never been here, never done anything quite like this, and the things he had imagined seemed vague and distant, washed out in comparison to the simple reality of having Harvey look at him like this was everything he had ever wanted.

Harvey kissed him again, soft and slow, and murmured assurances. Told him it was all right, that they could do anything, and when he took over from Jim’s hand, thumb swiping through the fresh swell of wetness, Jim felt as though he were burning all over, even as the words were wrenched from him,

“I want your fingers.”

Harvey groaned, low and heartfelt, and this was something else entirely. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t let go, and every touch - the ostensibly soothing stroke of Harvey’s hand down his side, and the brush of his hair against his shoulders when he reached over to the nightstand - only stoked it higher.

He was a mess, completely at Harvey’s mercy, and when slick fingertips pressed against his entrance he gave up on pretending he wasn’t desperate. Gasped and whined and pushed back, overwhelmed at the feeling of being breached, lost when Harvey compounded it by sucking him again. By pressing hard against something inside that made him twist and writhe, fingers whiteknuckled where they were bunched in the bed sheets.

“Fuck,” Harvey hissed when he pulled back enough to watch, a second finger joining the first one. “Touch yourself, Jim. Do it for me.”

Jim tried to look, flashes of heat and want and the blush working its way down Harvey’s chest and across his shoulders, before he had to clench his eyes shut again. Harvey’s command was different, made to be obeyed, and he worked his hand frantically, grip so tight it was almost painful. He was so close, so impossibly hard, and all it took was another press of Harvey’s fingers against his prostate, his teeth clenching and his limbs shaking as it washed over and over him, come streaking his hand and his stomach.

It went on and on, the pressure firm and insistent, until it was too much and he had to claw at Harvey’s arm. Had to collapse, panting and wrecked, Harvey claiming his mouth as he bucked into his own fist, the movements of his arm sharp and juddering.

He gasped when he came, wet heat that made Jim spasm again, in sympathy, and then Harvey was crushed heavily against his side, his arm wrapping around him.

“That was amazing,” Harvey told him, words muffled in the pillow. “You are amazing.”

Jim felt himself blush, even in the face of everything they had just done, but Harvey only found his hand and linked their fingers together. Brushed a kiss against the side of his face, the bristle of his beard so outside of Jim’s usual realm of experience, and it should have been panic inducing. Should have had him reconsidering everything.

It didn’t.

He was too drunk, maybe. Too content.

Perhaps it just didn’t matter, he decided, and squeezed Harvey’s hand tighter.

They were both where they wanted to be. Nothing else seemed important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	6. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the comment_fic [prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/595248.html?thread=83116848#t83116848): Jim/Any, he needs to be punished.

“Gordon, get your ass in here.”

It was for show, really, but it still felt good to assert some authority over Gotham’s golden boy. He _was_ the Acting Captain and Jim _was_ in need of disciplining, especially when he took his own sweet time about obeying the command.

Harvey wondered, idly, if Jim had been the same in the military. If there had been prolonged push up sessions, sweat dripping down the curve of his biceps because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

If there had been other punishments, later, with Jim on his knees, eyes wide and lips swollen.

What an image.

In the present Jim rapped at his office door. Didn’t even have the decency to wait for an answer before opening it.

“You wanted me?” Jim said and came to stand in front of his desk, hands on his hips, and Harvey leaned back in his seat. Raked his gaze over Jim’s form fitting shirt and his open, dominant stance.

Yeah, he wanted him.

“I’ve been reading this report you gave me,” Harvey paused, let Jim get riled up a little, brow furrowing, “and it’s a crock of shit. You think you can get away with this because you got your face in the fucking paper? That’s not how it works in my department.”

Jim stiffened at that, jaw clenching, but he didn’t back down. Didn’t look away, even, and it was clear that further action was called for. Harvey stood slowly, made sure Jim was well aware that he was taller than him. Bigger. Stronger.

Stalked around to stand behind Jim and watched the way Jim swallowed, just a little nervous, as he made a point of twisting the window blinds closed.

“What have you got to say for yourself, Jim? You think you’re too good for paperwork?”

“No,” Jim said, clipped and slightly bewildered, and before he could protest further Harvey said,

“I think you need to be taught a lesson. You were out of line and you know it.”

Jim blinked at him, getting with the program, and Harvey crossed his arms across his chest because it made him look like he meant business.

Because otherwise the temptation to touch would be overpowering.

“I want you bent over the desk, pants around your ankles.”

For a moment he thought Jim was going to refuse. Plotted furiously what would happen if Jim didn’t get his ass in gear but then he was doing it, movements awkward and hurried as he fumbled with his belt buckle. The back of his neck was coloring up, along with the tips of his ears, and he hesitated for another long moment, the silence in the office stifling.

“Do you want an audience?” Harvey tried. “Are you waiting for someone to walk in and watch me punish you?”

That drew a sound from Jim, somewhere between a gasp and a goddamn whimper, and Harvey filed it away for future reference. Relaxed as Jim shucked down his clothing and braced himself, hands on the desktop.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised. “See, you can be a good boy.”

There was that noise again, followed by a bitten back curse. Harvey decided he was going to enjoy this. Dragged out the anticipation as long as he was able, finally ran his fingertips down Jim’s spine, a wave of heat washing over him at the way Jim shivered, head hanging forward.

“I’m going to spank you now,” he explained, tone carefully even. “I’m going to give you ten strokes and you’re going to thank me for them.”

Jim nodded, the flush growing deeper, looking painful, and Harvey let his hand wander for a second. Soaked up the warmth of Jim’s bare backside before giving it a smack, palm open. It sounded obscene, almost, especially when Jim exhaled harshly at the contact.

He didn’t waste any time before delivering the second, nor the third. Jim gasped, helpless, on the fourth, and Harvey swallowed thickly, mesmerized by the way Jim bit down at his lip. Glanced down to gauge whether or not it was working and had to be pulled from the haze by Jim’s voice pleading,

“Please. Don’t stop, Harvey.”

Because Jim was hard, achingly so, from nothing but a few swats and Harvey gave him another three in quick succession, the sharp sting in his palm nothing compared to what Jim’s groans did to him. The agonized pull of want he felt when Jim tried to shift his legs further apart, restricted by his clothing.

“You really want this, don’t you?”

The calm indifference was long gone, his voice strained, and he bypassed ten, twelve, fifteen, spurred on by Jim’s wanton begging.

“Please,” Jim cried out finally, too loud and too far gone, and Harvey sank to his knees. Placed his hands on Jim’s burning skin, thumbs tracing the edges of the most obvious marks. Jim was trembling, shaking, and _fuck_ but Harvey had to touch him. Had to spread him open and breathe against him. Had to push forward and use his tongue, Jim jerking instinctively, shocked at the sensation.

Harvey held him still. Lapped at him delicately until Jim was all but sobbing, overwhelmed and oversentisized, and only then did he press further, tongue spearing into him over and over until Jim really was sobbing, so fucking hot with it that Harvey had to push a hand against his own arousal, just for some respite.

It didn’t work, only made him more desperate, and he pulled Jim back against his face even as got his other hand between Jim’s legs. It didn’t take much, didn’t take scarcely anything, and Jim was coming, noises like Harvey had never heard pouring out of him, his legs threatening to give way.

Harvey held him up, body pressing him forward against the desk as his hand found himself, a half dozen strokes all it took before he was shuddering through his own release, panting like he had run a marathon.

“I think you broke me,” he said eventually, when his heart rate had returned to something approaching normal, and he had managed to get himself up off the floor and wipe his hand off on something disposable. Jim still hadn’t recovered, still hadn’t moved, and Harvey gave him some assistance. Got his pants up and then hauled him into his arms, loving the way Jim clung to him, limp and sated.

He hoped the cleaners hadn’t got too much of an earful. Jim really wasn’t good at keeping quiet.

“Was that how you imagined it?” He asked the top of Jim’s head regardless. Pressed a kiss into his disheveled hair for good measure and couldn’t help adding, suddenly anxious, “Did it live up to expectations?”

The silence stretched for one beat, two, his heart thumping hard, and then Jim said,

“I would never mess up my paperwork.”

Harvey grinned. Hugged Jim closer, because it was clearly no complaint, not when his words were still slurred together, his face nuzzling into Harvey’s shirtfront.

“Artistic license,” Harvey countered, easily, then made a grab for his jacket.

He wanted to get home and drink a nice cold beer. Wanted to curl up next to Jim on the sofa and watch him blush every time he remembered why he was struggling to get comfortable.

He had earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	7. Oral Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey had an oral fixation, Jim was sure of it.

Harvey had an oral fixation, Jim was sure of it. He was always eating, or drinking, or smoking, or sucking on the end of his goddamn pen like he had absolutely no idea how distracting it was.

He didn’t, probably. At least Jim hoped so.

Because it wasn’t the kind of distraction that made him want to grit his teeth and rub his fingers against his temples, not like Barbara’s humming or the way McKenna cracked his knuckles. It was the kind that got him hot under the collar, his focus wrecked and his thought processes frazzled.

It made him worse at his job and for that reason - and that reason alone - he lost his temper when he found Harvey loitering yet again at the edge of a crime scene, smoking.

“It’s working with you,” Harvey told him, as usual, but ground the cigarette into the dirt all the same. “I hadn’t wanted one in months before you turned up.”

“You know it can kill you,” Jim told him stubbornly, like it was any of his business, and Harvey only rolled his eyes and went for his hip flask.

“I’ll never live long enough, not with you as my partner.”

That stung, pulled at his conscience, and by lunchtime he had spent so long sulking over it that he acquiesced too easily when Harvey suggested they actually leave not only their desks, but the precinct.

Outside the heat was sticky and stifling, one of Gotham’s fleeting attempts at summer, and Jim was already regretting the decision. Regretted it all the more when Harvey dragged him into the nearest convenience store to buy popsicles.

It was an image he could have lived without.

One that wouldn’t stop sending hot flushes over him, not as they sat on bench in the sun, Harvey slurping obscenely, cheeks hollowing, and not alone in his bed at night, his dick refusing to take no for an answer.

He gave up in the end and let his hand wander. Told himself it meant nothing, that he wasn’t thinking of anything, then pictured Harvey taking over from him, the wet heat of his mouth overwhelming, and came so hard he almost did himself an injury.

The following morning he swore it would be a one off. That he was completely in control of his body’s reactions.

Then Harvey turned up with a whole bag of suckers and a new found commitment to quitting smoking. Stomped about the place like a hirsute Kojak, until Jim began to dread looking up from his paperwork for fear he was going to publicly embarrass himself.

It was torture, pure and simple, and when he and Harvey relived old times on a seemingly endless stakeout, Jim couldn’t keep still. Squirmed and shifted in his seat and tried to concentrate on anything but the scene playing out in front of him. The way Harvey’s tongue was caressing yet another lollipop, eyes closing, blissful, as he finally drew the whole thing into his mouth.

He might have made a noise, in fact he was almost certain of it, and Harvey looked at him quizzically for a moment before handing one of his stash over.

“You only had to ask, you know,” he said, easily, and Jim fumbled with the wrapper before shoving it in. Hoped it would be enough to prevent any further mishaps. It was only later that he realized his mistake, long after Harvey had moved on to the next and he had crunched his own into tiny little pieces.

Because now he knew what Harvey’s mouth would taste like, when he first licked into it, and that was something he really hadn’t needed.

From there it was inevitable, only a matter of time before he could take it no longer. He thought about it constantly, the idea just as impossible to ignore as his self-appointed mission to root out police corruption.

Harvey was oblivious. Either that or he knew exactly what he was doing. Enjoyed watching him suffer, his cheeks flaming with color at the rustle of a candy wrapper.

“I think you’re sweet on someone,” he said one night as they sat too close on Jim’s underused sofa, pulling the current lollipop from his mouth with an obscene sounding pop. “You keep zoning out on me.”

It was too much - he had been pushed past breaking point.

He must have been because he couldn’t care a damn when the half eaten candy stuck to his upholstery. Couldn’t care about anything but pushing closer, pressing deeper, desperate to find the taste of Harvey underneath all the confectionery. Harvey kissed him back, hauled him into his lap, and Jim knew he ought to calm down.

Should try to act more like a responsible adult and less like a frenzied teenager.

It wasn’t going to happen. Not when Harvey bit down, just a little, at his bottom lip, and not when the helpless groan it tore out of him had Harvey flipping their positions, pushing him back against the sofa cushions even as he pulled Jim’s pants down to pool around his ankles.

Their eyes met then, him more worked up than he could remember, and Harvey on his knees in front of him.

“I told you before,” Harvey said, and Jim had never heard him sound like that, not outside of his late night fantasies, “you want something, you only have to ask for it.”

And then he was pressing his tongue against him, tasting him, and Jim couldn’t help the way his hips bucked upwards. Couldn’t bite back the anguished whimpers when Harvey set about proving just how much practice he had gotten in with those lollipops, tongue swirling in ways specially calculated to kill him.

“I can’t,” he whined after an embarrassingly short length of time, his thighs quaking and his heart pounding. “I’m going to.”

Harvey said nothing, channeled his response into action, and Jim cried out harshly. Pushed a hand into Harvey’s hair and tugged on what he hoped was the right side of painful when he still showed no signs of letting up, working him until he couldn’t bear it.

The kiss that followed was sweet - the traces of candy still evident, and the feel of it, soft and slow, like this was the start of something special, not the end of it. Jim pushed his hand between them, kissed and kissed Harvey as he stroked him, loving the way Harvey couldn’t get enough of him, ego stoked high by the way Harvey pulled back to look into his eyes as he came, the intensity of it sending shivers through both of them.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” Harvey confessed in the aftermath, one arm flung around him, and Jim forced himself not to question it. Not to pull it apart and try to ruin it. Harvey wouldn’t lie to him. He deserved his honesty.

“Me too.”

Harvey grinned, pleased, and pressed a scruffy kiss to his temple.

"Good, because I'll be wanting to do it again in twenty minutes or so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	8. Online Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey finds out Jim has set up an online dating profile - he can't help but send a message. 'Epistolary' fill for my trope_bingo card, and self-indulgent soppiness because today is [St Dwynwen's Day](http://www.babiafi.co.uk/2016/01/st-dwynwens-day.html). <3

There was a time when he hadn’t been in love with Jim Gordon.

It was hard to credit now, sure, but he liked to remind himself of it all the same. Took solace in the fact that he hadn’t taken a single look at Jim’s pretty face and thrown his self-respect out of the window. It had been a week, at least, before he had woken hard at the memory of a dream featuring Gotham’s Golden Boy.

Two, maybe, before he had pushed frantically into his own fist, imagining the Boy Scout on his knees in front of him.

It was a month, almost, before he had first admitted that he wanted more than a no-strings screw.

He still did. Desperately. He would throw himself in the path of a bullet for Jim - was reasonably certain he already had at some point - and spent slow mornings at the precinct fantasizing about some alternate universe, one where Jim was going to bring him coffee and donuts with a kiss, not a fresh stack of paperwork and a disparaging comment about his personal hygiene.

He washed plenty, as Jim would know if he ever let Harvey get as close as he wanted to be.

Then again, perhaps he could never get close enough to Jim to be fully satisfied. Secretly suspected that if Jim turned around tomorrow and professed to love him he’d still feel like he was chasing rainbows. Would work himself into the ground trying to impress a guy who looked like he belonged on the cover of Entertainment Weekly.

Because the only way Harvey was going to grace its pages was as the before picture of a weight loss commercial.

He knew this. He wasn’t a fucking idiot.

Jim was so far out of his league he was somewhere in the stratosphere. He had never shown the slightest inclination for slumming it, either, all his women impossibly perfect with their fluoride white smiles and knock out figures.

And they were all women. He had subtly fished, he had unsubtly goaded, but it had all proved pointless. Even if Jim were to go for someone fast approaching the wrong side of 50, even if he were to develop a sudden interest in the pudgy and the graying, it still wouldn’t make a difference.

He knew which side Jim’s bread was buttered.

That meant his own role was clearly defined - Jim’s friend. His best friend, maybe even his only friend, but that was where Jim’s interest in him began and ended. He was the one who cracked jokes at Jim’s expense, and he was the one who took Jim out and got him drunk enough to temporarily forget his problems.

He was the one who got to see Jim at his worst. Bleeding and broken from the job, puking and snot covered from his interpersonal failures.

Jim sobbed one night, spurred on by a mixture of hard drink and harder painkillers, prescribed for the cracked rib some scumbag had given him, and the sight of it physically hurt. Every word from his lips like a knife to the heart, a thousand piss poor life decisions encapsulated in Jim’s miserable self-assessment.

“I’m a _virus_ , Harvey. Everyone knows it.”

“You just gotta give it time,” Harvey soothed, hand drawn to Jim’s shoulder like a magnet. “With a pretty face like yours, someone will be willing to overlook your personality.”

It almost raised a smile.

Harvey’s own mind was reeling, because it hadn’t simply been idle gossip. Jim really had set himself up an online dating profile, complete with a photograph that could have served as his Blackgate mug shot, and a list of interests that were clearly hangovers from previous partners.

Art, current affairs, health and exercise.

He might look the part, but Harvey knew all about Jim’s non-existent gym schedule. Had seen the piles of empty take out boxes and long out of date newspapers. Worse, he had been living in his current apartment a year, almost, and the drapes were still what he might charitably describe as a vomit green color. The place had all the warmth and style of a bum on a cold park bench, and Jim was trying to pass himself off as some kind of modish metrosexual.

The right thing to do would be to give Jim a few pointers. Else, Harvey could hook him up with a real life woman. He hadn’t been lying about the pretty face. Not even Jim’s sullen expression and perpetual aura of anguish was enough to stop women batting their lashes in his direction. Not that he ever seemed to notice it. Kid was blind to anything that wasn’t criminal.

He thought of a few women who really might interest Jim, then, but he had never been very good at sharing and self-sacrifice.

What he was good at was detail. Detection. Taking note and mentally cataloging. Looking back over a scene and finding whatever it was that ought not to have been there.

So when he looked back at the screen he knew he wasn’t seeing things. Jim must have made a mistake, he decided. Must have clicked the wrong little button, because he knew Jim better than just about anyone and there was _no way_ Jim was looking for a boyfriend.

He couldn’t be.

* * *

Harvey kept checking Jim’s profile over the next few days, waiting for Jim’s inevitable realization and the pertinent information to change color.

It didn’t, so it was down to Harvey to nudge Jim along a little.

The best way, the sensible way, would have been to just say something. But Gotham wasn’t the town for sane and sensible, and 2am found Harvey whisky sodden and lovesick, setting up a fake profile. It was easy enough to do; he had been specifically trained in it on his last secondment to Vice, the one where he was restricted solely to desk duties to recover, because murderers preferred to shoot first and worry about the consequences later.

He matched the details to what Jim said he liked - matched a few more to what he _knew_ Jim liked - and dug out a photograph of one of the many dead men he had once known. What they didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt them.

That done he agonized over what to actually say to Jim. He didn’t think Jim would react well to unsolicited crassness but, then again, he was too dense to pick up on anything that wasn’t blatant. It didn’t overly matter was the conclusion he eventually came to. It wasn’t as though Jim was going to be responding to it.

‘You’re cute. ;)’

He wrote finally, then let exhaustion wash over him.

In the morning he could have written it off as a drink induced nightmare, or at least another alcohol fueled act of stupidity. Except Jim had already replied, like he wasn’t the most awkward, uptight guy Harvey had ever had the misfortune of falling for.

‘You’re not so bad yourself. :)’

Harvey watched him closely throughout the day. Sent back half a dozen messages and kept track of the way Jim checked his phone roughly every two minutes, though he usually took great pleasure in lecturing people about keeping the personal and the professional separate.

He wasn’t particularly skilled at self-awareness.

He was surprisingly well versed in flirtatious messages however, and Harvey knew he should nip it in the bud right now. He had achieved what he set out to do - discover whether or not Jim really was looking to hook up with a guy - and now there was no excuse to keep up the charade any longer. Jim would be disappointed, perhaps, but nothing like he would be if he found out Steven Wilkins had never actually existed.

And he would if Harvey didn’t exercise some self-restraint. Jim wasn’t the department’s poster boy for nothing.

Instead he went home that night and put on his reading glasses. Stared at his laptop screen for hours while he and Jim sent messages back and forth, Jim admitting with an eloquence he had never envisaged that he was better at writing than speaking. That he froze up and couldn’t get his words out, so that even those closest to him thought he had the emotional range of a cheese sandwich.

It was a fair assessment.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious,’ Jim typed eventually, ‘I’m still hung up on someone.’

Lee, still. It had been near enough a year since the business with Mario. Harvey sighed, hesitated but then figured he was in too deep already. Why not go the full hog so they could both treat it like free therapy - the real shit was expensive.

‘I know that feeling… There’s this guy at work.’

‘What’s he like?’

Gorgeous, bull-headed, a suicidal idiot.

‘Stubborn. Brave. Full of surprises.’

‘Why aren’t you together?’

‘I’m not his type.’

‘I know that feeling.’

Jim started smiling more as the days turned into weeks, was noticeably more relaxed about everything. If Harvey had known pretending to be someone else was all it took, he’d have done it a long time ago. Because if Jim looked hot when he was stressed and strung out, he looked like he might spontaneously self-combust when he wasn’t.

It didn’t help that he was learning all of Jim’s secrets at a rate he had never considered possible. The nightmares he had refused to talk about even months after getting out of Blackgate, and what it was that had made him turn his back on Uncle Sam, in favor of signing up for the police academy.

‘I wanted to make a difference.’

‘And do you?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Is it enough?’

‘It’s better than doing nothing.’

‘Well, feel free to be my hero.’

Not all of it was miserable. Jim had been hiding a sense of humor somewhere underneath his shroud of self-righteousness, and then there were all the tiny sparks of encouragement, just enough to keep him coming back for more. To keep digging for something, anything, that might suggest Jim wouldn’t sock him in the jaw if he ever worked up the courage to come on to him.

He even got Jim to talk about what he liked in bed occasionally, his brain helpfully supplying images of Jim blushing and hesitant, biting down at his lower lip, to fill the gap between every carefully typed answer.

‘I figured you’d want to be in charge. A big tough cop like you.’

‘Outside work it’s different. Sometimes I like to be told what to do.’

‘Yeah? I could help you with that. I bet you’ve already thought about it.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You will be now. Won’t you?’

‘I’m thinking about it right now. It’s all I can think about.’

It was only McKenna turning up on his goddamn doorstep, pale faced and babbling about some crazy new serial killer as he lead him out to the waiting squad car, that prevented him from doing something idiotic, like asking if Jim owned a webcam.

He teased Jim at work, though he knew it was playing with fire. Asked when he was going to be introduced to his latest fling, the one he couldn’t quit daydreaming about.

“There’s no woman in my life right now, I’ve already told you.”

“Guy then,” Harvey said and shrugged, like his heart wasn’t attempting to pound its way out of his rib cage. “I don’t judge people.”

Jim frowned at him, trying to puzzle something out, and then the moment was gone and he was saying with all his newfound good humor,

“If you want to hear about someone’s sex life, maybe you should try getting one of your own.”

He was so stunned Jim was halfway out the door before he thought to yell,

“And what makes you think I haven’t got one!?”

Sometimes he wished he could put Jim’s advice into practice. Because as a month turned into a two it was becoming ever more obvious that he had made a serious miscalculation. All he was doing was falling further in love with Jim, while simultaneously ensuring Jim was going to end up hating him. Would never trust him again, not truly, and would start thinking up excuses not to spend time with him.

It was happening already, and Harvey knew he was on borrowed time, even as he continued digging himself deeper.

‘When did you know you were gay?’ He asked one night, curious, still smarting over the fact Jim had blown off his offer of going out with him and the rest of team and getting blind drunk, to go home and instant message with somebody Jim believed to be a good ten years younger.

He had messaged 'Steven' all through karaoke, at any rate, so that Harvey had begged off early and switched to the laptop.

‘I’m not. I think they call it equal opportunities.’

They did not. Jim was always the first to point out the correct terminology in the GCPD handbook.

‘Your profile says that you’re only into dudes?’ Harvey pushed, three sheets to the wind and way past caution.

‘I thought it might be less complicated.’

‘Is it?’

‘Not really.’

He didn’t know what to say to that. Tore himself away from the screen long enough to grab the bottle of whisky on the countertop and the cold leftover pizza. He always had liked to keep it classy.

‘What about you?’ Jim had asked by the time he returned. ‘Did you always know?’

‘Something like that.’

Except that wasn’t at all true.

It had hit him out of the blue, because he liked the ladies just fine, and it wasn’t the sort of thing you considered an option, not when you were the good Catholic boy he had been. Not when you were young and dumb, and the fear of staining your soul with sin was more powerful than accepting that life was never going to be black and white.

That nothing was ever simple.

He was drunker than he had thought. Was typing it all out, punctuation shot to hell, before he could think better of it.

Told Jim about his mother’s horrified reaction, and the way his uniform partner had refused to say more than the bare minimum to him. Weeks and weeks of disgusted looks and stilted silences, until one of Gotham’s many nutjobs had taken exception to getting arrested and put a bullet through his forehead, because it was still better than calling on someone like _him_ for back up.

He had made the move to plainclothes not long afterwards and learned how to keep his mouth shut.

Got into fist fights in the locker room when that didn’t work and quickly learned that nobody wanted to talk trash about you, not once you had proven you were able and willing to kick seven shades of shit out of them.

‘I wish you were here,’ he wrote finally, and then barely made it to the bathroom in time to hurl his guts up because he had really done it this time. Felt his stomach twist, ice washing over him, at the sight of Jim’s reply.

‘You never said you were on the force.’

* * *

The next morning he was a wreck. He hadn’t checked the labels on the booze he had been drinking, or how long that pizza had been sitting there. Hadn’t fully understood how inconceivably awful it would feel to know that Jim was going to want nothing more to do with him.

He would have worked it out by now, and if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t take him much longer.

He was late for work at any rate, and that wasn’t Jim. That was the kind of thing he did, or at least the kind of thing he used to do, before he became Acting Captain and had to haul his ass in even when he had spent the night with his head down the toilet.

All his calls went through to voicemail, and he could do without the jolts of blind panic, not on top of his hangover.

“You look like shit,” Simmons told him cheerfully when she came to get her reports signed off, and he only flipped her the bird before sending her over to Jim’s place with strict instructions to drag him in by any means necessary.

There were a few perks to being the Captain.

When she returned empty handed he had to scramble out of his chair and open the nearest window. Had to press his forehead against cool glass and remind himself to breathe because Jim was fine. He wasn’t going to do something stupid just because he discovered someone he put faith in had gone behind his back and screwed him over.

He thought of Jim unable to shake off Tetch’s compulsion to throw himself in front of the first bus he encountered, and wanted to be sick all over again.

It had been a dumb ass idea from the very beginning, and if he had known he was going to start blabbing all his own secrets he would never have embarked upon it. He didn’t want Jim to think less of him, and he sure as hell didn’t want Jim’s pity.

He might not be able to resist taking it.

Because he hadn’t dwelt on any of that shit in years. Wouldn’t have credited it with the power to still get to him. He had been so young then, so incredibly stupid. So desperately in love he would have done anything - risked everything - and that right there was where these two scenarios intersected.

He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t go through it all over again. Had to pace his office over and over, ringing Jim’s number constantly.

Then Jim walked in of his own accord, dark smudges under his eyes but still breathtakingly fuckable.

Beautiful, that was the word for it.

“I had a few leads to follow up,” Jim said even as Harvey just stared at him, helpless. “It took longer than I thought it would.”

“Yeah?” He managed eventually, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

“Yeah,” Jim echoed and ran a hand through his hair before meeting his eye again, jaw set with determination. Started reciting like he was delivering the morning briefing, “Officer John Saunders, killed in the line of duty. Internal Affairs looked into it, exonerated Saunders’ partner for failing to provide back-up. Ruled that the working relationship had deteriorated to such a point an incident was inevitable. Criticized the department for refusing to honor either officer’s transfer requests.”

Harvey knew the story well enough. Knew all the twists and turns, all the excruciating detail. Still he had to sink into his seat, afraid his legs were going to give out on him.

Jim swallowed, hiding whatever it was he was thinking behind the military bearing, the police training,

“I went to see the investigating officer. He said it was a tragedy. He said it wasn’t your fault.”

Harvey had to look away, the unruly strands of hair falling across Jim’s forehead not at all conducive to keeping a handle on himself. To not losing what was left of his composure.

“I’m not him,” Jim said, and his voice was rough at the edges now, “if someone told me they loved me, I wouldn’t hate them for it.”

He couldn’t breathe. Didn’t know how he was going to get through this. Jim was in front of him now, fingers ghosting along his cheek before tilting his chin up, so he had no choice but to look at him. It made his heart skip a beat, having Jim so close, being the focus of Jim’s undivided attention.

Seeing the sheen of unshed tears in Jim’s eyes, the same kind he had witnessed after Jim had argued with superior blondes or kind hearted medical examiners.

“If you told me you loved me the last thing I’d ever do is request a transfer away from you.”

It was too much, was too close to being everything he wanted, and it had to be writ clear on his face.

Had to be so fucking obvious.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to suck at this,” Jim said, then pressed forward and kissed him. Kissed him until the numb shock receded, until his brain caught up with what was happening and he had both hands cupping Jim’s face, only half certain he wasn’t dead or dreaming. If that was the case he really hoped he never had to return to reality.

His dreams had never featured the sound of Alvarez wolf whistling though, nor the sight of half the department leering through his office window. He could be dead, he reasoned, but heaven wouldn’t be that cruel and hell wouldn’t have rewarded him with Jim Gordon in the first place.

Jim pulled back, cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen, and Harvey couldn’t help but grin at him. Stuck his head around the door and yelled,

“Don’t you got any goddamned work to be getting on with?”

Crossed his arms until dispersal was actually taking place, then turned back to Jim, the barrage of emotion from just looking in his direction threatening to floor him.

“Come on, it’s lunchtime.”

They ended up in one of their preferred diners, beloved by half the precinct for its strong coffee and staff who didn’t much care how soppily their patrons gazed at each other.

“You’re supposed to be angry,” he said, stirring yet more sugar into his coffee. Jim glanced up at him through his lashes, just so he had to pinch himself surreptitiously, and sighed,

“I’m a detective, a good one, and you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

That wasn't what he had been expecting.

“How long have you known?”

“I suspected for a long time. I knew when you started asking when I was going to let you meet the guy I was screwing.”

“I don’t think that was my exact phrasing,” Harvey countered, giving in to the urge to slide his hand across the table and link their fingers. Jim shrugged, all smiles,

“It just took me a while to work out what your motive was.”

“You can’t be that good a detective then,” Harvey said easily, unsure how it was even possible to go from feeling so utterly terrible to so completely elated in the space of an hour, “I’ve been sweet on you,” fuck it, “in love with you since about the time you decided that refusing a direct order from a mob boss was a sensible course of action.”

“I always knew it wasn’t sensible,” Jim confessed, tone conspiratorial, then he sobered, squeezed back at his hand, “You never seemed like the type to over think something. If you were interested I figured you would have told me.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow at that, not deaf to the implicit insult, but Jim kept talking,

“Then last night…” He trailed off, eyes so very very blue as he laid himself bare. “Last night I realized that maybe I wasn’t the only one afraid of getting my heart broken.”

“He wasn’t a bad guy,” Harvey said, thumb drawing circles into the skin of Jim’s hand, because John hadn’t been, not really, “he just didn’t know how to deal with it. I never wanted to put that on you. To make you feel awkward.”

“What were you going to do if I wasn't interested?”

Harvey was surprised he even had to ask.

“Carry on being your friend. Stay just as close as you let me. I never expected this, Jim,” he gestured between them, the surrealness of it almost overwhelming. “Look at you, you're like something off a catwalk. You could have anyone.”

Jim shook his head.

“I've fucked up every relationship I've ever been in. The more I love someone, the worse I mess it up. And I love you a lot. Have done for a long time now.”

“You're not selling yourself, Jimbo.”

“Is it putting you off?” Jim asked, too knowing, and Harvey could get used to this. Teasing and banter - just the same as always - and knowing he could pull Jim in close afterwards and kiss him until they both forgot what they had even been talking about.

“Nothing is going to put me off you,” Harvey admitted, something fluttering in his chest at the way Jim pulled his notebook from his pocket and smiled cheekily at him,

“Do you think I can have that in writing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	9. Red Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [this](http://gothamkink.dreamwidth.org/551.html?thread=43559#cmt43559) prompt on the kink meme: _Harvey likes ladies' lacey things. To wear. Jim is unreasonably turned on by this discovery. Up to you whether Harvey, when Jim finds out, is embarrassed by his kink or casually defiant. Could go either way really._

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Jim offered, uncertain what exactly the etiquette was, “not if you’re expecting somebody.”

Harvey only raised an eyebrow, the one he had learned to interpret as ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’, and Jim felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck even as he gestured in the direction of the bathroom.

“I saw the,” he waved a hand, encapsulating the collection of skimpy underwear he had seen drying on the towel rail. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

The eyebrow inched higher.

“If you’re offering to spare me yet more fucking paperwork, me and my right hand are always looking to get better acquainted, but,” Harvey shrugged, “otherwise you’re the only date I’ve got lined up this evening.”

Jim relaxed, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to go home to his empty apartment just yet. He didn’t want to think what his off duty hours would look like without Harvey’s company; he had burned bridges with just about everyone else he had come into contact with since arriving in Gotham.

“Is it a serious thing?” He asked, too casual, as Harvey handed him a beer. He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know the answer. “Am I going to get to meet her at some point?”

Harvey sighed. Studied his face in a way that made Jim all kinds of uncomfortable, afraid of what the other man might be able to tell from it.

“If you’re this worked up over the sight of my skivvies,” he said eventually, “am I going to have to hose you down when I tell you I’ve never been a boxers kind of guy?”

Jim gaped for a moment because that was - Yeah, that really wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Except Harvey was watching him, straight faced and challenging, and it was just a joke. Of course it was. He would know if Harvey made a habit of wearing women’s underwear, surely?

“It depends on whether they’re red and lacy,” Jim offered, because he could give as good as he got, and hid how flustered he was with another swig of beer. Then he turned his attention back to the case files with what what he hoped was an air of professionalism, and breathed a sigh of relief when Harvey finally stopped staring and started reading.

Ruthlessly forced himself to concentrate on the reports in front of him, and not the mental image of his partner parading around in a pair of panties.

He was so not going there.

* * *

Five hours later and he was _so_ going there.

He had his head thrown back, panting harsh and loud as he pushed up into his own fist, muscles quivering with the strain of it.

Because it shouldn’t be doing this to him. Shouldn’t have him hard and aching, pure want pooling low in his gut as he imagined how his fingers would look, skirting the flesh of Harvey’s thigh and the frilly edges of his underwear.

Really shouldn’t have him coming like a freight train, too wiped out afterwards to even worry about it.

He saved that for the days that followed, when he couldn’t stop thinking about what Harvey might or might not be wearing. It was a struggle just to keep his mind on the job, especially when Harvey was strutting around with his hands on his hips, drawing all kinds of attention he probably wasn’t intending.

Jim wondered if it was comfortable, to be pressed up tight like that all day, and if it made things more awkward when you couldn’t quite stay in control of your reactions.

How he might be able to help Harvey out, like the good friend he so wanted to be.

Harvey noticed it too. Asked him if he was all right, all platonic concern, and he had to go and splash cold water on his face in the restroom because Harvey was standing so, so close, and maybe he was wearing a pair _right now_.

From that moment it was inevitable.

The very next time he had a few drinks inside him he was staring at Harvey’s mouth, watching the words he was forming but not listening to them, the question pushing past his own lips before he could think better of it.

“Did you mean it?” He glanced around the bar, cheeks flaming, though Harvey was just frowning at him in confusion. Leaned in close so he could whisper into Harvey’s ear, “Do you really wear women’s panties?”

Harvey looked angry, a flash of something blazing in his eyes as he hissed,

“Really? That’s what this is about!?”

Jim lowered his gaze, contrite and guilty, and Harvey was a good detective. Was better at social cues and reading people than Jim was ever going to be. Was silent for a long moment before he leaned in to him and said,

“I bet you want to know what color they are, don't you?”

His skin was burning, his pulse crashing in his ears, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. Could do nothing but nod dumbly while Harvey just drained his drink and began stalking towards the door. Jim followed, hurrying to keep pace, unsure what was happening, and whether or not talking about it was likely to result in a fist fight.

They were only a couple of blocks from Harvey’s apartment when he suddenly pushed him back into a shop doorway. Harvey kissed him hard and fast, all wet heat and the scratch of his beard, and it was nothing like Jim had had before.

It only made him more eager, made his pulse race that much faster.

He tried to follow when Harvey pulled away, the need for more overpowering.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harvey groaned, hands still on him. “Just fucking look at you.”

Jim glanced at his reflection in the window. The high color in his cheeks and the state of his clothing. The dark eyes looking back at him, wanting.

“Come on,” Harvey urged and they were moving again. The tension building and building, until Jim was almost shaking with it.

Harvey fumbled with his key, once, twice, before getting the door open. He kicked it shut behind them, uncaring how loud it was, and then they were kissing again, Jim past frantic and into desperate.

Harvey took charge, used both hands to frame his face and keep him still as he kissed him slow and tender, to give him a few moments where he was calm enough to think clearly, before pulling back and asking,

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, are you sure, Jim? I’m not going to pretend this never happened in the morning.”

It made his heart pound, to have all of Harvey’s attention focused on him. Made something twist in his chest, to know Harvey thought enough of their friendship - of him - not to go ahead without thinking of the consequences.

He reached up to put a hand on the back of Harvey’s head. Pressed their foreheads together the way he had so many months ago, when he had wanted Harvey to know how sincerely meant it, when he said he was proud of him.

“I’m sure,” he managed, barely more than a whisper, and Harvey cast a devoted glance up to the ceiling with a murmured ‘thank you’ before ratcheting it back up from sweet and careful to hot and filthy, sucking a wet kiss into the skin of his throat.

Pushed him back towards the bedroom, and then they were on Harvey’s bed, the scent of him thick in the air and Jim scrabbling at his belt buckle, pulling his trousers down to reveal red lace.

“I heard they were the in thing,” Harvey said, gratifyingly breathless, and it was entirely too much. Was so hot Jim had to press his nose to the taut fabric and breathe in. Had to tease his fingers along the edges of the panties, the way he had imagined the first night he had gotten himself off to the idea of it.

Harvey groaned, low and loud, and Jim couldn’t bear it. Fought with clothing until Harvey had only one leg in them, the fabric bunched tight in Jim’s hand, against Harvey’s hip bone. Jim had worried he might freak out when this moment came. Had panicked that he would feel stupid, clueless and inferior.

All he actually felt was a want bordering on desperation, sucking clumsy kisses up the length of Harvey’s dick, spurred on by the other man’s sounds of approval.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” Harvey ground out, fingers petting in his hair even as his hips stuttered up, the head of his cock pressing slick against his cheek. Jim opened his mouth, put his tongue against him, experimentally, and the resulting groan was enough to make him push forward, the stretch of his jaw as new and exciting as the way Harvey was speaking to him, praising everything he did like it was something incredible.

It was so hot, so utterly, ridiculously hot, and then Harvey was pulling him up and off, crushing their mouths together.

“Jim, I have to - just let me.”

Harvey pushed him back against the bed and hurriedly undressed him. Ran his calloused hands up his legs, and followed them with his mouth, pressing open mouthed kisses to his thighs until Jim was actually shaking.

“Please,” Jim whined, though he wasn’t certain what it was he was begging for.

Harvey looked up at him, eyes so dark they made Jim shiver, and then he was licking wet stripes up along his inner thighs. Was taking just the head of his dick into his mouth, as though he simply wanted to taste it, and then they were kissing again, all slick heat and the foreign traces of himself.

He wanted more, needed more, and Harvey squirmed and shifted so that his cock was pressed between Jim’s spit slick thighs, knees locking them in place. Raised himself up on his hands and Jim got the idea, clenching his thighs tight together.

“Jesus,” Harvey cursed, reverent, and Jim did it again, and again, hand finding himself, movements rushed and frantic. “Jim, fuck. That's it, _please_ , Jim,” Harvey gasped, plead, and that was it, he was coming, the fingers of his free hand finding Harvey's arm and clinging so tight it brought him down close, the solid weight of him drawing the pleasure out and making him shudder.

Harvey bucked against him, no finesse and no rhythm, and it still sparked through Jim like electricity, to know he was the cause of it. Had him pushing up in encouragement, then tangling his fingers in Harvey's hair and kissing him, sloppy and uncoordinated, until Harvey had to break away, panting heavily against his shoulder.

“You sure you're not going to freak out about this?” Harvey asked later, when Jim was drifting in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness. 

“Do you want me to?” Jim mumbled, his eyes refusing to open.

“No offence, but I know your type,” Harvey huffed, though the arm wrapped around him didn't loosen its grip any. “It's alright when you've got a hand around their dick, so long as you don't talk about it in the morning.”

Jim only smiled into the darkness, one hand coming up to rest heavily against Harvey's arm. “If there's anything this has taught me,” he said, words slurring with the pull of sleep, “it's that you can never judge by appearances.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	10. Presumed Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [poetry_fiction](http://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org) challenge - my prompt was: _But here you are and I'm happy to see you, though the house is bare and the market, far off._ It made me think of being reunited with someone after a long time, which lead to presumed dead fic with lots of angst. TW for references to suicide, death, etc.

Harvey had known loss before - the personal, and the professional. Had seemed to spend half his career being seconds too late to play the hero.

He had been to so many funerals they all merged together, and attended more wakes than any man should need to. He had sobbed, broken and beaten, at too many deathbeds, and stood stoic and silent as better men, more worthy men, were committed to the crematorium.

Sometimes, when they weren’t quick enough, when they weren’t clever enough, he had played pallbearer to little white coffins. Had drank himself into oblivion afterwards, mind too full of what those bodies had suffered, before death could claim them.

None of it prepared him for the crushing agony of watching the old West Gallery be blown to smithereens, knowing Jim was still trapped inside.

Time seemed to slow for a moment, the noise muted and his vision blurring, and then the details of the situation were overwhelming. The smell of fire and explosives, and the sound of screaming, the sight of blood - flesh wounds from the fractured glass - and the horrendous burns sustained by the officers stationed at the entrance.

Somebody held him back, pinned him in place though he kicked and struggled, and then a voice was registering, worn and frayed around the edges,

"He’s gone, Bullock. He’s _gone_. There’s only one thing you can do for him.”

Harvey looked at him, lost and wide eyed, and Alvarez looked like he wanted to break down himself.

“Keep going. Take charge. It’s what he would have wanted.”

Afterwards he suspected Alvarez would have said anything in that moment, would have done anything to stop him from losing it completely. To get a grip on himself and to stop howling, desperate like a trapped animal.

There, as it was happening, it made more sense than anything else could have.

He had to keep it together. People were relying on him. He swiped at his face, bewildered at the wetness, and fell back on his training. On years of experience of concentrating on nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other.

He co-ordinated the emergency services and saw that the first responders were where they were most needed. Organised the cordoning off of the area and briefed forensics on their arrival. Spoke to the press and delivered bad news to the families and loved ones.

Refused to think further than the next thing which needed to be done until exhaustion overtook him, and he slept fitfully on a plastic chair at the hospital, waiting on news of Detective Third Grade Marten’s surgery and whether or not they were going to have to add Officer Sanderson to the death toll.

The next day proceeded in much the same fashion, constant action, resolute distraction, until finally what remained of Jim’s badge was handed to him in a plastic evidence bag and the reality hit him.

Had him him staggering to the men’s room, retching up black coffee and bile, because Jim was dead.

Jim was gone and he had no idea how he was supposed to go on living without him.

He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his haggard reflection in the bathroom mirror. Jim had died a hero, had ignored his direct order to attempt to save a bunch scumbag criminals who had deserved everything they had coming to them, and now it was up to Harvey to ensure his sacrifice was recognized.

To secure his legacy and serve him justice, and once that was done he would either be ready to face the future, or it wouldn’t matter if he took a running jump from the roof of his apartment building.

Out in the bullpen everybody was watching, waiting to see if he was going to throw the towel in and request a transfer to take over as Captain.

“Listen up!” He called for the last few pretending to be doing something, “We all lost someone yesterday. We’re all hurting. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to give up and quit fighting. We’re going to find who did this, and we’re going to put them behind bars. That I promise you.” He looked around at his officers, at the pale faces and strained, pinched expressions, and nodded.

“Now get some goddamn work done!”

That over he went to his office, poured out a generous measure of whiskey with trembling fingers, and tipped it back in a single swallow. Let the burn down his gullet ground him and went back to the preliminaries they had had back from forensics.

The CCTV prints and the witness statements.

It wasn’t going to destroy them. That was what he told the press, and that was what he parroted to Internal Affairs, when they came sticking their noses in. It was true, for the most part, because it wasn’t as though the department was going anywhere.

On a personal level, he couldn’t make quite the same promises, and his voice cracked when he spoke at the funeral of a 22-year-old rookie because she had had her whole life ahead of her. Marten had made it through the first round of surgery but then faded fast, and his parents spoke to the papers about how glad they were to at least have his remains and the closure of being able to bury him.

Jim’s brother, Roger, flew out from Chicago and seemed to consider it an equal imposition either way. Raised an eyebrow when it became obvious he had been sleeping in Jim’s bed and said, as clipped and distant as Jim had always tried and failed to be,

“You’re welcome to keep something to remember him by.” The man looked over the physical remnants of Jim’s life with a dismissive shrug and added, “It’s only going to Goodwill.”

He took Jim’s keepsake tin, the one Roger designated trash with no more than a cursory glance at its contents, and some of his clothing. Roger pursed his lips but said nothing for which Harvey was thankful. He didn’t want to _wear_ it.

That night he went back to his own dingy apartment for the first time in over a week, and it felt so final he put his gun in the lock box, out of reach of temptation. Drank shot after shot before giving up and swigging it straight from the bottle.

Thought about the first night he had spent in Jim’s bed - the night before the explosion - and what he would have done differently if he had known it would be the last time Jim ever shared it with him.

He would have spent hours unraveling him. Would have mapped every square inch of skin, and committed every scar, every freckle to memory. He would have told him a thousand times how beautiful he was, how very much he loved him, and not cared a damn about being thought overly sentimental.

He’d have clung close and turned the alarm off when it sounded, then told Jim the GCPD could surely make it through a single day without them.

It was that thought which haunted him when he delivered Jim’s eulogy, his dress uniform over starched and stifling, and his voice continually threatening to give out on him as he spoke of Jim’s dedication to the job and his commitment to the people of Gotham.

Barely kept it together when he got to how Jim was a good man, a good friend, and how very much he was going to miss him. Looked up to see Nygma smirking from the back of the room and was overwhelmed, just for a moment, with the white hot urge to punch every last one of his teeth out.

Then it was gone, and he was stumbling into a seat, sick of it all. He had thought, once, that justice would have kept him going in this situation. The need for revenge, at least, and the satisfaction of seeing the filth responsible rotting in a jail cell.

The reality was that none of it mattered - not the investigation, not closure, not any of it.

None of it was going to bring Jim back to him.

He stared at the head shot of Jim the funeral directors’ had gone with, at Jim’s beautiful blue eyes and the barest hint of a smile on his lips, all rookie optimism and naive idealism. It was the same picture they added to the memorial gallery, just another face of a cop who had given their all and still been found wanting.

Once that was done, the press soundbites given and the last of the paperwork filed, there was no reason left to look presentable. No reason not to get through each and every day on more than drink and cigarettes, and eventually the higher-ups stepped in to tell him thanks for his service, but he was being relieved of his duties.

He slammed his fist into the door of his locker, over and over, and tried to put a foot through it. Slid to the floor, finally, and pressed his face into his hands, like it could stop the way he was trembling.

Simmons drew the short straw and came and sat beside him, silent and non-judging.

“You know what I hate about cops?” She asked just when he thought she wasn’t going to say anything. “All the bullshit macho posturing. You don’t stop caring about life just because you see a lot of death. You only get better at hiding it.”

Harvey couldn’t look at her, could scarcely even breathe. Didn’t trust himself to talk without breaking down. Simmons just carried on without him,

“That’s why they hated, Gordon. Didn’t want to play by the rules, did he? Couldn’t stop caring about the kiddies and the girls down at the needle exchange. The little old grannies and all the nutjobs who never got the treatment they needed. Couldn’t stop showing it, either.”

“He was a good guy,” Harvey managed, voice choked.

“No, he wasn’t,” he looked at her sharply but she kept going, “he worked hard, tried hard, but he wasn’t the saint you keep trying to portray him as. He was just a guy doing his best to keep his head above water, just like the rest of us. He couldn’t have managed that, even, not without someone who had his back every time he jumped without looking. I know how you felt about him.”

It broke him, the simple recognition, and Simmons finished quietly, tone confessional,

“And I know he felt it back. You only had to see the way he looked at you.”

That was it. That was the limit, and he was sobbing in her arms, bawling like a baby.

Went home afterwards and curled up with one of Jim’s shirts, along with the entire contents of his medicine cabinet. Woke up at Gotham General, feeling like he’d been trampled by an elephant.

Lay there numb and stared at the ceiling, on and endlessly on, until McKenna and Alvarez hovered nervously at his bedside, warning over and over that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but that they had something he ought to take a look at.

The reports made little sense, the words all blurring together, and McKenna pointed out discrepancies and talked incomprehensible nonsense until Alvarez took pity on him and said,

“We got a guy in the cells willing to swear on oath he saw Gordon alive and well a week after the explosion.”

The shock jolted through him, knocked the breath from his lungs, and it was impossible. Complete crazy talk. But it wasn’t as though he had anything left to lose by believing in it and, besides, stranger things had happened in Gotham.

One time he had witnessed Jim literally punch the face off a resurrected dead guy.

“I gotta speak to him,” he said simply, and discharged himself in favor of glaring at some low level drug dealer across an interrogation table.

His replacement, the new Captain, dismissed it entirely. The rest of the precinct gave him pitying looks to his face and called him nuts behind his back, except for the ones who saw no point in pussyfooting around the issue.

“You’ve lost it,” Anderson told him, one of the few guys left who had been there even longer than he had. “Kid had plenty of enemies, it’s true, but this ain’t healthy. At some point you’re going to have to accept it.”

Perhaps, but while he still had hope he wasn’t going to stop pushing. Chased up anyone and everyone who had ever professed to want Jim dead, and spent every waking moment tracking potential leads, no matter how spurious.

Finally he went grovelling to the Penguin, because he had exhausted every other option, and because the man had always had a soft spot when it came to Jim - it was something they had in common.

“What’s in it for me?” Penguin asked, just as oily as ever, and Harvey laid it on the line,

“I haven’t got a whole lot left to offer you.”

The other man narrowed his eyes, studied his face for something, and whatever it was he saw was convincing, because the next thing he was being shown the door, with a cool ‘you can owe me a favor’ ringing in his ears.

If it got results, he’d happily owe him a thousand favors, that was what he was thinking that first night, and it was what he was thinking as he staked out some grotty little dive in the warehouse district, based on rumors that had reached the ears of one of Penguin’s henchmen.

It was a long shot, he knew that. It had been almost four months now, and he wasn’t an idiot.

It was just that this was all he had, and when the two guys he had been trailing disappeared off into the night he made the most of the opportunity. Pried the door open and pushed down the basement steps, flashlight streaking arcs across the dank walls.

There was something shady taking place on the premises, he wouldn’t have needed to be a detective to work that out. The weapons were a dead giveaway, as were the blood stains on the floor, some so fresh the scurrying footprints of rodents were still visible.

He was afraid, in a distant, apathetic kind of way. It wouldn’t be a glorious ending, getting his throat slit down in some weirdo’s murder cellar.

Then he heard a noise, something too big to be a rat, and too clumsy to be the trained goons he had seen leaving earlier. It could be anything, he knew. Wasn’t going to be what he wanted it to be, that was obvious. His heart pounded all the same, his hands not quite steady as he followed in the sound’s direction.

“Jesus,” he breathed at the sight which met him. At the tangled mess of dirty blonde hair, and the frightened blue eyes which met his own.

“Harv-,” the figure tried to say, and he had to keep it together. Hadn’t come this far to fall at the last hurdle.

“Come on, partner. We’re getting out of here.”

* * *

“I’m not made of glass,” Jim groused, “you’re not going to break me.”

Harvey wasn’t at all inclined to believe him. Had sat at his hospital bedside for hour after hour, and listened to doctors catalog his injuries. Had forced himself to stay calm while Jim recounted what had happened, and what had been done to him.

Had been half afraid to touch him even when he sobbed and cried out in his sleep, lost in his nightmares, lest it makes things worse for him, somehow.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” was the response Harvey went with, and helped Jim to sink down onto the sofa, his ribs still bound and his leg in plaster. Fussed and fidgeted until Jim simply took hold of his hand and tugged, so that he had no choice but to sit beside him.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Harvey said, gesturing at his hurried attempt at making the place look presentable. Thought of Jim’s clean and orderly apartment, and apologized again, “I shouldn’t have let him give all your stuff away.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim said, soft and quiet. “None of it does.”

Harvey finally looked up at Jim, struck all over again by how beautiful he was. By how unspeakably incredible it was that Jim was actually _here_ , alive and with him.

“You never gave up on me. Not even when it looked hopeless.”

“I got your back, always,” Harvey managed, trying for levity but the scratch in his voice giving it all away. Lifted Jim’s hand to kiss his knuckles, chaste in case he wasn’t ready. In case it wasn’t what Jim wanted. “You know that.”

Because just this would be enough. Just to know that Jim was okay; that he was moving towards healthy, that he was working on happy.

“I love you,” Jim blurted, color fanning along his pale sunken cheeks, and that was good too. That was the best thing he had ever heard, rivaled only by the sound Jim made when he leaned in to kiss him, the fingers of his free hand gentle in his hair.

“Life wasn't worth living without you,” Harvey told Jim in turn, too honest, and Jim only clung closer. Curled into his chest, and Harvey wrapped his arms around him, breathing in the scent of him.

Nothing lasted forever, he had learned that the hard way. The only way to deal with it was to savor every moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	11. Dog Day Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Chosen Family' fill for my trope_bingo card. Harvey acquires a boyfriend and a dog, not necessarily in that order.

“You cannot keep a dog in here.”

“I’m the freaking Captain, Jim. I can do what I like.”

Jim glared, arms folding across his chest, and Harvey reached down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. Got him to tilt his head to the side, tongue lolling, because even Jim couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes.

Surely.

“He’s got a good nose,” Harvey said when Jim’s resolve showed no sign of wavering. “He could be an asset.”

“He’s too old for active duty,” Jim said, stubborn. “You should have called the pound like I told you to.”

Now that hurt. It wasn’t Duke’s fault he was a dog in his prime.

“That what you gonna do with me in a couple of years?” Harvey asked, wishing his back wouldn’t crick so loudly when he stood up straight. “Send me off to the farm in the sky, with all the other beat up old detectives?”

Jim just rolled his eyes.

“Get rid of the dog or I’ll do it for you.”

* * *

Harvey tried, really he did.

But while Duke wasn’t too old to learn new tricks, he certainly wasn’t some spring chicken either.

He whined at the door of Harvey’s apartment to go out, proof that he had the smarts, but snarled and lunged for old Mr Thompkins from down the hall, which spoke of all the other kinds of behavior his previous owners had encouraged.

The pound would designate him a dangerous dog, no question, and at his age they wouldn’t bother with a rehabilitation program.

Prospective owners weren’t clamoring to take Duke off his hands, either, though he stuck a card up on the notice board and - once he recovered from hearing how much it was going to cost him - put an ad in the evening paper.

There was one guy who claimed interest, but Duke bared his teeth and that alone would have been enough for Harvey, even without the ever so slightly illegal background check he had done on his credentials.

“Duke’s staying,” he told Jim finally, tone brokering no argument. “You’re the only one kicking up a stink about it.”

“I’m the only one who cares a damn about the rule book,” Jim countered, just as irritatingly self-righteous as he always was. “You could at least put him in the kennels.”

Duke butted his hand, like he knew exactly what Jim was saying, and Harvey understood. Was stuck being brow beaten by younger, fitter competition often enough that he was developing some kind of complex. Besides, the dog handlers wouldn’t treat him right.

There’d be no more donuts with sprinkles, that was for damn sure.

“Columbo took a dog on cases,” he said instead, like he didn’t know how it would piss Jim off.

“Columbo wasn’t real,” Jim sniffed, right on cue.

Harvey bit back a smirk, sensing victory.

“Are any of us, Jim? Now there’s a question.”

Jim just glared, at him, at Duke, and back at him all over again.

“It’s too early in the day for existentialism.”

Harvey only winked. “That’s what they all say.”

* * *

Jim complained about it, all the same. Sulked when Harvey picked him up for work in the mornings, Duke panting all over the back of his head, and nearly threw a fit when he left his blander than bland sandwich on his desk - only to come back and find that Duke had done him the kindness of disposing of it.

“He was hungry,” Harvey defended, and donated half his own lunch to the cause, watching approvingly when ketchup streaked down the side of Jim’s hand and he put it to his mouth to suck it clean again.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him,” Jim said, still chewing, and Harvey tried to look properly contrite, not like his mind was still stuck on Jim, viscous liquids and sucking.

“We’ll make it up to you later,” he said, the potential implications not helping, and that night Jim came over, whined about his choice in beer, but though he watched Duke warily at all times, seemed resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He didn’t even bitch at getting promoted to assistant dog walker, providing Harvey was the one holding the leash. Within a few weeks they fell into a routine of evening strolls, broken only by the frequency with which one or the other of them found himself too busted up or still busy being patched up at the hospital.

One day it wasn’t even a beating that put Jim out of commission, and Harvey reached the point where he was so sick of seeing him trembling and sniffling that he sent him home early from the precinct, with strict instructions to go to bed and stop playing the tough guy.

He took Duke around to Jim’s when the day finally ended to cheer him up - to check up on him - and warned Duke to be on his best behavior, just before Jim pulled the door open. Jim smiled at him, frowned at Duke, and Harvey just shrugged and said,

“We come as a package deal. Love me, love my dog, Jimbo.”

He looked around when Jim stepped aside to let them in, cop senses tingling, because by Jim’s standards the place was a tip. Dirty crockery piled on the kitchen counter, and a nest of blankets on the couch Duke went straight over to make himself at home in.

Jim was a little too pale, Harvey noted, for all that his nose was still glowing. He was moving extra careful too, awkward and anxious as he pushed past the sofa towards the armchair, and - And it was so obvious Harvey couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen it sooner.

“You could have just said you were scared of dogs,” he stated, too blunt, and Jim scowled like he’d accused him of misappropriating GCPD property.

“I’m not scared of dogs,” Jim snapped, the tension in his posture serving as technicolor evidence to the contrary. “I just don’t like them.”

 _Right_. Harvey didn’t push it though. Let Jim settle in the chair, legs pulled up in front of him, and did nothing when Duke decided what Jim really needed following an afternoon of sweating out fever was a thorough tongue bath.

He guessed it was true what they said, about dogs sharing traits with their owners.

Jim jerked away, the overreaction almost comical, and Harvey called Duke over, trying not to laugh. Jim was always touchy, and now he was ill on top of it.

“What can I say, he likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jim said vehemently, oblivious to the damage his snuffling was doing to the angry vibe he was going for. “I don’t like him, and he doesn’t like me.”

Harvey only smiled at him, fond, and said as honestly as he dared,

“Sure he does. He’s got great taste, just like his owner.”

* * *

“I’m not afraid of dogs,” Jim reiterated, half way between stoic and pouting.

“Of course not,” Harvey agreed, easily, “you just don’t like being close to them.”

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, damage limitation, and wished he could give him a kiss to go with it. Because, really, plenty of people freaked out at the sight of a full grown German Shepherd, and Jim was making so much progress it made him want to glow with pride at the sight of it.

At the way Jim was currently playing sofa cushion to a dumbass dog who still thought himself an overgrown puppy, and Harvey just handed him a beer and listened to him complain about dogs making better doors than windows.

They were still going for their evening walkies, too, and he watched Jim closely the first night he was put in charge, just in case he decided now was the moment to admit to being terrified.

“I knew you’d grow to love him,” he said, as distraction from the scrutiny, “you never could resist a sob story. Remember that girl from the -”

He never got to finish the sentence.

The thugs in Gotham were hardcore. Would think nothing of taking on two armed cops and a dog with the jaw power to rip a man’s arm from its socket on the best of days, let alone when both cops were distracted and the dog was fixated on the prospect of a grubby tennis ball.

Harvey fought hard and, when that didn’t work, started fighting dirty. Bit down hard into the arm holding him back, and yelled at Jim to watch out for the blow flying at the side of his head. Had to witness Jim crumple to the floor, in spite of the warning, and got what was most definitely a cracked rib as payment for the way he retaliated.

A broken arm too, more than likely, and probably a leg, if the sickening surge of pain was anything to go by. He couldn’t see if Jim was back on his feet, not with the blood in his eyes, and he hoped that if he was still down they were too busy with him, because the only upside to a long hospital stay would be knowing that Jim hadn’t been kicked into a coma.

 _Let Jim be all right, please_ , was his last thought before giving in to the darkness and it was the first coherent thought he had on waking, right alongside _what the hell happened?_ and _where in God's name am I?_

Then Jim’s face was swimming in his vision, a bruise at his temple and a sticking plaster on his forehead, but otherwise looking none the worse for what it had been through.

“You’re okay,” Jim said, scratchy and a little uncontrolled, and Harvey squeezed the fingers he could feel interlinked with his own.

“Of course I am.”

* * *

In the end they only kept him in for a few days, and then Jim was fussing over him, helping him to the elevator and out to the car park. Got him into the passenger seat, and Harvey couldn’t keep the goofy grin from spreading across his face, not when Duke did his best to clamber on top of him, bandaged paw and all.

“You brought him!” Harvey exclaimed, torn between gratitude and admiration for Jim’s constant ability to surprise him.

“He’s a hero,” Jim shrugged, the faintest hint of color in his cheeks, and Harvey was so pleased he didn’t even complain about Jim’s Sunday driving, his fingers white knuckled where they clutched at the steering wheel.

He had been told the full story at the hospital. How Duke had refused to quit, no matter what they threw at him, and finally barked full throttle in Jim’s eardrum until he managed to regain control of his gun and put an end to the situation.

They were all sitting in a cell across town, some missing more chunks than others, and if Jim was going to be staying instead of simply carting his sorry ass home it really would be a fairy tale ending.

As it was he made the most of it. Leaned heavily on Jim during the short walk to his apartment, and watched appreciatively as Jim moved about the place, fixing them lunch and making sure he took his painkillers.

“You don’t have to hang around here all day,” he forced himself to say eventually. Gave it his best attempt at wisecracking, “My right hand is just fine, and if I get bored of that I can always call in some professional assistance.”

He wouldn’t, but he had a reputation to maintain.

Jim just set his jaw, unmistakably angry, and Harvey couldn’t work it out, not even with what he knew about Jim’s self-appointed mission as Gotham’s moral crusader.

“If you need help,” Jim said, frustration bleeding in at the edges, “you got me.”

Harvey shook his head, glad for the fact Duke had decided to curl up on the sofa beside him and provide a timely distraction. A reason for him not to look at Jim as he said, voice strained where he wanted it to be airy,

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same kind of help here, Jim.”

He saw Jim’s legs before he heard him moving. Watched Jim sink down to his knees before he had worked up the guts to look up at him. Because Jim wasn’t an idiot - he was always going to work it out at some point.

Just not now. Not when he was still such a mess, hurting all over and lacking the mental fortitude to convince Jim that he hadn’t spent just about every moment since they became partners wanting him.

Jim put a hand on his good knee, the other busy fidgeting even as he met his gaze, just as stubborn as he had always been.

“I think we are,” Jim said, aiming for confident but achieving more of a hopeful whisper. It had Harvey gaping at him, regardless, and Jim went on, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “You’ve got a dog that could probably kill me. I’m not going to lie to you.”

“I thought you said you weren’t scared of him,” Harvey said dumbly, too shocked for anything more intelligent.

“You said the pair of you were a package deal,” Jim shrugged, awkward but determined.

He should say something, do something, but his brain was still scurrying a few steps behind and Jim’s face fell, gaze dropping as he made to get up. He was going to leave. Was going to walk out the door, hurt and dejected, and Harvey made a grab for his wrist, suddenly frantic.

Hissed as the movement pulled at _something_ , and Jim was fussing and panicking, so that Harvey had to just get a hand around his tie and pull him in close, the blueness of his eyes a whole different kind of breathtaking.

Jim kissed like he did everything, single minded and thorough, the wet heat of his tongue startling a groan out of him. Jim pulled back then, to clear his head perhaps, and because Harvey suddenly had a lap full of curious dog.

“You know how to pick your moments,” Harvey told Jim, but couldn’t quit smiling, pushing Duke back out of the way. “If I wasn’t one of the walking wounded right now I’d teach you a thing or two.”

Jim grinned right back, and took control of the TV remote like he was planning on staying put for a good long while. Pressed a kiss into his hair and said, entirely too casually, even as Duke obediently shifted over so Jim could sit next to him,

“Sounds like I'll have plenty to look forward to then, doesn't it?”

If that wasn't motivation to make a speedy recovery, Harvey didn't know what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	12. Under the Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim interrupts an important phone call. Nothing but smut here, seriously.

Jim can’t sit still, can barely keep quiet, and when Harvey looks up from his paperwork Jim knows that he can tell exactly what the problem is. It’s there in the smirk he doesn’t bother hiding, and the way he reaches for his glasses, like Jim hasn’t told him a thousand times what the sight of him wearing them does to him.

It isn’t fair, isn’t at all sporting, and Jim waits until Harvey’s phone rings before he gets to his feet and closes the distance between his desk and Harvey’s office.

Harvey raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment but Jim doesn’t waste time with explanations. Shuts the door behind him and moves around to Harvey’s side with all the outward self-control Uncle Sam worked so hard to instill in him. Ignores the frown furrowing Harvey’s brow and sinks to his knees, hands sliding up Harvey’s thighs even as his mouth floods with saliva.

He wants it so bad, has been desperate since the night before when Harvey refused to do anything but taunt and tease him, working him closer and closer to the edge but never letting him fall. Never letting him taste him properly, though he begged and plead and whined in frustration, pre-come pooling on his own stomach.

“Y-Yes Sir, I’m listening,” Harvey stutters into the handset, fingers white knuckled around the plastic, and Jim is going to do this.

Couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

He holds Harvey’s gaze for a long heated moment, feels the blush staining his own cheeks a bright red, his fingers trailing closer and closer to Harvey’s zipper. Harvey’s eyes go wide when he finally pulls it down. His hips shift forward when Jim pops the button, pushing the fabric out the way and drawing Harvey’s dick out through the fly of his boxer shorts.

He’s so hard already, skin flushed dark, and Jim presses forward to inhale the scent of him. Buries his nose at the base and feels the desire shudder through him, white hot and electric.

“Jesus Christ,” Harvey breathes, free hand tangling in Jim’s hair, and Jim likes the idea of getting his own back. Likes it so much he takes his own sweet time, fingers feathering up the length of Harvey’s dick before his tongue follows, moaning in spite of himself when Harvey’s fingers tighten, his own arousal surging with the physical proof of how hot Harvey is for him.

Has him pushing one hand into his own underwear, thumb sliding through wetness already gathered there, and the other keeping Harvey still while he works on getting Harvey harder, on taking him deeper, swallowing thickly because it’s so good, so intense, and he’s so so close he can’t care about the mess he’s in, or how mad Harvey is going to be with him once it’s over.

“No, Sir, I mean, Yes, Sir, I mean,” Harvey’s voice is strangled, unsteady, and Jim pulls back for air, panting as he looks up into dark eyes. His hand is still moving, so fast and so tight it’s almost painful, and suddenly Harvey’s got hold of his wrist, has him bucking into thin air as he says, just a little too frantic,

“Something urgent’s come up. I’m going to have to call you back, Sir.”

The second the phone’s back in its cradle, Harvey’s tongue is in his mouth, hot and demanding.

“You better be about to finish what you started,” he groans, and Jim doesn’t need any further encouragement. Feels like he’ll die if Harvey doesn’t let him suck him back down, the heavy weight of his hand on the back of his head making him shiver.

“That’s it,” Harvey gasps, losing control enough to fuck up into his mouth and that really is it. It’s too much, too perfect, and Jim’s coming untouched, shaking and gasping and then sucking and sucking until Harvey can’t hold back either, Jim not giving up until Harvey pushes him away clumsily.

Kisses him again when he’s got his breath back, soft and slow, fingers tender as they comb his hair into something a little less like a bird’s nest.

“I should have known you’d never last the day,” Harvey whispers, tone fond. “You’re too damn impatient.”

“What are you going to tell the Commissioner?” Jim asks, almost embarrassed now, his lips swollen and his underwear damp and uncomfortable.

“I’ll tell him the truth,” Harvey shrugs and offers him a helping hand, Jim wincing as he clambers to his feet. Winks at him smugly, even as he reaches for the telephone, “Jim Gordon was doing his best to be a pain in my ass again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	13. Reverse Size Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is obviously overcompensating for something... Reverse size kink fic for my kinky_bingo card. :D

“Won’t you take my word for it, Jim? Don’t you trust me?”

Barbara was pulling her best damsel in distress voice, eyes wide, and Harvey wasn’t blind to the way Jim grit his teeth together to better pretend he wasn’t unnerved by it. It would suck for anyone, to have your crazy ex-fiancee stand there with their new squeeze and make fun of you, and even Jim Gordon, Gotham’s number one Boy Scout, was struggling to look entirely indifferent.

The uniformed officers helping with the sweep exchanged knowing glances, even as one of their Narcotics colleagues droned on about the point of the exercise.

“We’ll be giving this place a thorough going over,” Harvey said, to deflect attention, and Barbara laughed, high and just a little manic.

It was the drink, maybe, mixed with something more potent, most probably, and Harvey made a point of watching her closely, when he wasn’t busy feeling underneath the club’s sleek work surfaces or letting his gaze stray to where Jim was crouched low, the seat of his pants pulled tight over the curve of his backside.

Barbara caught him at it, watching him in turn, and kept her voice pitched so it wouldn’t carry across the empty dance floor as she said,

“You see something else you’d like to give a thorough going over, Detective?”

He glared at her, not at all in the mood for it.

So Jim wasn’t interested in anything he had to offer, it didn’t mean he appreciated a reminder.

“Jim always likes to be thorough,” Barbara pushed, louder now, moving gracefully to sit on the table beside him, lips to his ear, dress hitching up to reveal a large swathe of milky thigh. Harvey looked away, resolute, and Barbara just sniffed - the after effects of coke, perhaps - and her tone became confessional,

“He _overcompensates_.”

The accompanying gesture with her pinky finger left little to the imagination, and she laughed again, Galavan’s sister smirking where she came over to put an arm around her.

Uniform sniggered, none too subtly, and Jim looked mortified, cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment. Harvey wanted to say something unprofessional, wanted to go to him and put a supportive hand on his shoulder, but Barbara beat him to it, all steel behind the little girl facade,

“See, Jim, we’ve all got secrets we don’t want made public.”

* * *

If an ex had pulled that shit with him, he’d have laughed it off. It would have been bull, anyway, and they both would have known it.

Jim refused to be drawn on the subject, spent the entire journey back to the station frowning and serious, and to Harvey’s mind his silence spoke volumes. Because it was a big deal to Jim, of course it was. Had him pale faced and wretched at the first sign of gossip, and Harvey wished it was the done thing for one guy to tell another that the very last thing which defined him was the size of his penis.

Wished that him saying it would be enough to make Jim believe it, and that he couldn’t imagine exactly the kind of shit Jim had been given for something he had absolutely no control over in high school, and the army, and at police training academy.

“You want to talk about it?” He tried instead, thinking of broken trust, and how Jim and Barbara had once been planning to make it down the aisle. Jim stared at him incredulously, hearing nothing but the original insult, and shut down all further discussion.

Stubbornly refused to acknowledge it was an issue, even when the jokes started. The bit back laughter in the morning briefings, and the snide comments about it not being the size of the latest settlement from City Hall, but what they were going to do with it that mattered.

The problem was that irrespective of what Jim was or was not packing, his default personality setting was to be a dick of epic proportions. Almost the entire precinct had a score they wanted to settle with him, and rather than give as good as he got, Jim just scowled and cringed, blushed helplessly and confirmed everybody’s suspicions.

Harvey did his best to wait for it to grow old and the focus to move on to the next thing, truly he did. Because thinking about Jim naked had long been one of his favorite pastimes, and he didn’t quite trust himself not to say something entirely too incriminating. To not confess how little the revelation had altered his opinion of him, and how badly he wanted to prove it, if only Jim would let him.

Worse was the ever present urge to jump to Jim’s defense. Shielding Jim from naysayers - and those with a genuine grievance - was the kind of thing he lived for. It was his way of telling Jim how he felt, what he wanted, without ever having to risk getting knocked back or outright rejected, and he couldn’t turn it off just because the subject matter was something more intimate than Jim’s one man crusade against police corruption.

Things came to a head when Lee delivered an autopsy report to Jim’s desk, the air between them just as frosty as it had been six months ago. She passed comment, clipped and curt, on the skill of any detective who could have overlooked a small but fatal bullet wound and Tuttle, as the first officer on the scene, couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. Cracked up at his own joke, even as he called over,

“Come on, Doc, we can’t all be experts on the barely visible, can we?”

Lee glared but didn’t offer up a comeback. Wasn’t distraught, exactly, at Jim’s public humiliation and Harvey knew it was down to him to do something. He couldn’t bear to see Jim so shame stricken and miserable, not over something so utterly ridiculous.

“Apologize to the lady,” Harvey demanded, arms folded across his chest to show he meant business, and Tuttle looked bewildered for a moment before sliding back into a smirk. Waved a mock salute and said, way too self aware,

“Sorry, Gordon. Didn’t mean to upset you.”

That was it, that was the absolute limit, and everyone knew it, at least if the way they stopped and stared as he gave the order to go to his office was anything to go by. He slammed the door shut behind them, the glass of the window panes rattling, and in that moment he didn’t give a damn how much damage he did.

Was too worked up, because Tuttle wouldn’t have pulled that shit in front of Essen, nor Barnes, and because it was the kind of thing he would once have said himself, the set up too perfect to pass by without action.

Tuttle knew it too. Kept his head up all through the dressing down, just waiting to go and bitch about it - about him - to the rest of the department.

“It’s not fucking funny,” Harvey said finally, quiet as the anger drained, and that hit home where nothing else had made an impact.

“It’s not personal,” Tuttle said, a real hint of contrition breaking through. “It’s just that he’s such a gigantic pain in the backside.”

The obvious response, the only response, hung in the air between them and Harvey shook his head. Smiled in spite of himself as he wrapped it up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just tell the guys to start taking it easy, all right?”

* * *

That might have been the end of it. Should have been, really, but Jim was too proud and too stubborn, and cornered him at the first available opportunity to hiss,

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“If you think I’m going to apologize for it,” Harvey countered, refusing to give Jim the argument he was so clearly spoiling for, “you really don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Jim scowled at him, angry and frustrated, and Harvey gave in and put a hand on his shoulder. Waited until some of the tension left Jim’s posture and suggested they go get a drink as soon as the shift was over.

Did a shit job at pacing himself when they got there, and stared too openly, rethinking all the other subtle observation he had carried out since knowing Jim. Wondered if he had been right on the occasions he had been convinced there was something to the look in Jim’s eyes. The flush in his cheeks and down the back of his neck.

If he had been lacking enough data to come to the correct conclusions, because the bulge in Jim’s pants just hadn’t been obvious enough.

“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Jim snapped, gaze fixed on his beer bottle like it was the most interesting thing he had ever encountered. “You’re obviously dying to ask me about it.”

Harvey took a long swig of his own drink and warned himself not to do it. Mentally told himself, loud and clear, that this was going to be something he really really regretted once he was sober.

“The only question I’ve ever wanted to ask about your dick,” he said, all the same, “is whether or not you’d let me suck it.”

Jim spat beer all over the table in shock. Coughed and spluttered so hard Harvey had to slap him between the shoulder blades, afraid he was going to do himself lasting damage.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Jim told him, redundantly, when he regained control, and Harvey shrugged.

Waited for Jim to realize that it hadn’t been a joke, nor a throwaway line delivered for the shock value. That he was utterly serious, completely sincere.

That he was terrified of Jim’s inevitable rejection.

“I thought you said I didn’t deserve those lips,” Jim said instead, almost shy, an awkward half smile quirking his own upwards. Exhaled a little shakily and met his eyes, “You might change your mind again if you saw what you had to work with.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harvey said, scarcely daring to believe what was happening. “I can prove it to you.”

Jim stared at him, eyes wide, for a long moment. Long enough for his heart to race - for panic to set in. And then Jim was nodding, color streaking all along those impossible cheekbones, and they were leaving, the silence thick with tension.

He opened his mouth to say something more than once on the short journey to Jim’s place. Felt the words wither and die, unequal to the reality of the situation. Pushed too close to Jim on the stairs of his apartment building, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of his nape while Jim fumbled with his keys, a wave of desire washing over him at the noise Jim made, helpless and wanting.

Jim turned to look at him, eyes dark, and Harvey had to crowd him back against the door. Almost kissed him once, twice, before Jim finally curled his fingers into his hair and crushed their lips together. Kissed him like he was desperate, all wet heat and breathy moans, and Harvey held him close even as he groped for the forgotten key, pushing the door open and them both through it before one of the neighbors’ reported them for public indecency.

As soon as they were inside Jim was attempting to get closer, hands clutching at his shoulders and hips stuttering forward. Harvey went willingly. Threw his hat in the direction of the sofa and pushed a thigh between his legs. Felt his own arousal surge at the way Jim rubbed against him, head tipping back against the wall as he gasped,

“Please, Harvey. _Fuck_. Please.”

It was so hot, like a vision from every wet dream he had had since being told he was getting a new partner, and Harvey had to kiss him again. Had to drop his head to Jim’s throat and raise a mark, biting down harder than he had intended when Jim writhed and groaned and begged, muscles taut as he tilted his head to give him better access.

His plan had been clean sheets and soft pillows, but they could move it there later. He didn’t want to give Jim chance to over think or to worry. Wasn’t that selfless, perhaps, and just didn’t want to give Jim reason to decide this was a mistake, and that, actually, he wasn’t interested.

He sank to his knees right there and tugged at Jim’s belt buckle. Worked his trousers down and looked up into a sea of blue, anxiety writ all over Jim’s face, even as he panted for breath, frantic want warring with fear.

“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Harvey confessed, thumb drawing circles into the skin of Jim’s hip bone where his hand was holding him steady. “Been dreaming about touching you, about tasting you.”

He pressed his face into the fabric of Jim’s boxer shorts. Inhaled deeply and filed away the ragged sound Jim made, for lonely nights when there was nothing but his own hand for company.

“Can I, Jim?” He asked, looking back up at him, as though he hadn’t already posed the question once that evening. “Can I suck you?”

Jim just nodded again, stilted jerky movements like he wasn’t quite in control, like he couldn’t draw enough breath, even, and Harvey hooked his fingers in the waistband of Jim’s underwear. Tugged it down and out of the way, and kissed the soft flesh of Jim’s inner thigh, mouth trailing closer and closer to Jim’s erection. Told him, as serious as he had ever been about anything,

“You’re perfect.” It was true. Jim was compact, maybe, but everything about him was well formed - from the long sweep of his eyelashes to the short jut of his dick. Harvey feathered his fingers along the length of it, and drew them back wet and sticky. Sucked them into his mouth, the knowledge that Jim was watching making his own dick pulse against his zipper. “Absolutely perfect.”

There was a whimper at that, followed by a huff of disagreement, and Harvey gazed up at him again. He would never be able to get enough of looking at his stupidly beautiful face and said, voice strained,

“You make me want to be a better man just by knowing you. You make me lose my fucking mind every time you stand too close to me.” Laid it all bare because if this was as much as he was ever going to get, he wanted Jim to have at least some idea what it meant to him. “Everything about you is gorgeous, and right now I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole damn universe.”

Jim might not have agreed but he didn’t argue. Simply shook and trembled when Harvey put his mouth on him, and cried out when Harvey sucked him in. Pushed both hands into his hair, gentle rather than guiding, and bucked forward, helpless, when Harvey swallowed around him.

Harvey encouraged it. Slid his hands up the back of Jim’s legs to pull him closer and lost himself in it. Loved the way Jim felt in his mouth, the way he tasted. The sounds he couldn’t hold back, and the way his thighs quaked, every muscle tensing as he gasped Harvey’s name over and over, and begged him not to stop.

Whined, hard, as he came and still Harvey didn’t give up. Worked him until Jim couldn’t take it, sliding awkwardly down the wall, even as Harvey pushed into his own hand, too far gone to take it slow or steady.

“Let me,” Jim whispered, and it was laughable. Two grown men too desperate to make it past the hallway, Jim’s clothing bunched around his knees and his own only rumpled and pulled aside enough for Jim to get his hand around him.

It didn’t matter, Harvey decided. Nothing mattered but the fact Jim was touching him, kissing him, tongue slick where it stroked against his own.

“I thought about this too,” Jim admitted, breath hot against his ear when he broke away from the kiss. “Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do.”

That was it, that was the breaking point, and he was coming, too eager and too loud. Was clinging to Jim as though he were liable to disappear, the whole thing melting away like a cruel fever dream. Jim clung back for his own reasons, and when they finally did move, it was at Harvey’s insistence.

“Come on,” he sighed, leaning heavily on Jim’s shoulder for leverage, wincing as his knees protested. “I’m too fucking old for carpet burn.”

* * *

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jim said when they were surrounded by his nice clean bed sheets. “I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

Harvey raised an incredulous eyebrow and wondered, not for the first time, how Jim was even real. If he made a point of formally thanking all his hook ups, or if he was getting special treatment because Jim was working up the courage to ask if they could pretend it never happened in the morning.

“It wasn’t some sort of pity deal,” Harvey said, and shifted on to his side to better look at Jim. Touched his face, tenderly, because if Jim was regretting it he didn’t want to squander the opportunity. “I meant every word I said to you.”

“Give Tuttle a dressing down,” Jim clarified, but he didn’t look unmoved by the declaration. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke, and it clawed at something deep inside, to see Jim so willingly vulnerable. “Put up with me. I know I don’t make it easy.”

That was an understatement.

“You’re worth it,” Harvey said, simply, and Jim smiled at him. Not the forced grimace he favored in the workplace, or even the amused grin Harvey sometimes succeeded in pulling from him, despite Jim’s best efforts. An actual honest to God smile that transformed his entire face - that made him look so beautiful Harvey had to lean in close and kiss him.

Had to make it all too obvious because he had spent so long wanting this, and the reality was so much better than he had ever imagined. The feel of Jim, the taste of him. The eagerness in his movements, and the frank openness in his tone when he said,

“They’ll never let you live it down, you know. Once word gets out that you’re shacking up with me.”

The implication made his chest clench. That this wasn’t going to be a one time thing. That Jim had no intentions of keeping whatever might develop between them a secret.

“I don’t care if you don’t,” Harvey offered. Didn’t give a damn what any of them thought, and if Jim did, he had more than enough dirt on every member of the department to ensure none of them ever breathed a word on the subject, not if they liked their pension plans.

“I don’t,” Jim said finally, and it was Harvey's turn to smile. To beam widely and set about proving to Jim, all over again, that he didn't need to overcompensate for anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	14. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> somethingscarlet13 suggested Jim being loud and desperate as he gets pounded. Hopefully this hits the spot! :D

Jim doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s just certain that something must be because it can’t be normal, not at his age.

Because he can’t concentrate on anything. Can’t focus, can’t keep still even, squirming in his seat as his brain refuses to accept that it’s time to do his paperwork, not time to replay in vivid technicolor what it’s like to have Harvey’s mouth on him.

To watch him suck his dick like he’s actually getting off on it, like it’s his partner’s wet dream come true, and how it feels to have Harvey’s tongue inside him, so that he’s whining and sobbing and pleading, wanton like he’s some whore Harvey’s picked up off a street corner.

Maybe it’s that it’s all so new. That he has scarcely any idea what he’s doing, how he should be reacting, and that’s what makes the simple thought of going further leave him shivering with excitement.

He’s watched more porn over the last few weeks than he had previously thought possible. Has been trying to get his head around how it will work. Searching for an answer as to why just the idea of something he once would have sworn to have no interest in is threatening to blow his mind completely.

He can’t keep his hand off himself, either. Touching, teasing, on and on until he has to speed up his movements, mind stuck on how much better it would be if it were Harvey’s hand. If Harvey were watching him, eyes dark and judging as he bucks up into his fist, too far gone to feel ashamed of what he must look like. Carries on stroking until he’s shaking and trembling, come everywhere, a total mess with it.

He was never this bad even as a teenager, not even with his first serious girlfriend, for all the hours they spent heavy petting in the privacy of her bedroom. And that had felt like torture, like he was going to die if he didn’t get some relief, both of them worked into a frenzy but too afraid of what it would mean for their futures, and for the matching purity rings on their fingers.

None of that is an issue now, and the only thing slowing their progress down is his own inexperience.

Because Harvey doesn’t want to hurt him. Doesn’t quite trust that Jim knows his own mind, that much is obvious, and Jim isn’t good with words. Can’t figure out how to explain the fluttering feeling he gets in his stomach when Harvey smiles at him, and the way his chest aches with the knowledge that Harvey has never given up on him, even when Jim couldn’t bear to look at himself.

Harvey just makes him feel good, generally. Can coax a smile out of him no matter how bad things are, how terrible the day has been, and Jim wants more than anything to make Harvey happy.

Perhaps actions will speak louder than the awkward declarations he has managed, and when he heads for the locker rooms after chasing a reluctant witness through the shopping district, he can think of a thousand things he wants to do. Because Harvey is rifling through his own disorganized mess of a locker, and Jim feels the now familiar surge of lust pool low in his gut again.

Imagines sinking to his knees right there, where anyone might walk in on them, and letting Harvey use his mouth until he’s hard and desperate. Until Jim has to push his hand into his own underwear, movements slick and easy with the way his cock is already leaking. Until Harvey orders Jim to get up and turn around, shoving him up against the cold metal of the lockers, and -

“You all right, Jim?” Harvey asks, with real concern, and Jim can’t get enough air. Can’t help himself, the words spilling out of his mouth,

“I can’t wait any longer. I want you to fuck me.”

Harvey’s eyes go wide, startled, and then he regains control. Straightens his posture and slams his locker closed with enough force that Jim jumps. One of them has to be sensible.

“You think that’s an acceptable way to talk to your superior officer?” Harvey asks, and he’s joking. He’s making light of the situation, attempting to break the tension, but it feels like all the blood in Jim’s brain rushes to his dick, all the same. Has him pressing a hand back against the solidity of metal, just to ground himself, and still his cut off gasp fills the air between them.

Harvey raises an eyebrow. Takes a step closer so he can lower his voice and still be heard over the wild thumping of Jim’s heartbeat.

“Is that really what you want? Do you wish I’d bend you over right here and make you scream so loud there wouldn’t be anyone in the whole damn building who didn’t know what I was doing to you?”

“Yes,” Jim manages, mouth dry, and he doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. It’s broken, wrecked, and Harvey hasn’t even touched him.

“I’m not going to,” Harvey says, but his gaze never leaves Jim’s face. His tone only turns darker, more full of promise. “If I thought you were ready for it, I wouldn’t let your first time be some quick frantic fuck, Jim. I’d take you apart. I’d ruin you. I’d spend hours working you closer and closer to the edge, and you’d thank me for every single second of it.”

He would, Jim has no doubts on that score. He wants to thank him now for everything they’ve already done - wants to beg to do it again. To do anything Harvey feels like.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’d do to you?”

Jim nods, feverish, though this really isn’t the time or the place. Though anyone who comes through the door will be able to see the state he is in, without Harvey talking utter filth on top of it. Harvey just steps closer still, close enough that Jim could reach out and touch him. Close enough that he imagines he can feel the body heat pouring off of him.

“I’d kiss you first. I love to kiss you. I love the breathy little sounds you make, and the way you get so eager. I’d kiss you until you were aching, trying to rut against my leg for respite. I might even let you, just for a few moments. I’d let you rub off against me like a teenager while I sucked a brand on your neck, just above your collar line.”

The noise he makes is embarrassing because it’s one of his favorite things, always has been. It had made him a laughing stock every time he returned from leave in the army, because it had always been so long, and he was always so desperate. Would lose himself in the latest girl he was convinced wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, and work on getting her wetter and wetter, until he was sure she wouldn’t simply laugh when he asked for her to really suck at his neck, and to bite down harder. To leave his throat black and blue with love bites, so that there was nothing he could do to cover them.

So that his CO would have to single him out all over again during inspection, for being such a total disgrace to the US military.

Harvey knew it without ever being told. Just buried his head in the crook of his neck that very first night and nosed along it. Had him panting and straining, but refused to actually leave a lasting memento, at least not beyond a single hickey he sucked into his collar bone.

“I’d want everyone to know,” Harvey explains in the present. “You won’t be able to walk straight by the time I’m finished with you, and I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want them to waste a single moment doubting whether or not you begged me to do it.”

Jim shudders, breathing harsh, and Harvey just keeps going, every word the cause of another jolt of arousal Jim doesn’t know how to deal with.

Another stab of lust so agonizing he can’t do anything but stare at Harvey, nothing left in his world but the two of them and the obscene way Harvey is watching him.

“Because you would beg, Jim, I know you would. You’d arch your head back like a goddamn sacrifice and plead with me to mark you up properly. You could get off just from that, I know. Just from my mouth on your neck and my thigh between your legs. I wouldn’t let you though. When I promise to do something, I make sure I deliver on it.”

Jim’s dick is straining in his pants, he’s so hard he can’t see straight, and Harvey still keeps talking.

“I’d undress you, slow and careful. Touch you everywhere. Kiss you everywhere. See if the sounds you make when I suck your nipples are as good as the ones you make when I have my tongue in your mouth. You’ll be so hard, Jim. So close and I won’t even have touched your cock yet. It would just be laying there, neglected, leaking over your stomach. Do you think I should touch it, Jim? Do you think I should put my mouth on it?”

Jim’s panting, nods so hard he can feel strands of his hair brushing against his forehead.

“Or should I move lower? Lick a hot stripe down over your balls, further back. Should I push my tongue inside you and let you fuck my face? Get you so wet you’re almost there, so desperate you don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Fuck,” Jim whines, his skin burning. He can’t breathe, can scarcely stay upright. Harvey smirks, the flush in his own cheeks rising,

“Maybe you’d prefer my fingers? Should I get you ready with them - stretch you and spread you and get you so so close you’re sobbing for me to put my dick in you?”

He can’t take it, the plea torn from him,

“Please, Harvey. Do something, now. Please.”

Harvey draws in a breath that isn’t quite steady.

“Don’t go thinking that will work on me. You could beg all you liked but it wouldn’t get you anywhere, because I think that’s when I’d start all over again. Let you calm down just enough and then I’d work you from the top down. Over and over until you can’t talk, you can’t think, until I’d have to hold your wrists down so you couldn’t cheat and try to touch yourself. Until you’re a total wreck and then, then, when you’re so far gone you’re going to come if I let you or not, that’s when I’d make love to you.”

It’s too much, he’s too worked up, and his hips push forward into nothing. He needs Harvey now - his mouth, his hand, anything. But there are voices outside in the corridor, footsteps pushing closer, and Harvey just smiles at him smugly and says, gaze flickering to the bulge in his pants and back to his face again,

“You might want to do something about that swelling, Jim. You start walking about like that and I’ll have to book you for public indecency.”

* * *

Jim does do something about it. Staggers into one of the bathroom stalls and bites into his hand to stay quiet, the other frantic around his dick for three strokes, four, and then he’s coming in his pants, chest heaving and legs shaking.

The rest of the day is torture. Every time he looks at Harvey he flushes, every time Harvey looks at him he has to shift in his chair. Has to clench his fingers into fists because otherwise he doesn’t trust them not to stray, his entire body too responsive and over sensitized.

He has never been more thankful for a relatively quiet afternoon and, by the time the day shift is starting to leave for the evening, no fewer than four of his colleagues have asked him if he’s coming down with something. He catches sight of his reflection in Harvey’s office window and understands why.

His cheeks are blotchy, burning, and his pupils are blown wide, gaze glassy.

Harvey isn’t unsympathetic. Tells him, gently, to go and take a shower while he finishes up some paperwork, and Jim has to twist the dial to almost freezing because the last thing he needs is to embarrass himself in the communal shower room. Not that it helps much, anyway, and he’s buttoning his shirt up with clumsy fingers when Harvey sticks his head around the door to tell him they’re done for the evening.

The drive to Harvey’s place is yet another exercise in self-restraint, because Harvey rakes his gaze over him and Jim feels it like a physical touch.

“You still think you’re ready to take this further?” Harvey asks, tone conversational, and Jim nods dumbly. Attempts to get his voice to work because he knows he needs to be more convincing.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he stutters. “Nobody’s ever done anything like this to me. I think about you constantly and not just, just,” he can’t get the words out. Closes his eyes for a moment and tries again, “I want to do this and I want to do it with you. I want to be with you, Harvey. Always.”

When he dares to glance up Harvey’s grip is white knuckled on the steering wheel, eyes flickering between his face and the road in front of them.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Harvey says, little more than a whisper, but it’s not an insult. The tension builds and builds between them, and Jim is so impatient he has his seatbelt unclipped before the the car even stops moving. Has to force himself not to take the stairs two at a time when they enter Harvey’s apartment building, and not to press Harvey back against the wall of the hallway, in full view of all of his nosy neighbors.

All but tackles him the second they’re through the door, no finesse, no skill, nothing, just clinging to Harvey and trying to crash their mouths together. Harvey’s the one to make it work. Pushes him back against the door and shrugs out of his coat and hat. Holds Jim still and teases him, lips so close they’re sharing oxygen, but moves back just enough that Jim can’t kiss him, even when he pushes forward.

He feels drunk with it, the rest of the world blurring around the edges, and when Harvey finally kisses him Jim doesn’t know how he’s going to last longer than five minutes, not when he’s so worked up and the things Harvey can do with his tongue are so incredible.

“You taste so good,” Harvey tells him when he’s not busy overloading him with sensation, all slick, wet heat, and the promise of completely owning him. “You always do. Smell good too,” he drops his head to sniff deeply at the base of Jim’s neck. Nuzzles up and up, under his chin, the scratch of his beard getting Jim frantic.

“You drive me fucking crazy. You know that, right?”

Jim clutches at the older man’s back, fingers twisting tight in his shirt, and Harvey licks a long line up the center of his throat, then kisses him again, his thigh pushing between Jim’s legs so he can rock against it.

“If you want to stop,” Harvey says, as though that’s ever going to be something Jim considers, “you say so. Any time. This,” he gestures between them, “us, that’s more important to me than getting my leg over will ever be. You understand?”

He nips at Jim’s lower lip, just to focus his attention, and says it again,

“Do you understand, Jim?”

The look in Harvey’s eyes makes something in his chest twist. Makes everything feel so much better, so much _more_ , and he nods. Rests their foreheads together while he catches his breath and feels like Harvey can see into his soul. Like he’s laid everything bare, all his hopes, all his secrets, and Harvey doesn’t think any less of him for it.

“I want this,” he reiterates when it becomes too much, too intense, and then they’re kissing again, Harvey pushing him through to the bedroom.

It smells of Harvey’s cologne and his washing powder. The shampoo he uses and the scent of his skin, something Jim can never get enough of. It turns him on even as it makes him feel safe, because it’s warm and familiar, like being wrapped in Harvey’s embrace.

Harvey isn’t going to walk out on him, or give up on him. He isn’t going to mock Jim for wanting this so badly, and suddenly Jim can’t keep quiet. Curls his fingers tight in Harvey’s hair and starts begging for him to put his lips to his neck again.

“It feels so - I want it so - please, Harvey. There, oh, oh, there. _Yes_.”

He’s arching his head to the side, encouraging Harvey to keep going. To suck harder at the back of his neck where nobody ever touches him, where the sensation feels so new and perfect he has to grind himself against Harvey’s thigh, just as Harvey had promised he would. He’s making more noise than he ever has, gasping and cursing, shaking and shuddering when Harvey nuzzles his beard over the skin he’s been breathing against.

“Please, yes,” he whines when Harvey starts sucking again and it’s so good, so perfect. Has him keening and writhing, and Harvey’s tugging at the rest of his shirt buttons. Pulling his clothes off him and breathing,

“Christ, Jim, you’re gorgeous.”

Buries his head in the other side of Jim’s neck, just so he spasms and yelps, and starts acting out the scenario he had put before him earlier. Strips him slow and careful and spends an eternity on each new patch of skin. Sucks at his nipples and licks at the crease of his inner elbow. Trails fingertips down his side, and murmurs over and over all kinds of things that Jim doesn’t know how to believe, like,

“You’re beautiful” and “I’m so fucking lucky.”

Makes a show of unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. Removes his pants and gives his legs the same treatment he delivered his arms and torso. Has him shivering, sensitized all over. Noses at his dick through his boxer shorts, once, but that’s it. The only attention it gets, even when his underwear is removed.

“You’re overdressed,” Jim manages in response, tongue feeling thick. Reaches a hand out for him and Harvey only catches it and kisses his knuckles.

“Got to keep some kind of control,” he confesses. “If you could see yourself, you’d understand, trust me.”

Jim flushes, embarrassed but pleased. Can almost imagine himself just as chiseled and gorgeous as Harvey’s making him out to be, not an uptight prick with a nose he still isn’t 100% convinced he’s ever grown into.

Tries to explain it but speaking is kind of beyond him, because Harvey’s sucking at his balls and how is he supposed to do more than beg for further stimulation?

“The way you looked when I suggested this,” Harvey’s saying, just to compound it. “Been thinking about it all afternoon. Want it so bad, Jim. I want you to be as loud as you like. Want you to tell me how it feels for you.”

Then he’s guiding Jim onto his front and pressing closer, lower, until Jim’s babbling and incoherent. Has to look back and then has to clench his eyes tight shut because he can’t bear it, can’t do anything but beg for more as Harvey licks him open with slow, shallow movements that are driving him wild.

They’ve done this before, twice, and each time he was ashamed of how much noise he made. How he couldn’t stay in control, pushing back where he was surely expected to just keep still and enjoy it. This time Harvey can read him too well and tells him that his losing control is precisely the whole point of the exercise. Shifts him over again and lifts Jim’s legs up over his shoulders so he can push deeper, tongue spearing into him as Jim cries out and tugs at Harvey’s hair.

Harvey responds by pulling him forward. Thrusts into him until he’s soaking and desperate, his legs shaking because he’s so close. So very very close.

Then there’s nothing but Harvey stroking a soothing hand down his side, and Jim’s ragged breathing as he realizes that Harvey really is intent on killing him.

His pulse rate is almost normal when Harvey sees fit to listen to his pleading on the subject, and Jim doesn’t know when or where Harvey acquired the bottle of lube, is simply glad that it’s about to be put to its intended purpose.

Jim’s tried this himself every night Harvey hasn’t actually spent with him since they started this. Has sat alone in his empty apartment staring at porn and rocking back on three fingers, wishing that the angle wasn’t so awkward, and that Harvey were with him. It makes all the difference, just as he had known it would, and Harvey sucks kisses along the length of his thigh as he works him open, adding more and more lube until he’s dripping with it.

Still doesn’t think he’s wet enough, can’t do, because he’s dropping his head and flicking his tongue around and between his fingers. Presses it in alongside and it’s too much. Jim’s howling, sobbing, and he can’t take any more, can’t wait any longer - can’t even begin to imagine what he’ll do if Harvey stays true to his word and starts all over, rather than finally, finally, fucking him.

He’s moving, he has to. Pushes Harvey onto his back and straddles him. Tears at the clothing he’s _still_ wearing and watches as he fumbles with the condom. As he spills yet more lube everywhere, even as Jim chants, urgent,

“Harvey, please. Please. Now. I need you.”

Harvey’s groaning, face and neck flushed and eyes dark. His hands are at Jim’s hips and it’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels strange - not bad, just different, and Harvey’s panting, hips stuttering, as Jim’s legs quiver, muscles shifting as he inches down, mouth hanging open.

“That’s so good,” Harvey tells him, voice rough like Jim has never heard it. “You feel so good. You’re amazing.”

Jim’s sure he isn’t, but the praise makes his heart swell and his dick harder all the same. Makes him unfurl his fingers against Harvey’s chest and rock experimentally, tiny movements that make him gasp and moan, and Harvey’s grip tighten.

“ _Jim_ ,” Harvey groans, like it’s so good it’s painful, and the sound is so unbearably hot he’s shifting, squirming, lifting up, just a little, and that’s it, he can’t help himself. It’s frantic, desperate, and he can feel sweat trickling down his neck, down his spine, words flooding the heated air between them as he pushes down onto Harvey’s dick and up into his own fist.

“Fuck, Jim, yes. Fuck,” Harvey’s gasping, and his own mouth is just as filthy. Has Harvey surging up to meet him in an open, clumsy kiss, him biting down too hard at Harvey’s lower lip, too far gone to hold back as he spills over his fingers.

Harvey doesn’t chastise him for it. Is too busy rearranging them, rolling Jim onto his back and hooking his legs over his shoulders. Fucks into him, shifting the angle slightly, again and again, until the head of his cock hits something inside him and Jim is sure he isn’t going to survive it. Can’t do anything but whine and keen, and tangle his hands in Harvey’s hair.

Cries out, helpless, and Harvey’s talking pure filth again about how tight he is and how good he feels. About how long he has wanted to do this, and how many nights he spent with his own hand on his dick, wishing Jim was there with him. It’s all so good, so amazing, and when Harvey thrusts in deeper, harder, the rush of sensation makes his head spin. Has every muscle in his body clenching tight, pleasure washing over and over him, the blood crashing in his ears and his vision blurring. He’s crying something, he has no idea what, and Harvey pushes into him again, once, twice, before he’s coming too, grinding out,

“Jim, fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

He can’t move afterwards, his legs falling heavily when Harvey finally pulls away from him. He should do something, say something, but his limbs are shaking too bad, and when Harvey asks him if he’s alright all he can do is nod stupidly, his mouth refusing to cooperate. Harvey cleans him up, gently, and he starts to come back to himself. Is aware enough to know that his legs ache.

His stomach too, along with his arms and his teeth, where he was clenching them together. His jaw hurts, and his head is pounding. His back is in pieces, and when Harvey insists he sip at a glass of water his throat feels like it’s been attacked with sandpaper. His ass throbs, on top of it all, and he whimpers when Harvey pulls him close so that they’re spooned together under the covers, his back to Harvey’s chest.

Harvey wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss into his hair,

“I wasn’t joking when I said you weren’t going to be walking straight, Jim.”

Jim shivers in spite of himself, the ache superseded by the memory of how good it felt, just for a moment.

“It’s a good job we’re off tomorrow,” Harvey continues, tone soft, “I think you’re going to need looking after.”

“I love you,” Jim blurts, the words needing an outlet, then regrets it because it’s way too soon. Way too much, just the same as usual, and Jim braces himself to be told so.

Harvey only finds his hand and links their fingers.

“I love you too, putz. Now go to sleep.”

He does, and for the first time in he can’t remember how long, he doesn’t worry about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	15. Locked In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Locked In' fill for my trope_bingo card. Set during Jim's time in Blackgate, Harvey doesn't care what it takes - he just needs to get Jim out of there. TW for mentions of rape.

Harvey felt he should be better at this. He had been on all the training courses and dealt with it countless times in the field, convincing frightened victims and those still in angry denial to share their deepest, darkest secrets.

To go over every detail again with the SVU, and the DA’s office, and in front of judge and jury, all without any guarantee the scumbag who did it wouldn’t be let off scot-free, and come looking for retribution.

But this was different, personal, and he couldn’t even find the words to allude to it.

Could scarcely focus on what Jim was saying, on keeping his expression neutral and not letting on how desperate he was to pull Jim close and tell him that it was going to be okay. That he was going to get him out of there, somehow, and wanted to personally see to it that the fucker responsible never touched anyone again.

Because Jim had no intentions of telling him, that much was obvious. No intentions of reporting it either, or even asking to go to the infirmary. He should, Harvey knew. Had heard more than enough from his informant to understand the state Jim had been left in - had seen it himself in the way Jim moved, when they led him into the visiting room.

Jim was too pale, dark smudges beneath his eyes, and when their time was up and a flash of fear crossed his face, it broke Harvey’s heart to have to get to his feet and leave Jim there.

He had only seen Jim’s mask falter once before, in all the time since the trial, and that was on his first visit to Blackgate when Jim had told him, all broken whisper, that he deserved this. That he’d shot Galavan in cold blood, and left the Penguin to take his punishment in Arkham.

Harvey had done worse, so much worse, and it wasn’t his baby dead and his fiancee who had left it to a coward to tell him.

It had been weeks now and he still hadn’t done it. Couldn’t take what was left of Jim’s hope from him, and couldn’t bear to see the look on his face when he realized that even if his conviction was overturned, none of his dreams were ever going to come to fruition.

He didn’t trust the guards at Blackgate a damn either - what job were they going to do at suicide watch, when Jim was being openly assaulted in the protective custody unit?

A few nights later he met with one of them in a dive bar downtown, an ex-cop he and Dix had used to shoot pool with occasionally, once upon a time, and demanded to know why they weren’t doing _something_ about the situation.

“He’s a cop and a cop killer, what do you expect? It’s the worst of both fucking worlds.”

“You got a duty of care,” Harvey shot back, like he would have given a shit before it was Jim Gordon who needed to be taken care of. Bishop only shrugged, and knocked back the glass of cheap whisky with a grimace,

“I got a duty to go home to my wife and kids at the end of each shift - if the warden thinks he doesn’t need special treatment, he ain’t getting any.”

“He didn’t do it,” Harvey said, grim, and Bishop snorted into his drink,

“That’s what they all say.”

It was in that moment that Harvey made his mind up. When he found out who was responsible for putting Jim in there, he’d kill them. Would drive them out to the docks just like he had his mob hits, and make them beg for mercy. Would give them a moment, two maybe, where they thought he was going to grant it.

That they would live to tell the tale.

And then he was going to press his gun to their forehead and blow their brains out.

In the meantime he did all he could. Put pressure on people who owed him favors and people who didn’t. Wrote letters and made phone calls, and argued over and over that Jim’s case was too high profile. That he needed to be moved to a prison out of state, one which wasn’t overpopulated with criminals he had put there, and where Carlson fucking Grey wasn’t given free reign to exercise his grudge against the only honest cop in Gotham.

None of it got him anywhere, except a step backwards when Grey used the defensive punch Jim threw a few weeks later as justification for hauling him out of protective custody and onto F-wing.

“The only way anybody ever gets out of there is in a body bag,” Harvey explained that evening, morose and morbid though it was Scottie’s last night in Gotham, and he had promised her a proper send off. She put a hand on his arm, as soft and careful as the day she had informed him it just wasn’t working, and said,

“You need to tell him the truth. About Leslie, about everything.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. Scottie gave him a sad half smile, the one that had summed up their entire relationship.

“But you know he deserves it.”

Jim did, it was true. Scottie had deserved it too, even if he had never managed it. Had let the best thing he had ever had turn to ruin because, in spite of everything, he couldn’t quit pining for a bull-headed idiot with a hero complex.

He hugged her tight when they parted for the final time, and pretended that it didn’t bring a lump to his throat, the finality of it.

“Tell him,” she said once again, and then there was nothing left but to return to his miserable apartment.

The next morning Harvey emptied his savings account and went back to Bishop with an offer he simply couldn’t afford to refuse, not when he had so many bills that needed paying.

Forced himself to give Jim the hated news, and made sure it was overheard, because there was nothing at all suspicious about a guy with nothing left to lose picking a fight with a fellow inmate intent on killing him.

Once Jim was in the infirmary it would be easier. There would be more than enough grounds to get him moved back to the PCU, even if he couldn’t get him transferred completely.

Except there were too many men who wanted to shank him, and every moment of suspense was agony. There were too many variables, too many things that could go wrong, and when Bishop told him Grey had put a price on Jim’s head he went grovelling to Falcone, desperate. Agreed to hand the man a blank check, and avoided the mirror when he got home that evening.

He didn’t want to look at himself.

Chewed his fingernails down to the quick instead and wished to God he was still smoking, filling the interminable waiting with endless pacing and nervous telling of his rosary, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had turned to it.

He felt like screaming when things were actually in motion and still Jim hesitated, like his soft heart hadn’t almost gotten him killed a thousand times already. Like it could have made any difference when Puck was already so far gone, and Jim was already convinced that the blame rested entirely on his own shoulders.

Afterwards, he imagined what would have happened if he had been the star of a movie. He’d have saved the kid, somehow, and Jim would have laughed, just a little manic, with tears in his eyes. Would have flung his arms about him in gratitude, and then their eyes would have met, the rising sun glinting in Jim’s hair and warming his skin, even as the dawning understanding on Jim’s beautiful face made his heart pound.

He would have raised a shaky hand to Jim’s cheek, thumb stroking along the blossoming bruise, and Jim would have kissed him. Would have clung close to him even as the music swelled, and Harvey would have promised that they’d root out the culprit together.

That they’d always be together.

Life wasn’t a fucking movie though, not one that could be shown without the number of a suicide hotline flashed alongside the end credits, and in the moment he had to beg Jim just to choose to keep going, and not let Gotham beat him. 

Falcone smirked at him when Jim walked away and Harvey forced himself not to make it all so very obvious. 

Told himself again what he had told himself back in that dingy diner, that whatever Falcone wanted from him it would be worth it. That there would be time enough to track down the people he needed to, and long lonely years ahead in which to piece himself back together.

So long as Jim was safe, so long as he was _alive_ , nothing else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	16. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be wedding fic, but it turned into proposal fic instead... Still, tooth-rotting sweetness either way! :)

“And we could do with some more milk too, if you get the chance.”

Harvey knocked off a mock salute. “Yes, Sir. Anything else now, or are you actually going to this meeting?”

Jim pursed his lips, looking just as snitty and uptight as he had been the very first day they were partnered together. Harvey grinned back and waited for him to go and debate the merits of spit hoods for the 47th time that year, and whether or not there was enough call to bring back the precinct canteen.

That one might have been his own suggestion, the one he gave when he was trying to convince Jim to give up on annotating his agenda and come to bed the previous night.

The Police Union was hardly likely to consider something anyone other than Jim was actually interested in.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Tuttle said when Jim had disappeared past the front desk. “I’d have lost my mind by now.”

“That is my one and only you’re talking about,” Harvey warned lightly as he turned his attention back to the case files, though there was no real bite to it. Jim was a pain in the ass and, even blinded by love as he was, there could be no denying it.

Tuttle shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Janet, but if I had to listen to her nagging at me all day and all night, we’d have gone our separate ways a long time ago. That’s what work is for - to get away from your wife.”

“He’s not my wife,” Harvey pointed out, because if Jim found out he hadn’t, he really would have something to bitch about.

“Husband, whatever,” Tuttle waved a hand, dismissive. “You’re a glutton for punishment, that’s what I’m saying.”

Harvey only shrugged and feigned interest in his cold coffee.

Tuttle had no idea.

* * *

Jim was still out when he got home, and he dumped the milk (and the bread, and the three bags full of other stuff Jim had wanted picked up) on the kitchen counter and took a moment to just look about the place.

It was hard to believe that a year ago he had resigned himself to living the bachelor life. To hopelessly wishing and wanting forever more, nothing more to look forward to than the odd night of professional company, when it felt like otherwise he might actually die of loneliness.

Now there was evidence of Jim’s presence everywhere. The scent of his cologne in the air, and his leather jacket on a peg by the door. His case clippings up on Harvey’s notice board, and his neat handwriting on the color coded cleaning rota.

And, yeah, he had it so bad he was letting Jim draw up schedules and lists and rotas, and didn’t even begrudge carrying out his assigned items. Not too much, anyway. He would let Jim do anything, follow him anywhere, and Tuttle’s words filled his mind all over again.

Because maybe it wasn’t the first time he had thought about it. You didn’t grow up getting dragged to Mass three times a week and not think about marriage when you met someone who made you want to practice sins of the flesh roughly every twenty minutes. Made you want to simply sit close and stare into their eyes for hours on end, the rest of the world fading away, unable to compete.

If Jim wanted to nag him through the whole affair, he’d let him. He could always lean in and silence him with a kiss, again and again until Jim was being just as demanding in action as he usually was in words, fingers guiding his wrist to where he wanted it.

Harvey wanted everything. As much as Jim was willing to give him, and still more.

He was still stood there, groceries half away, staring into space, when Jim finally returned - late home as usual. He looked tired, tie already loosened, but when their eyes met he smiled. A real smile that lit his whole face up and Harvey had to go to him. Had to pull him close and kiss him for real.

“What was that for?” Jim asked, when they came up for air.

Harvey stroked his thumb along Jim’s cheekbone, heart aching with how beautiful Jim was. How happy Jim made him.

“For being you.”

“That’s what usually makes people want to kill me,” Jim pointed out, blushing prettily, all the same.

Harvey only kissed him again, chaste, and said,

“They don’t know you like I do.”

* * *

In the weeks that followed it became clear that this wasn’t going to be some passing fancy. He couldn’t quit thinking about it, not during interminable finance meetings, and not on their rare days off, when Jim stood too close in public. When he let his hand stray to Harvey’s shoulder, his arm, his _hand_ , like he didn’t care who saw.

Didn’t care who assumed they were screwing.

In fact, he seemed intent on ensuring that was exactly what people assumed. Because he wrapped an arm around his waist when he insisted they leave the apartment for fresh air, and happily kissed his cheek when they ended up leaning against the railings near one of their favorite food carts, lips warm but nose cold from the winter weather.

It got a guy thinking.

Hoping.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” Jim asked him one day when the idea was still solidifying. Harvey followed his gaze to where a sweet looking pair of senior citizens were being helped up the front steps of the precinct, the husband all solicitous concern while the wife gazed up at him like he was the dashing star of some black and white movie.

It tugged at something in his chest, so hard he had to cover it with an airy,

“I never pictured you the pearls and twinset type, but I have faith you could pull it off.”

Jim rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Harvey’s hand was drawn to the warmth of his shoulder like a magnet.

“I hope so,” he said, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but Jim just smiled back at him. Shifted ever so slightly closer and said, soft and breathy,

“I hope so too.”

From there it was inevitable - was just a matter of him finding the right way to go about it. Because Jim deserved better than some beer sodden confession; his own pride demanded he come up with something better than a half-assed offer on a bleak park bench, not least because that was only liable to bring back bad memories.

“So how’d he pop the question?” He asked Marten, the bubbly sergeant on the front desk, when the news of her engagement made its way around the precinct, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was fishing for inspiration.

“He didn’t,” she answered easily. “I asked him, right in the middle of Cathedral Square. Sometimes you just gotta go for it, Sir.”

Harvey watched when she left with her new fiance later, all intimate smiles and shoulders brushing, and it was Jim who followed his gaze this time and said,

“It’s the kind of thing that makes the job worth it, isn’t it?”

Harvey made his mind up.

He could do this.

* * *

There weren’t many places in Gotham that he didn’t mentally associate with death and suffering. The pretty view from the river bridge on the city outskirts was right out, and Cathedral Square wasn’t much better. Jim had almost died at the best picnic spots in the city woodlands, and forensics were still in the process of digging up human remains out by the lake, where he had once considered proposing to Scottie.

The answer, when it came to him, was blinding in its obviousness.

Had him clocking off a little early in the first time since forever, the very next day Jim was scheduled to be out late with union business. It had him panic cleaning, and stress tidying. Slaving over a hot stove and cursing when he managed to scald his hand no less than three times, wishing he had done the sensible thing and ordered a couple of pizzas.

It wouldn’t have been the same, he knew, and fussed about with laying the tiny dining table in the corner of their living space, though its primary purpose was to collect junk while they ate dinner off their laps on the sofa.

By the time Jim was due back it looked half decent, almost, and Harvey flicked the lights out and lit some candles, just to hide all the crap he hadn’t had time to deal with. That was the point, really. It might not be perfect but it was home, and he wanted Jim to understand how much it meant to him, that Jim shared his home, his life. Everything.

Half hour later and nerves were setting in. He had changed into his better suit, the one that usually only got an airing at funerals, and he supposed that it was fitting. No matter where they were, there was always going to be a hint of death hanging about them. That was what being a cop did for you.

Another thirty minutes and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. It wasn’t unusual, not overly, because Jim always had to be earnest and accommodating, and never left a meeting without promising to do half a dozen more things any sane person would have just said they didn't have time for. But Jim was also the expert in attracting trouble and anything could have happened.

He could be in danger. Could be hurt somewhere, bleeding out on a filthy sidewalk, and Harvey was just in the process of ringing him yet again when he heard Jim’s key in the lock.

Harvey just stared when Jim succeeded in opening the door because he was laden down like a pack mule. Pizza boxes balanced precariously on one arm, and a case of beer hooked under the other. There was a bag of what looked like dessert, and another two seeming to contain the entire snack aisle of their nearest grocery store.

“What - ” They started at the same time, and Harvey stalled by helping Jim not to tip food all over the carpet. Piled it all on the sofa and pledged to do candles more often, if they were going to make Jim go all wide eyed like that.

“Did you do this for me?” Jim asked, voice awed, and it was too much. The nerves and the want, and the idea that Jim might think he didn’t deserve all of it and more.

“I thought I’d try a seance,” he snarked lightly. “Of course it’s for you, who else would I do it for?”

Jim took in the rest of it. The meal that was only very slightly burned and the wine glasses ready on the table. The uncomfortable suit and tie, and the fact he had sorted through the pile of paperwork Jim had spent the last few days nagging him about.

“You made me a candlelit dinner,” Jim reiterated, like he still couldn’t believe it, and Harvey was starting to feel awkward. Embarrassed, even, and deflected with,

“And you bought enough food to feed the 4,000. I’d say that makes us even.”

“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Jim said, and before Harvey had chance to even start thinking up a comeback, he was stepping closer.

Harvey could do nothing but watch, his pulse suddenly hammering. Because Jim had this look on his face, hopeful and determined, and then Jim was sliding down onto one knee, one hand reaching for his own. Harvey let him take it, his mind scurrying to catch up with what was happening. 

“I was going to feed you," Jim was saying, and Harvey’s heart lurched, his breath coming shallow and unsteady. “Get you drunk, maybe, so you’d take pity on how bad I am at this kind of thing.”

“I -” he tried, because how was he meant to string two words together with Jim smiling nervously up at him, laying himself bare, like Harvey was ever going to refuse him anything. When he was attempting to process the idea that Jim had been thinking of this too. That Jim had been planning to ask him.

It was unreal.

Jim sucked in a shaky breath and brushed his lips against the knuckles of Harvey’s hand, chaste and delicate, and the gentle touch sent waves of heat over him. Made it feel like his skin was sparking all over with sensation, so intense it was almost overwhelming.

“I was planning to do the same,” Harvey admitted, unable to look away from Jim’s eyes. “Feed you and ply you with wine until I wasn’t afraid to ask how you’d feel about me wanting to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The silence stretched for one beat, two, just long enough for the fear to claw at his gut. Then Jim was beaming at him, happier than Harvey had ever seen him.

“I’m told I’m kind of annoying,” Jim warned, and Harvey pulled him to his feet. Pulled him in close even as Jim's arms came up to wrap around his neck.

“I’m told I’m kind of a slob,” Harvey countered, a grin threatening to split his own face.

“I'm self-righteous,” Jim reeled off, “stubborn, sanctimonious.”

Harvey nodded.

“I wouldn’t accept anything less. A man's got to have standards, you know.”

Jim was gazing up at him again, eyes going all soft and gentle, and Harvey cupped his cheek with one hand, lost in the moment.

“I love you,” Jim whispered, and Harvey leaned in until he could breathe against Jim’s lips, drunk on the wonder of it,

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	17. 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate the fact this fic has 69 kudos... ;)

Harvey’s never been into other guys - too much this, not enough that, nothing personal - but he’s got eyes in his head. He can see that Jim Gordon is a catch. Can appreciate his pretty-boy good looks and the toned definition of his biceps.

It’s the 21st Century.

Doesn’t mean he’s got to like it any, and he ribs Jim mercilessly during stakeouts, rather than be forced to admit that he’s admiring his big blue eyes and his handsome profile.

“That not how you did it in the army, Jimbo?” He’s maligning one night, after hearing Jim’s prim and proper objections to availing themselves of the services of the downmarket brothel they’re watching. “Saved your money and sat around circle jerking your brothers in arms, did you?”

Jim scowls as he reaches for his coffee.

“I was in a relationship. I stayed faithful.”

This would have been before Barbara, he knows from previous conversations, so he can’t help but push further, perversely itching to see Jim lose his temper.

“What happened? Too out of practice by the time you got back, I bet, and she had to go looking elsewhere. Women don’t want a lackluster goody two shoes, Junior.”

As if he’s one to talk about what anyone wants, given his track record. But Jim’s jaw goes satisfyingly tight, for all that his tone is calm and even when he says,

“His name was Steven. I told him I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore, and he chose his career.”

That’s not what he had been expecting, not at all. It leaves him gaping, dumb, for a long moment, before he pulls himself together enough to say,

“I stand corrected. Men don’t want a lackluster goody two shoes either - if you’d put the practice in he’d have wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”

Jim shakes his head but smiles, just a little, and life goes on.

They catch villains and bust bad guys. Eat lunch and go for drinks, and do their best to keep their heads above water, and not lose themselves to Gotham’s undertow. Harvey almost gets married even, and it looks like Jim might be heading that way.

He thinks about it though, the idea of it hitting him at the strangest moments. When Jim tackles a perp to the floor, or when he smiles at him, honest and easy, his whole face lighting up for a few brief seconds.

When they’re both drunk in some dodgy bar and he’s watching Jim’s lips move, wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own. What they would feel like wrapped around his dick - what it would look like, Jim’s eyes meeting his own, his cheeks flushed and his hand pushed into his own pants, too far gone to go without touching himself.

What it would be like to switch places. To suck Jim’s dick into his mouth and watch him lose control, fingers tugging at his hair, hips stuttering up as he groans his name.

“Harvey?” Jim questions in the present, concern furrowing his brow, and Harvey orders another glass of whiskey.

He's too fucking old for an identity crisis.

His body can’t seem to get with the program however. Betrays him every time Jim leans heavily against him, or when Jim gets that look on his face, the one that tries to tie his heart into knots, chest aching with how desperately he wants to reach out for him.

Because it’s not just Jim’s lips he ‘s thinking about now. He wants his dick, sure - and that’s not a line he ever imagined himself being okay with - but he wants the rest of it too.

He wants to wake up in the morning with Jim’s head on the pillow next to him, and he wants to come home from a long day at work to flop down on the sofa, Jim’s legs stretched over his lap to keep him warm as he watches something brainless and non-taxing on the television.

Jim needs someone to want that from him, Harvey thinks, when he takes up bounty hunting. He needs someone to just be there, and to take care of him when he’s too torn up to do it himself.

“I thought you’d be pleased for me,” Jim says when he tries to do just that, bringing him beer and take out, and telling himself he’s not jealous when Jim attempts to brag about his roll in the hay with Valerie Vale. “Casual sex is what every man’s supposed to want, isn’t it?”

He’s drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, and Harvey hates that he ever would have agreed with him. Hates that he ever thought it could be any kind of substitute, and that he turned the closest lookalike he could find away after already paying, because at the end of the day he just wasn’t Jim.

“Tell me about your boyfriend,” Harvey suggests instead, sinking down to sit next to him, “the one that wouldn’t come out for you. Did he only want something casual?”

Jim goes quiet, considering. Swigs another mouthful of whiskey and says,

“I loved him. Does that bother you?”

Harvey tugs the bottle from his unresisting fingers and takes a drink of his own.

“Why would it?”

“He was older than me. I thought he had everything sorted. Then he said he was going for a promotion and I should find somebody my own age. Like I should have been happy about it.”

His treacherous hand finds Jim’s shoulder, body heat soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

“When they say age is just a number, they mean it, Jim. It doesn’t stop you making stupid fucking decisions.”

“What would you have chosen?” Jim asks, the drink slurring the words together, and Harvey can’t look away, can hardly breathe, and he doesn’t know if he’s thankful or disappointed when his cell rings and breaks the tension.

The answer is obvious.

Jim is the only thing in his life worth fighting for.

They don’t talk about it. Not before he leaves to go mop up another mess at the precinct, and not after yet another madman is narrowly prevented from completely destroying Jim. Not when Vale’s off the scene, and not when Lee makes it very clear that she’s going to marry Mario.

Jim stares at him sometimes, lost in thought, and Harvey pretends that he doesn’t notice. That it doesn’t get him hot under the collar, wishing, pathetically, that it might mean something.

He stares at Jim more often. Admires the resilience that brings him back from the brink of despair, over and over again, and dreams of all the ways he would show Jim how much he has come to mean to him.

The breaking point comes at the oddest moment. There is no crisis, no life or death situation. He’s not even drunk. It’s just that one moment Harvey’s listening to Jim talk over potential leads for a case as they eat cheap take out, and the next he can’t live another second without kissing him.

Jim goes stock still, unresponsive, and the rejection claws at his insides. Makes his throat ache, because what the fuck was he expecting? He pulls back, apology on his lips, but the expression on Jim’s face renders him silent.

He looks so lost. Hopeful but disbelieving.

Suddenly he gets it. Takes one of Jim’s hands in his own and says,

“I hate keeping secrets. If I was looking for something casual, do you really think I’d risk it with the best friend I ever had?”

Jim’s gaze flickers to their linked hand and back to his face, and then, just like that, he’s kissing him. Is all but in his lap, mouth hot and wet, and fingers curling tight in his hair, like he knows exactly what it’s always done to him.

It should be strange, awkward, but it isn’t. The rasp of Jim’s stubble registers dimly, but it’s not off-putting. The jut of his dick is more immediate, somewhat startling, but the noise Jim makes when he presses a tentative hand to it dispels any lingering doubts he might have had on the matter.

“Please,” Jim gasps, hips rolling forward, and it’s too much. He’s got to pull Jim to his feet and push him towards the bedroom. He hasn’t spent years reevaluating everything he ever thought he knew about himself to settle for a frenzied handjob on the sofa.

Jim is in apparent agreement, doing his best to strip both of them in between rubbing his cheek against his beard - and fuck but that shouldn’t be doing the things it’s doing to him - and moaning like a goddamned porn star. Then Jim is on the bed and dragging him down on top of him, squirming up against him, panting into his mouth before they’re kissing again.

“Please,” Jim begs again and Harvey doesn’t know what it is he’s asking for. More, harder, better? Buries his head in the crook of Jim’s neck and grinds out,

“You’re going to have to take the lead, Jim. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The cut off noise Jim makes in response is telling enough, without the shudder he can feel work through his entire frame. He has to smile - he always knew Jim couldn’t be quite the upstanding boy scout he made himself out to be. Glances up to see Jim’s cheeks burning, his eyes dark, and lets his hand stray to where Jim is straining for his touch.

“You’re getting off on the idea, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Jim groans and yeah, okay, he probably would.

Jim’s reaction is hot enough in itself, and when Jim pushes him back against the bed - takes charge - he realizes that this is going to end up kind of frenzied after all. Because Jim’s hands are everywhere, his mouth trailing slick heat across his nipples, up the length of his throat, the underside of his jaw, where he seems intent on attempting to raise a bruise that’s going to be visible, facial hair or no.

“Jesus,” he manages when Jim finally gives it up only to shift around and swallow his dick down deep like he can’t stand the waiting any longer. He tries to watch, even meets Jim’s blue eyes for a moment, but if he does it’s going to be over in seconds and he turns his attention to the smooth skin he can reach, encouraging Jim to push closer until he can get a hand around him.

Jim groans around his dick, so that Harvey can’t help but glance at him. Feels a fresh wave of arousal wash over him, and before he can overthink it he’s licking at the head of Jim’s cock and Jim’s rhythm is falling apart, his mouth wetter, sloppier, and it’s so good Harvey’s sucking at him properly, spurred on by the filthy, helpless noises Jim is making.

There’s a whine when he pulls back, the movement of his hand now slick and easy, and he gasps Jim’s name in warning. He can’t hold back, can’t help the way his hips are pushing against Jim’s hand, and Jim only stays with it, head bobbing, as he comes and comes, legs trembling and his hand tightening around Jim’s dick.

Jim’s hand wraps around his own when he finally lays his cheek against Harvey’s thigh, panting harshly. Harvey gets the idea, their hands moving together, and when Jim spurts hotly over his fingers his dick twitches in sympathy.

Still, it’s all he can do to wrap his arms around Jim when he unsteadily collapses beside him, his face blotchy and his hair plastered to his forehead. He looks absolutely gorgeous and maybe he says that aloud, because suddenly Jim’s kissing him soft and slow, almost sweet if it wasn’t for the fact he can taste himself.

“Not bad for a lackluster goody two shoes, huh?” He asks when he’s done, curling into his chest like they’ve laid this way a thousand times before.

Harvey grins, remembering that long ago conversation - and all the time he had spent ruminating on it since - and runs his fingers through Jim’s hair.

“Fuck the rooftops. I'll take out a full page ad in the newspaper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	18. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets jealous.

He wasn’t the jealous type and that was just as well, really, because it felt like they couldn’t go anywhere without somebody hitting on Jim. If it wasn’t creepy underworld figures feigning legitimacy, it was witnesses with sultry smiles or family liaison officers with hopeful eyes.

Jim rarely discouraged them - claimed not to even notice - and Harvey chose to see it as gratifying. Proof of his excellent taste and, besides, it was his bed Jim slept in. His love bites covering Jim’s collar bone, and his name Jim called when he came apart beneath him.

Problems only arose when things became particularly blatant.

The girl who whispered something in his ear at the edge of a crime scene that made his eyes go wide, because in some ways Jim really was a pure little boy scout. Or the guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer while they waited for a potential suspect to put in an appearance at a dingy nightclub, not until Harvey flashed his badge and suggested he move along.

It was satisfying in a way it probably shouldn’t have been then when the new deputy commissioner came into the precinct to introduce herself, laid a hand on his arm for a beat too long, and said, just a touch of something in her voice,

“Please, call me Sandra.”

“Harvey,” he said in turn, instinctive, and maybe he did let it go to his head a little because she was a very attractive woman. Fiery red hair, the kind that had always done it for him, and an air of no nonsense competence that threatened to make his knees weak.

She fished, subtly, about his marital status and he felt guilty for returning her smile when he said he had never made it down the aisle.

Jim seemed to know it too. Chose that moment to interrupt them by knocking harshly at his office door, tone clipped as he told him the booking sergeant wanted to speak to him.

“I look forward to working closely with you, Harvey,” the deputy commissioner said, a barely there stress on his name, and then she was gone and Jim was glaring at him with a face like he had been sucking on a lemon.

“Harvey?” He queried, eyebrow raised, and Harvey gave him a grin and a shrug,

“I keep telling you I’m irresistible.”

That might have been the extent of it, a few moments of vanity, and the blissful certainty of being wanted - knowing that Jim actually cared enough to feel jealous in the first place. But Sandra decided she wanted to take a more hands on role, and when she announced her campaign to tackle gang violence, there wasn’t much he could do but put his services at her disposal.

Couldn’t help but enjoy it because they got on well, and it was better than having her predecessor find fault with his every action. They laughed and joked, and it might have been fun, even, if only Jim wasn’t so visibly jealous.

Because he was.

He scowled and sulked and pouted. Grit his teeth tight together whenever he was required to make polite conversation with her. When Sandra invited him to drinks to celebrate the first wave of arrests, Jim told him it was fine but gave him the cold shoulder all day before disappearing the moment he was off duty.

Harvey couldn’t understand it. Had watched far too intently when Jim was with Barbara, and with Lee, and he had never seen him like this.

He attempted to puzzle it out in the bar that evening, and wished Jim wasn’t such a stickler for the rule book. If the top brass truly thought their relationship was an insurmountable conflict of interest, they could find somebody else to carry out the thankless task of acting captain. He’d much sooner have a ring on Jim’s finger and a smiling photograph of the two of them on his desk, and not have any of the headaches of being in management.

Sandra was perceptive enough to know something was wrong. Ordered him a double whiskey and suggested he get it off his chest because this was supposed to be a celebration. Met his eyes as he knocked it back and said,

“Or, if you prefer, we could skip the talking.”

The words, the invitation, sent a jolt of lust through him and for the first time he understood what Jim’s problem was. It wasn’t that someone was interested in him. It was that he was so transparently receptive to it.

“You’re a wonderful woman,” he started, awkward, and she gave him a look that made him feel about twelve all over again. Had him putting the glass down and attempting to act like an adult.

“I’m seeing someone from the department,” he admitted, crooked his fingers into air quotes and elaborated, “Abusing my position of power.”

Her lips quirked. “You’ve had more luck at it than I have.”

He laughed, in spite of himself, and stayed for another round. Met her observations about a certain blue eyed detective with a good humored,

“I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“He’s got good taste,” she said when they parted ways, and Harvey only hoped he could prove himself worthy of the verdict.

Jim was bundled up on the sofa when he got home, knees pulled up in front of him and shower damp hair pushed back from his forehead. There was a mostly untouched beer on the coffee table, and some mindless pap on the TV that he was watching but not seeing.

He looked miserable, lonely, and Harvey hung up his coat and hat before sliding in close.

Wrapped an arm around his shoulder and suddenly Jim’s attempts to pretend he hadn’t even noticed his presence were forgotten. He curled into him instead, arms at his waist, breath hot against his chest as he said,

“I’m sorry.”

It tugged at Harvey’s heartstrings, because he knew Jim had never found apologizing easy. Because it wasn’t Jim’s duty to accept all the blame in this.

“Stop stealing my lines,” he said softly, and put a hand to Jim’s cheek, encouraging him to look up at him. “You know I would never do that to you, don’t you? I’m sorry for making you doubt it.”

“It’s just -” Jim tried, then looked away. Raked a hand through his hair and reached for his beer. Harvey waited; watched the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, and the squaring of his jaw as he gathered up the nerve to come out with it.

“Eventually everyone realizes they’re better off without me.”

“Jim,” he breathed, knowing full well what it would have taken Jim to leave himself so vulnerable. Had to pull him in close and kiss him, slow and tender like it could convey to Jim how desperately he was in love with him.

Jim responded eagerly, a touch too frantic, and Harvey let him go for it. Let him take charge and straddle him, and arched his head back willingly when Jim went to work on the skin of his throat, though he knew the mark Jim was raising would be plenty visible.

Groaned, helpless, when Jim scrabbled at their clothing, unfastening just enough to get both their dicks in his hand, grip determined and movements hurried.

The angle was awkward, and the sweat making his shirt stick to his back was uncomfortable. None of it mattered compared to the way Jim was gasping his name, or the way he collapsed against him when he came, shuddering through it even as his hand kept moving, until Harvey had to muffle his own groan in Jim’s shoulder.

“If you really think I’m going to give this up,” Harvey said when he got his breath back, Jim loose limbed and pliable in his lap, “you need your head examining.”

“I do trust you,” Jim murmured, sounding almost certain.

Harvey let it slide. Pledged to work at convincing him and kissed his temple, the words coming easily,

“I know. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	19. Unrequited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited.

Being in love with Jim Gordon was the most painful thing Harvey had ever experienced.

It wasn’t the knowledge that Jim was never going to be interested - though that was torture. It was having to stand by, helpless, while Jim seemed intent on self destruction.

“The GCPD needs you,” he tried when he found Jim still passed out on the sofa at three in the afternoon, empty bottles and take out cartons everywhere. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to it.”

Jim only snorted and shook his head, and Harvey wished he could tell him that it was he who needed Jim. His life that had been dragged from the gutter by Jim’s arrival. Instead he emptied the collection of blister packs from Jim’s bathroom cabinet, and appropriated the spare key to his apartment.

Spent every spare moment worrying that today would be the day Jim did something stupid.

Today would be the day he’d find him hanging from the ceiling.

He felt sick to his stomach the day Jim wouldn’t answer his cell phone, his skin cold and clammy. Panic clawed at his throat when he knocked at Jim’s door at the end of a long shift and there was no answer. Unlocked the door with numbed fingers and pushed through the mess of Jim’s living space towards his bedroom.

The relief he felt at the sight of him was rivaled only by the desperate surge of want that washed over him, the force of it making his head spin.

Because Jim was fine - more than fine. Was wearing nothing but his undershirt, skin flushed and damp as he rocked back on the fingers of one hand, the other twisting tight in the bedclothes. It was like a scene out of his every late night fantasy and he could feel the back of his neck burn red, even as he attempted to pull himself together enough to move. To apologize.

“Please,” Jim managed, a broken whine, and made no attempt to hide the state he was in. Met his gaze and it was like being drawn to a magnet. The bed dipped as he put a knee on it, his hand reaching for Jim’s and adding pressure, blood pounding in his ears as Jim gasped, squirming, his fingers being pushed deeper.

This was a bad idea. This was the worst fucking idea he had ever had.

Jim pushed back against both their hands, moaning, and he was going to do it anyway. Eased Jim’s fingers free and slicked up his own with the bottle Jim had been using. Groaned like it was his dick he was sinking into tight heat, watching rapt as Jim arched into it, one hand wrapping around his dick and the other pulling at his shirt to pinch hard at his nipple.

“More,” Jim demanded, and it was obscene, the noise Jim made when he added a second finger. The way he was straining against his zipper and the way he surged forward to catch Jim’s mouth, licking into the taste of cheap whiskey and something else that was all Jim.

It was so good, too good, and he was getting slick everywhere, determined to give Jim the third finger he was pleading for. Had to suck in great heaving breaths because Jim was so hot, so tight, and then Jim was reaching for him, hands frantic at his belt buckle, begging for him to move harder, faster, to roll him over and fuck him properly.

“Jim,” he tried because there would be no coming back from this. Nothing would ever be the same between them. Jim just stripped himself out of his undershirt and threw it over the side of the bed. Groaned when his fingers found Harvey’s wrist and pulled it back, thrusting a foil wrapper at him and going up on hands and knees like it was what he was born to do.

He had never imagined it would be like this, not the first time, because his dreams had all been of Jim’s blue eyes and watching his face as he came apart. But Jim was insistent, voice strained, and he didn’t have the willpower to dissuade him. Cursed and shuddered when Jim pushed back too fast, frantic, and matched Jim’s pace in spite of himself, panting with the effort of it.

It couldn’t last, not with Jim so worked up, and not with how unbearably hot it was, to know that it was Jim he was doing this with.

Jim cried out when he came, muscles clenching, and from there it was only a matter of moments before he was shaking and collapsing against Jim, overheated and exhausted. He did his best to shift over a little, limbs heavy and uncooperative, and hoped Jim wouldn’t object to him adding yet more filth to the floor of his bedroom.

He wanted to lay there forever, Jim in his arms as they traded kisses. Tugged gently at Jim’s shoulder so he would turn and face him, and it felt like the bottom fell out of his stomach because Jim wasn’t burying his face in the pillow to catch his breath but because he was _sobbing_. Was flinching away from his touch and Harvey couldn’t breathe the realization hurt so bad.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, panicked, and when Jim didn’t answer heard his own voice tremble when he added, “Please talk to me.”

He had been too rough, too desperate. Hadn’t thought any of it through, because now his head was clear Jim smelt like a brewery. Was off his face on something, pills and God only knew what scattered all over the nightstand, along with a photograph of Lee and his loaded handgun.

“Just go,” Jim grit out, without ever once looking at him, and he spent the rest of the night sat against the wall of Jim’s living room, too afraid to leave him entirely to his own devices, and too much of a coward to insist they talk about it.

“It never happened,” Jim said, voice dull and eyes blank when he found him there in the morning, and for once Harvey didn’t argue. Simply nodded, once, and hesitated for a long awkward moment before following Jim’s instructions and going.

He’d fucked up and now he was going to have to pay for it.

They didn’t talk about it in the weeks that followed. Didn’t allude to it, even, and there were moments when it all seemed like a bad nightmare. Then their eyes would meet and Jim would look away, deliberate, and it came flooding back all over again.

Because they tried to act like nothing had changed. Joked and laughed and bantered. But he’d reach a hand out to touch Jim and then pull it back, the way Jim had flinched away imprinted on his memory. The agony of seeing Jim upset and knowing he was the cause of it weighing heavily on his shoulders, so that even when Jim was smiling he couldn’t forget about it.

Jim confessed all about Vale over a couple of beers, cavalier in a way Harvey had never heard him. Met his gaze with damp eyes after the business with Tetch, and said it would be better if he never got involved with anyone.

“You don’t mean that,” he said and, though it wasn’t what he meant, Jim inhaled sharply.

They stared at each other, the air around them thick with all the things they ought to have been saying about the situation.

“I do,” Jim said finally, carefully, and Harvey soothed the burning ache in his throat with a long swig of beer. Kept it together for ten minutes, twenty, then stumbled blind down an alley beside the bar and pressed his forehead against the wall. Breathed deeply, in and out, until he was sure he wasn't going to embarrass himself, then went home to his empty apartment. 

Stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror in the morning and saw someone he didn't recognize staring back at him. 

Buried his head in work, deeper and deeper, and pretended that it scarcely registered to see Jim still so hung up over Lee Thompkins.

'You're the real virus', she told him when it all fell apart, her hopes and dreams, and Jim raked a hand through his hair that night, tongue loosened with drink and said,

“You should listen to her. I'm not worth it.”

Harvey sucked in a shuddering breath, hand hovering for a long moment before he laid it on Jim's shoulder. Begged himself not to even as the words tumbled out of his mouth,

“I'll never believe that.”

When Jim looked at him his hand fell away, body registering what his mind was still catching up with. He didn't need to say anything, neither of them did. 

“You're a good friend,” Jim said, all the same, and Harvey told himself that it was enough.

It would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	20. Jim Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wasn’t shallow - but if he were asked to draw a diagram of what exactly did do it for him, physically, it would look a hell of a lot like Harvey Bullock.

Jim wasn’t shallow, looked for more in a potential partner than his body’s instinctive reaction to their proximity. Dated women with spirit and guys with principles, and fell in love with good hearts and generous natures.

It was just that if were asked to draw a diagram of what exactly did do it for him, physically, it would look a hell of a lot like Harvey Bullock.

It was the hair. The beard. The height difference, and the broad shoulders. The confident swagger and the extra weight around his middle. The glasses he wore sometimes when they worked late, and the smattering of freckles that were only really visible when they were sat close together, looking through the same case file.

Not that it was a problem, not initially, at any rate. Because his first impressions of Harvey were far from favorable, and he had a fiancee he was completely besotted with, besides. Then there was Lee, and if his breath still went short when Harvey greeted him with hugs and kisses it didn’t mean anything.

Was never going to mean anything, not when he shifted awkwardly in his seat during too long stakeouts, and not when he was drunk and maudlin and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t Harvey he was thinking of, late at night, hand stroking himself.

But then Lee was gone, wasn’t interested, and somewhere along the way Harvey had proven himself to be just as spirited and principled as anyone Jim had ever wanted to be with. Was doing a job he hated because it needed doing and nobody else was willing, and had saved him from the brink of despair again and again, without ever once expecting so much as recognition for it.

It hit him all in a rush after the nightmare with Jerome and the Neo-Maniax, with him still lost and shaken, and Lee looking at him as though she wished their paths had never crossed.

“Come on, let me buy you breakfast,” Harvey said, and followed it up with the heavy weight of an arm around his shoulder. Let him cling to his back in turn, and sit too close in the booth of the diner. Smiled at him, fond, when he offered up the food he couldn’t eat and Jim realized for the first time just how incredibly screwed he was.

Watched none too subtly as Harvey cleared his plate and wished he had listened to his mother as a kid, on all the countless occasions she had told him it was rude to stare at other people eating.

He couldn’t help it then, had found it fascinating, and couldn’t help it now, though it got him hot under the collar.

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Harvey asked, concerned, and it pulled at something in his chest, painful yet perfect, because all this time it had been right in front of him, everything he had spent his whole life searching for.

And that was the problem - Harvey was always right there. They worked together, they ate together, they went for off duty drinks together, and on the rare occasions that neither of them was working, they still gravitated towards each other.

Harvey never seemed to get sick of him. Never told him he was too busy, and never looked disappointed when he pulled back the door of his apartment to find Jim standing on the threshold.

Jim alternated between doing nothing and trying too hard, not wanting to risk their friendship, but pushed to breaking point by the way Harvey smiled at him, honest and unguarded, and the way he smelled, when their thighs were pressed against each other as they drank beer on his sofa.

He daydreamed, endlessly, of what it would be like. The scratch of Harvey’s beard against his skin, and the possessive hand Harvey would lay on his shoulder, when people asked who would be crazy enough to want to get mixed up with someone like Jim Gordon.

It was obvious sometimes, had to be, and he did his best to focus on the fact Harvey had never made a move. Had never put a hand on his knee or whispered low in his ear. Had never closed the gap between them, even when Jim couldn’t tear his gaze from the older man’s lips, and surely that said everything.

Harvey knew what he was doing. Had done things between the sheets Jim was sure he wouldn’t even know names for, and if he didn’t want him then there was nothing he could do but learn to live with it.

Except that was easier said than done, especially when an embarrassing incident with a street theft and a patrol officer resulted in the new Police Commissioner announcing that every serving officer would be expected to pass the new rigorously strengthened physical ability test.

“Stupidest fucking idea I ever heard,” Harvey said when the dates and time notices were circulated, but he left his lunch half eaten all the same, and even Alvarez only disappeared three times that afternoon for a cigarette break, as opposed to his usual twelve.

Jim wasn’t worried for himself, and didn’t particularly see how any penalties would be enforceable anyway. It wasn’t as though the citizens of Gotham were desperate to join the police force, and they could hardly afford to lose experienced officers because they couldn’t hit the required number of sit-ups per minute.

“I bet you’re all for this,” Tuttle said, all the same, when the big day arrived and the locker room was full of unfit detectives getting into their PT kit. “Probably sent a brown-nosing letter the moment he announced it.”

“I had a letter published in Police News saying I thought it unnecessary,” Jim replied, unaccountably angry, and maybe it wasn’t Tuttle but having Harvey getting undressed less than three feet away, and knowing he wasn’t allowed to reach out and touch him.

Perhaps it wasn’t even that. It could be the expression on Harvey’s face, the furrow in his brow that was making Jim’s stomach twist itself into knots. Harvey never shied away from anything, never let on that he couldn’t handle whatever Gotham threw at him, and it tore Jim up inside, to see Harvey nervous and embarrassed over something so unimportant.

Because it was clear in his stilted movements, and the miserable look he gave his reflection before the bluff and bluster was back in place, and he was demanding the rest of them hurry up so they could go and get it over with.

Out in the yard they had an obstacle course set up, reminding him of his time in the army. The woman in charge put him in mind of his old CO too. It was the look of outright disgust on her face, probably. It was the way she singled him out and had him demonstrating the correct form for a push-up six times in a row for no other reason than she disliked the look of him.

Put him straight into his timed minute when she was finished, and at least he had the satisfaction of powering through it regardless.

Got to go for his water bottle afterwards and pretend not to be transfixed by the sight of the muscles shifting in Harvey’s arms and the flush on his face. Pretend that he wasn’t thinking completely inappropriate thoughts about what it would be like to be under him, those strong arms braced either side of him as they moved together.

Maybe he wasn’t doing such a great job at it because Sergeant Major blasted her whistle way too close to his ear drum, and directed him through the sit-ups and on to the assault course. Harvey shot him a commiserating smile, coming to stand beside him, and Jim felt like a breathless teenager, undone by the way Harvey’s hair was clinging to the back of his neck and how he was getting to feast his eyes on expanses of leg and arm he had never previously been given more than a fleeting glimpse of.

“Gordon!” was what he got for his troubles. “You first.”

It was okay, wasn’t too much different to a regular Gotham foot chase, and he crawled under and over the relevant obstacles with relative ease. Scrambled up and over the barrier wall in one try, even though he was almost certainly one of the shortest of their test group. He grinned happily when he was given his time and tried not to let on he was enjoying it too much, when Tuttle slammed into the same wall like a ton of bricks and landed on his backside.

Harvey was up next and Jim found himself sitting right on the edge of the bench, as though he could will Harvey through it. Held his breath when Harvey struggled with the crawl space, and was moving before he had even had chance to think about it when Harvey cleared the barrier wall only to let out a strangled yell as he collapsed on the other side of it.

“Fuck!” Harvey ground out, teeth gritting, and Jim came back to himself as he realized he had his fingers on the other man’s ankle, testing for signs of a break.

“It’s just a sprain,” he determined, suddenly self-conscious, and Harvey dropped back to the floor for a moment, forearm over his eyes as he caught his breath and shared his verdict.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

It fell to him to help Harvey to his feet, secretly thrilling at the way the other man had no choice but to lean his weight against him, and they ended up back in the locker room with him suggesting they both take a shower.

Harvey frowned at him, and though that hadn’t at all been what he was implying, Jim felt his cheeks burn at the idea of it. Imagined getting to really see Harvey, all of him, and had to swallow, thickly. Would have embarrassed himself, more than likely, if Alvarez hadn’t chosen that moment to stomp through the door, rifling through his jacket for his cigarettes without commenting on the way they were staring at each other.

As a result it was he who showered, quick and perfunctory, and he who drove Harvey home, because it was probably better that he soak that ankle in a hot bath anyway. He helped Harvey up the stairs of his apartment building, without asking if it was what he wanted, and Harvey told him there was beer in the fridge, without asking if he was planning on staying.

He sat for a few moments, then paced the living room. Stared out of the window and finally hesitated outside the bathroom, working up the courage to suck in a deep breath and rap on the door.

“Do you need a hand with anything?”

The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Thought of the awkward silence between them back in the locker room, but then there was the sound of a loud splash, like someone losing their balance on the way into the tub, and he pushed the door open anyway.

“Jim,” Harvey said, face too pale with pain and resignation. Muttered, bitterly, “just when you think the day can’t get any worse.”

That hurt, the rush of emotion making his throat ache, and it must have shown on his face because Harvey shook his head. Had his arms kind of crossed across his chest, shoulders hunched as he sighed,

“I liked it better when you didn’t know for sure what a slob I am, all right?”

It was Jim’s turn to frown, the dots connecting slowly in his head because Harvey naked and needing his assistance had long been fantasy territory. It was difficult to get his head around the idea that Harvey viewed the situation so completely backwards.

“I found it hard to concentrate today,” he blurted, and moved to sit beside the bath, heart thumping as he reached for the shampoo.

“Nobody noticed,” Harvey said, confused like he couldn’t work out where the conversation was going. “I think you set a record.”

“I couldn’t stop watching you,” Jim tried and, no, that wasn’t the right line at all, not with the way Harvey looked away, the same miserable expression on his face that Jim had seen him give the mirror earlier. He licked his lips, wishing he wasn’t so very bad at this. “I couldn’t stop _thinking_ about you.”

That was better. Harvey looked back at him. Nodded his assent when Jim gestured with the bottle and let him lather up his hair, breath coming short at the way Harvey tipped his head back obediently.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jim?” He asked quietly, eyes closed, and Jim worked his fingers against his scalp, the ache back in his chest because it felt like he was so close, so desperately close, to actually being happy.

“I want you,” he managed, and now he’d said that it didn’t seem much of a stretch to add, “I love you.”

It had always been his problem, he thought as the silence stretched. Too much or not enough, and no happy medium. He should leave. Should go and get a grip on himself, someplace where nobody would see - where nobody would know just how much this meant to him.

But when he pulled his hands back, Harvey took hold of one of his wrists, gentle but firm, and pressed a kiss to his pulse point. Met his gaze, hair wet and bedraggled around his face, and said, words light but voice breathless,

“If this is what I get for a sprained ankle what would you have done if I’d broken my leg?”

Jim laughed, helpless, and then they were kissing, soap and water everywhere. His shirt sleeves were soaking, the front of his shirt not much better, and he didn’t care. Couldn’t quit smiling, couldn’t give it up long enough to do anything useful.

It was Harvey who finally got his hair rinsed and them both coordinated long enough to get up and out and into the bedroom, Jim trying but mostly failing to get him to be careful of his ankle. It didn’t much matter once they were both horizontal, and Harvey stripped him out of his sodden clothing, in between kissing him senseless.

Had him gasping and groaning, hands finally allowed to explore the body he had spent such a long time thinking about. Had him pulling Harvey on top of him, breath coming in excited pants at the feel of it. The weight pinning him in place, and Harvey’s fingers in his hair, petting, as his kisses turned increasingly desperate.

They clambered under the bed covers afterwards, curled up close together, and Jim couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled so much. His cheeks positively ached with it.

“I love it when you smile,” Harvey told him, fingers tender against the side of his face, and he beamed all the harder. Confessed,

“I'm probably going to be doing a whole lot more of it.”

Harvey just grinned back at him, kissed him all over again, and said, voice thick with everything Jim had ever wanted to hear,

“I'll make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	21. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey tries to be selfless and let Jim go. Jim doesn't like the idea.

“Love means knowing when to let go,” the perp shrugged, misery etched across his face, and Harvey couldn’t help the way the words hit home even as Jim took him to task over it, demanding to know whether the wife and kid he had left behind were likely to agree with him.

“If he had really loved her,” Jim complained afterwards, riled up and full of self-righteousness, “he wouldn’t have got mixed up with the mob in the first place.”

Harvey gave him the freedom to work it through, knowing it was less to do with some third rate hitman and more to do with Jim’s father. Tried not to let on that it was actually a sentiment he had been giving increasingly frequent consideration to.

Because being with Jim was nothing like he had imagined.

They still argued, and Jim still jumped without looking. He was still obsessed with playing the hero, and Harvey still yelled himself hoarse over Jim’s unrepentant idiocy on a regular basis.

But Jim was apologetic afterwards. Even listened beforehand, occasionally, and wore his stab vest when he was told to. Was way more affectionate than Harvey had ever let himself dream, even in his most private fantasies, and it threatened to undo him, every time Jim smiled at him in public, like he didn’t care who saw and what they inferred from it.

And surrounded by trained police officers there was no shortage of speculation on the subject.

“Is it true?” Lee asked a few weeks in, too busy cleaning flasks that already looked spotless to glance at him.

He thought of sparing Jim’s reputation, of outright lying. Knew that she would see right through it and compromised with,

“It isn’t serious.”

She snorted, as if to say that much was obvious, and even later with Jim clinging to him, whining gibberish, Harvey couldn’t work out why exactly he had said it. For his part he had never been more serious about anything, and Jim acted like what they had was every bit as real as the relationships he had been prepared to walk down the aisle for.

Gave him the same soft eyed look he had once reserved for his fiancees, and looked just as helplessly pleased with himself, when Alvarez congratulated him on finally getting his leg over.

Straight up admitted that they were together when a couple of girls in a club they were supposed to be staking out wouldn’t take no for an answer and, when they laughed, disbelieving, Jim pressed close like it was _his_ interest in Jim that was ludicrous. Kissed him the very instant they were off the clock, hot and possessive, and wouldn’t let go long enough for him to do more than shuck his coat and hat when they finally made it back to his apartment, panting and gasping as they ground against each other.

He seemed embarrassed by his behavior, afterwards, and that was when it hit Harvey for the first time that Jim would probably have been just the same with anyone. Had been knocked back and kicked down, over and over again, and was always going to latch on to the first person who treated him like he mattered.

It hurt, initially, to acknowledge it, but as he twisted the idea one way and the other it made sense. Much more than the alternative, at any rate, because Jim was too young to throw away his dreams of rosy cheeks and picket fences on a loser like him. Was going to be too much of a nice guy to admit the problem when he realized it, and would end up resenting him, until even the happy memories turned bitter.

Tuttle agreed. Followed his lovesick gaze and shook his head, imparting wisdom around his morning Danish,

“You haven’t got the sense you were born with, that’s your problem. You really think your face is still going to fit when he starts going for promotion?”

Dix said much the same when he went for his regular visit, sighing and tutting and calling him a soft hearted fool for going there in the first place.

“He’s still a kid,” Dix told him, even as he worked through the cookies Harvey had brought with him, “he doesn’t know what he wants.”

“He’s 33,” Harvey protested, because the conversation really wasn’t painting him in a great light. Dix only raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly.”

It played on his mind all evening, and he made up excuses when Jim suggested he come over, because for the first time since it had started he didn’t want to see him. Couldn’t bear to hear Jim say words he couldn’t possibly mean, and didn’t know how he was supposed to do the right thing, not if Jim were there, so impossibly beautiful.

He needed to make it easy for Jim. Appraised his reflection in the bathroom mirror the following morning and decided it wouldn’t be that difficult. All he had to do was make Jim see that he would be better off without him.

So he buried his head in paperwork and scheduled extra meetings. Ate lunch over briefings with the Head of HR, and pretended not to notice the wounded look on Jim’s face, when he said he was going to be too busy to see him that evening, and the next, and quite probably the one after that.

“Can’t I help?” Jim asked, stubborn. Reached for him though his aversion to workplace PDAs was legendary, and Harvey had to suck in a fortifying breath, because Jim’s body heat was singularly distracting. “I’d rather work late than go home without you.”

“You have your priorities seriously mixed up,” Harvey said, his tone sounding forced to his own ears, “I’m practically ordering you to go out drinking.”

Jim frowned at him, and would have said more, Harvey was sure, but he spied Alvarez and the two pretty new transfers from upstate just in time. Managed to fix Jim up on some kind of quasi date, and watched all four of them leave together with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was for the best, he knew, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t the worst torture he had ever known, sitting in his office until the early hours of the morning, desperately wishing that Jim would send him a text message. Finally going home only to cling to the pillow on Jim’s side of the bed, breathing in the scent of him until his throat ached and his vision blurred.

He was in better control of himself in the morning. Told himself he was glad when he saw Jim and the brunette from the previous night making polite conversation on the steps of the precinct, and forced himself to smile when Jim rapped at his office door at the first available opportunity.

Up close Jim looked like he hadn’t slept. Like he hadn’t even had time to shower, his hair dull and the rasp of stubble visible on his cheeks.

He had never expected it all to be over quite this quickly.

Tried to brace himself for Jim confessing, his goody two shoes conscience demanding it, but Jim smelled of drink not sex when he pushed into his personal space. His skin was too pale, voice too strained, and Harvey had to fidget with his pen so he didn’t reach for him when he said,

“I don’t know what I’ve done but I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Harvey said, in spite of all his good intentions, chest aching. Pulled himself together and added, “Look, this isn’t the time or the place. We can talk later.”

Jim nodded, silent and stilted, and if Harvey had thought the night before was awful, it had nothing on the way the day dragged on and on, so that the prospect of hashing the whole thing out with Jim was too close yet never close enough. He procrastinated as long as possible at the end of his shift, but when he looked up it was to find Jim leaning against the edge of his desk, watching his office door, like he was afraid he was going to leave without speaking to him otherwise.

They ended up at his apartment, without either of them voicing an opinion on it, and once the door was shut behind them Harvey couldn’t help but think of how this had been where it had started. Where Jim had first told him that he loved him, and where he had pledged, albeit silently, to never do anything to make Jim regret that decision.

He made to offer Jim a drink, anything to ease the tension, but Jim was already at breaking point, words spilling between them.

“I know I’m hard work. I know I’m not easy to live with.”

The worst thing was that he wasn’t, not really. They just fit together - liked the same things, had the same priorities. Laughed at the same stupid shit, and the rougher edges of Jim’s personality were easy enough to wear smooth with reassurance and kisses. At least they had been.

To hear Jim’s poor assessment of himself tore him up inside, and he could feel his resolve starting to crumble.

“But I’ll try harder. Please let me.”

It was too much, way too much. Because Jim sounded desperate, broken like he hadn’t heard him since things had fallen apart with Lee, and he had to pull him in close, knowing he was lost when Jim’s arms came up to wrap around him.

“It’s not you,” Harvey said, and Jesus but his own voice was wrecked. “It was never you.”

Jim only clung tighter, like he didn’t believe it, and Harvey had to kiss him. Had to pour his whole sorry heart into the action, wishing he were selfless enough to simply force Jim away.

“I don’t want you to regret this, Jim,” he managed instead. Pulled back enough to look into Jim’s face, thumb stroking at his cheekbone. “I don’t want you to wake up ten years from now and think, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t want you to miss out on kids and dogs and a drop dead gorgeous wife who’s going to pack you lunch and kiss you goodbye every morning.”

There it was, laid bare, and Jim blinked at him, bewildered, before bursting into laughter. Laughed and laughed until Harvey glared, and then smiled kind of sheepishly and said,

“We can do all those things if you want to. You could leave me little love notes with my sandwiches.”

“Do I look like a drop dead gorgeous wife?” Harvey countered, because Jim didn’t seem to be getting it. Only trailed fingertips across his brow and down the side of his face, then slid them into his hair, tugging until their foreheads were pressed together.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” Jim whispered. “You have _no_ idea.”

Except maybe he did because Jim was pressing the rest of himself in close, making his thoughts on the subject very obvious.

“I’m not some confused kid. I know what I want.” Jim’s mouth was at his ear now and the last of his resistance was falling apart, “I want you.”

“There’s no way I’m ever making you bagged lunches,” Harvey warned, because his mouth wanted to wander into dangerously sentimental territory.

Jim only grinned, way too mischievous for a boy scout, and said even as his fingers started wandering,

“Challenge accepted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	22. WW2 AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WW2 AU - Harvey is a disillusioned DI and Jim is just another yank causing him problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was totally too lazy to do any fresh research for this, so just based it on my knowledge of US troops that were stationed locally through 1942-44. ETA: I did write up some of the history behind this over on my Tumblr [HERE](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/post/167952556308/its-day-two-of-ficwritersweek-and-the-task-is-to), so if you want some background context for the WWII homefront check it out. :)

“Overpaid, oversexed and over here. Look at them.”

Harvey followed Evans’ disapproving gaze and couldn’t say he disagreed with the assessment. The group of GIs were too loud, and took up too much space, no decorum between the lot of them. They were all snapping gum, irreverent, and more than one of them was watching Evans’ teenage daughter with undisguised interest.

“Had to kick them out last night for rowdy behaviour,” Evans said, drying glasses and putting them away behind the bar. “Fighting again.”

He shook his head and took a sip of his drink, even as his gaze fell on one of the quieter of their number. He looked just like one of the yankee matinée idols, all blond haired and blue eyed. Strong jawed yet baby faced, the kind of lad all the girls lost their common sense over.

Too late he realised that he was staring and turned his attention to his drink. Downed it easily to hide how flustered he was, and gave Evans his thanks but there were places he ought to be, things he ought to be doing.

The streets weren’t going to police themselves, not even with a war on.

He was halfway down the road when a hand touched his arm. Had him spinning around on nothing but reflex, training for another war half a lifetime ago imprinted on his mind.

“You forgot this.”

It was the GI with the big blue eyes.

He took his umbrella, his usual quick rejoinder stuck in his throat, and the man held his hand out.

“Sergeant James Gordon.”

Harvey hesitated for only a moment before shaking it, blinded by Gordon’s Picture Show smile.

“Bullock. Harvey Bullock.”

* * *

Harvey had been with the Force since 1921. Had had nothing to go home to in Ireland and so started again on the mainland, head fired full of the great life they were all going to look forward to now Jerry had been put in his place.

He had been an idiot because war never solved anything. Not the class divide, and not whatever the hell this one was really over.

That was why their boys were spread too thin across Europe and further afield, while GIs swarmed the town, too much time on their hands and too much money in their pockets.

Evans said they were getting paid 5s a day, and he wouldn’t be surprised if at least 4s of it was going on drink. It had to be, because the kind of stupidity he kept witnessing didn’t happen sober. No matter what the problem was, no matter where the call out came from, there was a GI involved somehow.

If they weren’t fighting with each other, they were fighting luckless Tommies home on leave to find their girls otherwise preoccupied. Else they were getting threatened by angry fathers, or disappointed mothers, or getting duped by spivs at the edges of the market, because they were too lazy to carry their currency conversion tables.

Uniform had plenty of tales to share about the kids who trailed them everywhere being just as reticent over how much change they were actually due, and the disgraceful scenes to be witnessed down the lovers’ lanes and even in the darkened corners of the local dancehalls.

He had one of the local magistrates banging on his door at ten o’ clock at night, complaining about the kind of behaviour his daughter was witnessing, and so he found himself accompanying a couple of constables to ensure there wasn’t a repeat of the problem though he had a thousand or more things his time could be better spent doing.

They arrived to find battle lines already drawn, tensions stirred up by the warm beer they all claimed to hate so much.

“I know you paid the same as them,” one of the MCs was stammering, sweat trickling down from his hairline, and when Yates pulled his pocket notebook out the group of black GIs gave it up in disgust, shoulders jostling against their alleged brothers in arms as they pledged to find a dancehall that wouldn’t capitulate so easily.

Harvey was so ready for the day to be over, raked a hand through his hair as the manager apologised over and over again, blaming the girls at the ticket desk, and the lads at the door for the oversight. Played a blame game of his own when he looked up and felt his heart lurch, Gordon meeting his gaze across the dancefloor. It was indigestion, probably. Certainly didn’t mean anything.

Gordon broke straight away from his chums and his pretty date, all the same, to come over and speak to him.

“I hope you don’t think too badly of us. The nights have all been arranged in advance, you see.”

“You’re all supposed to be on the same side,” Harvey said, brusquer than he’d intended, because it bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain, the idea that Gordon might really be that petty minded.

Except his face fell, just for a moment, and then he nodded decisively.

“You’re right. It won’t happen again.”

The next time he saw Gordon, almost a week to the day, the man was holding a hand to his bruised jaw, bewildered like he couldn’t quite believe someone had just swung for him.

Pulled himself together quickly enough to spare the private in question from being cuffed, tone brokering no argument,

“This is a military matter. I’ll deal with it.”

Harvey sighed and glanced from Gordon’s stupidly pretty face - the bruise only seeming to highlight the fact - to the rapidly sobering private.

“These are my streets,” he said, tired from a long day of sobbing parents, and sobbing siblings, and sobbing bystanders, because there had been another direct hit on a residential street and they still hadn’t pulled all the bodies free. “Do you think I’ve given them the best years of my life to see them turned into a playground for a bunch of silly boys who ought never to have been let loose from their mothers’ apron strings?”

Gordon had the good grace to look mollified, just for a second or two, before the righteous pout was back in place.

“We never wanted to fight your war,” one of the others piped up, looking barely old enough to be out of short trousers. “It’s just like last time, when you couldn’t manage without us.”

The two WRCs taking particulars looked horrified, like they expected him to swing for the kid, and on another night maybe he would have. As it was he only left the scene without a backwards glance.

He wasn’t worth his trouble.

* * *

The following morning he was called from his paperwork by the air-headed girl serving as desk officer. Watched as she breathlessly patted her hair and checked her lipstick in the glass pane of the door before leading him back through to the front of the station, where he knew without being told exactly who he would find waiting for him.

Sure enough, there was James Gordon, swollen jaw not detracting in the least from his smartly pressed uniform and the bashful look on his face.

“Can we talk?” He asked, and Harvey nodded in spite of his better instincts.

It was just about lunchtime anyway.

“I want to apologise for last night,” Gordon said over stewed tea in the WVS canteen. Harvey pulled a face as he took a sip of his own - he hoped he lived long enough to see sugar come back off the ration - and shrugged,

“You were the one that got a hiding.”

Gordon gave him a small smile, sheepish. “Segregation is the norm for most of them, back home. It was kind of bigheaded to think they were going to forget all about it just because I ordered them to.”

“Nobody needs to agree with anything to follow orders,” Harvey pointed out, remembering another war. Gordon would have been the kind to write poetry, he thought. The kind to be left hanging from the barbed wire, sightless eyes staring out across the battlefield.

It wasn’t a comforting idea.

“The officer at the desk said you’re a DI,” Gordon said, oblivious. “That’s like a Lieutenant. I want to join the Force when the war’s over.”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting.

He didn’t know what Gordon expected him to say in response to it.

“I’d like to talk about it sometime. If you’re not too busy.”

Harvey frowned. Tried to work out what Gordon wanted from him. All he knew about American police was what he saw in the gangster pictures, and he didn’t for one moment believe that Gordon would be living a life of non-stop car chases and shoot outs, no matter what misconceptions he might be labouring under.

“You want to know what being in the police is like?” He asked finally. “You’re more than welcome to come on blackout patrol.”

“What time?” Gordon asked, beaming like a school boy. Like it wasn’t an offer that anyone with two brain cells to rub together would turn down flat.

“7pm.”

“I’ll see you later.”

He did, too.

Gordon didn’t complain when he was kitted out in a spare Brodie helmet, and withstood all the good natured ribbing from every ARP warden on the beat. The WRCs too, and even the grizzled old bobbies who had been enjoying their hard won retirement before the outbreak of war was announced.

Proved himself willing to start right at the bottom, and laughed when a bewhiskered member of the Home Guard suggested he was only interested in getting a flasher uniform.

“And once you’ve walked this way,” Harvey said, a couple of hours later, when the night air was getting cold and damp, and the gangs of schoolboys were giving way to GIs and the other undesirables. “You turn around and walk it all over again. And again. And again, until your shift ends and somebody comes to relieve you.”

“How did you become a detective?” Gordon asked, undeterred.

Harvey shook his head, even as he watched some kind of exchange taking place between two men who were clearly up to no good.

“Nothing like you’re envisaging, I’m sure, Gordon.”

“You should call me Jim,” Gordon said, following eagerly.

“If you say so, Junior.”

“Can I do this again sometime?” Gordon asked afterwards, when they had a profiteer with false papers in the cells, and two shame faced young lads out by the front desk, waiting to be taken home and given a thrashing by their mother.

Harvey gave it up as a bad job.

“If you want to.”

* * *

Gordon was as good as his word. Put in appearance after appearance until Harvey asked,

“What does your CO think about this?”

“The less he sees of me, the happier he is, generally speaking,” Jim admitted and Harvey couldn’t help laughing. It didn’t surprise him, not particularly, because Jim was a bleeding-heart liberal. Was volunteering all over the place on top of whatever it was he actually did all day - Harvey didn’t ask, because the man would be daft enough to tell him.

Instead he listened as Jim told him about the city where he grew up, and how his old man had been a public prosecutor.

“You’ll make better money following in his footsteps,” Harvey told him in turn, because even with the yank wages what they were, being a police officer was never going to make anyone rich - not unless you were happy to turn a blind eye, and he couldn’t imagine Jim ever going along with that somehow.

He didn’t do any of it himself even, not anymore, because he could be patriotic when he wanted to be, and because he didn’t want to lose everything just for a few extra shillings.

“I want to make a difference,” Jim said, all firey-eyed determination like a propaganda poster, and though Harvey questioned what the hell he was doing, he taught Jim card games, and showed him around the historical sites he claimed to be interested in.

Bought him fish and chips after a long evening of moving on drunks and bemoaning the sickness rates among the WRCs, and felt something twist in his gut at the way Jim actually ate with gusto.

“It’s good,” he said, simply, and Harvey raised an eyebrow,

“You sound surprised.”

Jim smiled, the same half bashful smile that was destined to make a fool of him, and said,

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but every meal I’ve had since coming here has been disgusting. If I never eat a brussel sprout again it’ll be too soon.”

Harvey laughed in spite of himself. Heard himself inviting Jim to tea, because what else was one meant to do when faced with such an admission.

“Really?” Jim asked, with his usual brand of over eagerness, as if he didn’t already have invites for any and every chunk of free time he chose to spend off base.

“Why not?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Harvey regretted them.

He got the impression that they both knew the answer.

* * *

In the event he saw Jim again sooner than expected. They had a dead body behind a bombed out cinema, and a doctor’s report saying the girl had been almost four months pregnant. She had been stepping out with a yank, so her mother said, and he had to jump through hoops to convince those in charge to let him have a quiet word before they let the Military Police go in, guns blazing.

When he was directed to the relevant Nissen hut, Jim was there too, the boy looking to him for advice before speaking.

“Just tell the truth,” Jim said, sounding nothing like the wet behind the ears rookie Harvey was used to, and every bit the commanding officer. “They’re not looking to pin anything on you.”

The lad nodded, once, and told him how it hadn’t been serious, and how he had a girl back home, and how it wasn’t even his baby, probably.

“But it could have been?” Harvey asked, pointedly, and the guilty flush told him everything he needed to know.

He noted down some other names, along with times and alibis, and didn’t try to soften the blow when he said,

“Maybe next time you’ll think with your head and not your prick, eh?”

Had to go and question the girl’s broken parents next, and eventually arrested the foreman at the factory where she had been working.

Jim was loitering in reception when the man was finally charged and booked into the cells, and Harvey didn’t have to ask how long he had been waiting to know that it was longer than could be considered strictly proper.

“I’m glad it wasn’t one of my men,” Jim said as he fell into step beside him, no questions asked. “I wouldn’t like to think I’d been working with a murderer.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something cutting, because Jim was so unprepared it was laughable. When they reached the front he’d hope they were all murderers, every last one of them, and if they weren’t already he’d have to stand there and order them to become one.

Harvey couldn’t do it though.

Never wanted to see that look of hopeless resignation on Jim’s face. Never wanted to see him miserable, even, and swore to himself that after this one evening, he would be strong enough to tell Jim he ought to be spending his time taking girls out dancing, not giving shy smiles to over the hill police detectives.

People might get the wrong idea.

Still, he welcomed Jim into his home and accepted his gift of coffee and a couple of Hershey bars.

“I ought to refuse, by rights,” he said, and Jim only flashed that half smile again.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

It wasn’t what Jim meant. Couldn’t mean anything if it was. But it took his breath away all the same because he was too old to lie to himself about what he was.

What it was he wanted.

He wasn’t stupid enough to act on it, at least, and fed Jim a plate of colcannon and bacon to his mother’s recipe. Watched, pleased, when Jim ate it, and then drank the sweetened tea he was given afterwards with the kind of enthusiasm Harvey might have shown for a double helping of apple tart and custard.

After that he might have stared too long, or stood too close, or any number of other acts of foolishness, but the air raid siren sounded and they went to sit in the cold damp of the anderson with his next door neighbours.

Mrs Maguire had her knitting, more than content, and the younger kids, including the twins in their matching siren suits, wasted no time in divesting Jim of all the gum and the pennies in his pockets. Enid, the eldest bar the brother fighting in Africa, looked absolutely mortified to be caught in her curlers, and Harvey wondered what it said about him, that he was actually relieved his chief rival for the evening was a 14-year-old schoolgirl with acne.

There were a couple of close calls that night, the walls of the shelter shaking with the force of the explosions, and the boys pretended they weren’t at all unnerved, lest the yank in their midst think badly of the British spirit.

“I never saw a bomb before I came here,” Jim said later, when they were helping the ARP wardens put sand over the lingering incendiaries. “I don’t know how the kids keep so calm about it.”

“They don’t know any different,” Harvey said, easily, and somehow it never seemed the right moment to tell Jim that they oughtn’t to see each other again.

* * *

Jim became a regular visitor. Heard all his old war stories, the ones that were suitable for company, and all the amusing ones he could remember from his time with the police force. Did a good job at looking interested in the tales behind his knick-knacks and photographs, and even asked about the chain he wore around his neck, the one with his dead mother’s wedding ring.

Got invited to Sunday lunch at the Maguires and attempted to swallow the plentiful sprouts with as little chewing as possible. Lied through his back teeth about having enjoyed the meal immensely, and Harvey laughed himself sick behind closed doors, at the memory of the way Jim had visibly shuddered when Enid served him a second helping of greens, too polite to refuse it.

He asked subtle questions until Harvey gave in and told him the full story, about how Mr Maguire had all but drank himself to death, and how he was happy to pay his widow housekeeping for doing his laundry and cooking some of his meals.

“You’re not planning on getting married then?” Jim asked, one Sunday afternoon, not quite meeting his eye, and the air felt suddenly charged for all that the question was innocuous.

“I’ve never been the marrying kind,” Harvey answered, too honest, and Jim fidgeted with the newspaper before risking a glance at him,

“I don’t think I am either.”

It hit Harvey then that he had to do something. Had to save Jim from himself, because he would have no hope of entering the Force with a dishonorable discharge. Would have no hope of anything, if he were locked up for not understanding that you didn’t talk about it.

That you didn’t go out looking for it, not when the walls had ears and eyes, and that it could never be the way Jim wanted - with someone who cared, someone who thought you mattered - anyway.

“You just haven’t found the right girl,” he said carefully. “You spend too much time being a good little boy scout, and not enough with your arm around pretty young things in the back row of the pictures.”

He had seen Jim’s name crossed through in the little black books of the brasher girls they hauled in, along with all the other nice boys who were too sensible to get caught in compromising situations.

Already dreaded seeing it starred or ringed in red, because he was so sensible they knew there might be money to be made in other ways, on pain of rumours about how he just wasn’t interested.

“Would you rather I think with my prick?” Jim asked, reading between the lines well enough to feel hurt. The vulgarity sounded all kinds of wrong on his lips, and Harvey refused to rise to the bait.

Spoke as plainly as he was able.

“I think that’s your problem.”

He didn’t see Jim again for a fortnight. Told himself that he didn’t care, that he was happy, and then drank too much after his last shift of the week and stayed in bed even when the siren sounded.

Moving seemed too much effort.

He finally caught sight of Jim a few days later, queuing outside the Pally with a girl who could have been a model. Their gaze met, even in the dim light, and when Jim looked away first Harvey felt nothing.

It was just as it should be.

Except that night there was heavy bombing, and he saw Jim again after the all clear sounded, helping to clear the rubble. Saw his face pale when they finally reached the girl he had been talking to, and the lad she had taken her leave of him for.

“Is this the first time?” Harvey asked quietly, because they were soldiers only in name. You could line up a hundred of them and find they hadn’t seen a day of action between them. Had never laid eyes upon a dead body, and didn’t have the first clue about how to deal with it.

Jim shook his head. “I’ve seen - but not like this. Never like this.”

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t going to help anyone.

Harvey laid a hand on his shoulder anyway, and just stood with him a moment, until he pulled himself together enough to lend a hand with the stretcher.

Jim was waiting on his doorstep when he got home the next day, blond hair glinting in the evening sun and jaw set with determination.

“Are you stupid as well as American?” Harvey asked, harsh, and Jim only pushed himself calmly to his feet,

“I didn’t know you realised the two were separable.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked Enid to a dance and then I came to see a friend. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

There ought to be, if the way it made his heart pound was anything to go by. He didn’t say anything though, and watched Jim eat toasted national loaf and an egg from the hens he kept in the garden, like it could fix everything.

Invited him back again and again, helpless, and pretended to only be half listening when Mrs Maguire extolled Jim’s virtues, and praised his morals.

“You can trust him to get a girl home safe, not like some of them.”

Enid flushed all kinds of interesting hues, and later he told Jim, tone too light,

“You know she’s a little in love with you? Don’t go getting her hopes up.”

“She’s just a kid,” Jim said. Swirled the dregs around his teacup and added solemnly, “I would never toy with anyone's emotions.”

He was a perfect gentleman, by all accounts, and when Mrs Maguire delivered his washing with talk of what a nice boy he was, what a good boy, Harvey hated himself for not being able to completely tamp down the spark of jealousy.

* * *

“We’re shipping out,” Jim told him at the end of May, and anybody with eyes could see they were off somewhere. The streets were clogged with tanks and trucks, and the possibilities of what it might mean were all anyone could talk about.

“I know,” Harvey said simply, and the finality of it felt like a physical ache.

“I just,” Jim tried. “I wanted.”

Trailed off, fear warring with frustration on his face.

This was it. He was going. Harvey would never see him again, and if Jim ever thought of this moment it wouldn’t mean anything. He would be home in the States with a pretty wife and beautiful children. A white picket fence, and a dog, and a gleaming electric refrigerator, just like in the movies.

What happened here wouldn’t matter at all.

Would be nothing more than a distant memory.

“Jim,” he said, and his voice sounded a mess to his own ears. Jim just stared at him, those big blue eyes full of hope, and Harvey touched fingers to the side of his face.

Leaned in close, careful, and kissed him.

It was tender, perfect, and when he made to pull back, Jim followed. Kissed him again and again until he had to press further, the slick swipe of Jim’s tongue against his own like nothing he had ever imagined.

“How long have you got?” He asked against his lips, and Jim shivered under his touch.

“Two hours, maybe.”

He pulled him in close and settled on the settee where they simply kissed and kissed. It wasn’t about sex, about getting off. He just never wanted to let Jim go. Catalogued every hitch in Jim’s breathing, and memorised the taste of him.

Finally let his lips wander down the length of Jim’s throat, helpless gasps filling the air even as he loosened Jim’s collar and sucked a mark into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“ _Harvey_ ,” Jim begged when he could take it no longer and it was then their kisses turned frantic, both of them knowing that this was as much of each other as they could ever hope for.

He was the one to break away when the time came. The one to button Jim’s collar and fix his tie. To try and calm Jim’s rapid breathing, and not to give voice to all the desperate truths he wanted to confess to him.

“I want you to have this,” he said instead, and took the chain from around his own neck, the one with his mother’s wedding ring. “I wore it for luck in the trenches. I want you to stay safe, Jim.”

“I promise you’ll get it back,” Jim said, as serious as Harvey had ever heard him, and when he was lead to the front door he hesitated for a moment before flinging his arms around his neck and hugging him tight.

“I love you,” Jim whispered and Harvey couldn’t say it back.

He hoped the way he clung to Jim in return said it for him.

* * *

Everyone followed the news of the allied invasions, the yanks suddenly being hailed as the heroes they had never been considered while living among them.

There were thousands dead and thousands more missing, and Harvey found himself praying that James Gordon wasn’t one of them.

It hit him sometimes, out of the blue, the all too likely possibility that Jim was already gone. Lost at sea, perhaps, or blown to smithereens. Left face down in a ditch in his own filth, maybe, nothing but his dog tags able to identify him.

He could picture it too easily, had seen it all firsthand last time around, and the sight - the smell - still haunted his nightmares.

Because Victory Day came and went, and the Japanese surrender. Millions of service personnel were demobbed back onto the streets, including a handful of his own constables, and he hoped, endlessly, that Jim was back in Gotham rebuilding his own life.

He might have joined the Force, even, and be standing proud somewhere, in his fancy uniform.

The letter, when it arrived, didn’t seem quite real. It was early 1947 and Harvey had resigned himself to the best case scenario being never knowing. Yet there was Jim’s cramped but neat handwriting, filling every last inch of the flimsy airmail paper.

'I had to try one last time,' he wrote, the words awakening the impossible hopes and dreams Harvey had sworn were long buried. 'Perhaps my letters never reached you. Perhaps you've changed your mind about staying in contact. To know that you are well, if nothing more, would mean the world to me.'

He went on to explain that he had seen action in France and Germany. In the Far East, even, and was already the proud incumbent of a GCPD foot patrol. Described in ever smaller handwriting the precinct's high turnover, and how they were actively looking for experienced detectives, especially with the new Mayor wanting to root out police corruption. Saw nothing amiss in mentioning, in the same sentence, that getting a visa granted wouldn't be a problem, were he to consider it. 

The obvious answer, the sane answer, was no. He was nearing retirement, and he had a roof over his head and the respect of the community. He wasn't going to consider travelling halfway across the globe just to work alongside someone half his age. He certainly wasn't going to read hidden meanings into what Jim might mean by work, and he absolutely was not going to risk both their freedom should he actually find any.

“Peter said you had a letter from America,” Enid said to him when he was still trying to make sense of it. Leaned against the back garden fence and fished transparently for further information. “Peter said it was sent airmail.”

Peter was the eldest Maguire boy, finally demobbed and back with the postal service, and Harvey hoped he didn't make a point of nosing through everyone's mail. 

“Was it really from Sergeant Gordon?” She asked finally when he didn't answer, and something must have shown on his face because she said with all the innocence of someone who didn't know any better, “Mum said she had never seen you as happy as when he was around.”

He played her words over and over in the days that followed, when he wasn't busy re-reading Jim's letter. Because they were true, doubtless, and because they meant that perhaps being close to Jim - spending time with Jim - wasn't going to spell certain ruin.

It wasn't as though they were going to be careless about it. It wasn't as though they would be stupid enough to invite speculation.

They could be friends, colleagues, drinking buddies. Whatever the yanks wanted to call it.

He wrote back to Jim before he could think better of it, and received a telegram that must have cost Jim a small fortune, with dates, and times, and arrangements.

It was madness, idiocy, but he sold his furniture and packed his suitcases. Entrusted the care of the hens to the Maguire twins, and promised them all he'd write because they were the closest thing he had to family. Felt a prize fool on the boat out, surrounded by over excited war brides, and refused to dwell on anything beyond the prospect of a new job in a new city. 

Was met at immigration by an officer in patrol uniform, and held his head high when he shook hands with the Captain, aware he was being sized up and categorised. 

“Gotham's nothing like you're used to,” the man said, eventually, and Harvey shrugged, looking about the precinct.

“Wouldn't have been much point in coming otherwise.”

That raised a smile, an easing of the tension, and then he was being passed on to a competent looking secretary with,

“Gordon was right about you.”

That was a good thing, hopefully, and then he couldn't really think much of anything because Jim was there, just as blond haired and blue eyed, face soft with that damnable half smile. 

“You're stuck bunking with me for the interim,” he said apologetically, and Harvey could scarcely breathe, let alone formulate a decent answer. 

Followed Jim's lead silently, and hardly dared look at him all through the short subway ride, lest he make it all too obvious. Focused instead on the way people eyed Jim's uniform, and then looked at him as though he were some scruffbag Jim were in the process of arresting. 

Couldn't even manage that when they reached Jim's apartment building, and for the first time he realised that perhaps he wasn't the only one struggling. Had it confirmed when Jim clung to him the instant the door was shut behind them, kissing with all the helpless desperation he had been too afraid to give in to that night in '44. 

“I've got something for you,” Jim said when they pulled apart, and fished the chain with the ring out from below the collar of his uniform. 

“It's yours,” Harvey told him with a shake of his head, hand curling Jim's fingers back around it. Couldn't believe that Jim was still wearing it, even now, and admitted, breathless, suddenly overwhelmed by all of it, “I always wanted someone I loved to have it.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” Jim said then, the formal words so at odds with their delivery, whispered against his jaw bone, that Harvey had to kiss him all over again. Had to pull him closer still and tell him all the things he wished he had had the courage to say the first time around.

He might be risking everything, might have left behind everything he had ever known.

It didn't matter.

Jim was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This now has a sequel [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24761637).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	23. Suicide Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely Selene who asked for CPR fic - and who introduced me to the idea of Gordlock in the first place! :)

Saving Jim from himself was a full time occupation, was fast becoming his reason for being, and Harvey only wished he were better at it.

Because Jim had been imploding for months and nothing Harvey did seemed to make the slightest difference.

He had tried standing back and staying silent, and he had tried getting in Jim’s face and endlessly nagging. He had shaken Jim, viciously, when he found him sitting alone contemplating his handgun, and he had rubbed soothing circles into Jim’s back, comforting, as the younger man sobbed helplessly into his shoulder.

Worst of all, he had let Jim lie about it. Had let him pretend that Tetch’s compulsion was the start, rather than simply a continuation.

Had let Jim convince everyone - convince _him_ \- that he was in control.

That he had overcome it.

Now Jim wasn’t answering his cell, wouldn’t respond to his frantic knocking, and the other tenants of Jim’s apartment block only stood around rubbernecking as he kicked once, twice, three times before succeeding in breaking the door open.

The sight that met him had ice forming in his chest, because Jim was face down on the floor, surrounded by the debris of the life he was so determined to get away from.

Take out cartons and empty whiskey bottles. Used blister packs, dozens of them, and Harvey dropped to his knees heavily, hands not quite steady as he pressed two fingers against Jim’s carotid.

There was nothing, though his skin was warm, if clammy, and Harvey was vaguely aware of barking orders at the growing knot of bystanders to call an ambulance.

Tried to focus on his training, on getting Jim onto his back and checking his airway. On pinching his nose and supporting his chin, and giving two rescue breaths, just the way they had taught it in his early years on the Force, before the days of mouth guards and face shields.

Before he had lost his way, and before Jim had finally broken his fall. Before he had understood what it meant to really love someone, to need someone, and before he had ever once considered that someone might end up being the most infuriating, self-righteous, brave, beautiful man he could hope to work alongside.

“You can’t die, Jim,” he heard himself saying, voice wrecked, “don’t you dare die on me.”

Jim remained unresponsive all through the first cycle, and the second, and it was all Harvey could do to keep it together. Leaned in close after the third round of chest compressions, and the thought hit him, with more than a tinge of hysteria, that this might be as close as he ever got to kissing Jim.

Swiped the arm of his jacket across his face, because he couldn’t see through the tears, and refused to believe that this was it. That this was how it would end - Jim cold in his grave, and him with nothing left but regrets that he had never worked up the courage to tell Jim that no matter what, no matter how, he would never have to face anything alone so long as Harvey had breath in his body.

He shared another two exhales with Jim when the time came, and then another two. Prayed and pledged and promised as he worked through cycle after cycle of chest compressions, and didn’t know what to do when Jim finally - _finally_ \- started coughing and spluttering.

Forgot everything he had ever learned on the subject and pulled Jim into his arms, his own limbs shaking and trembling. Pressed helpless kisses into his hairline and told him over and over that it was fine, that it was going to be okay.

That he was there for him, and that he loved him, the words spilling and spilling from his mouth even as he clutched Jim closer, too afraid to risk letting go of him.

Clung to his hand in the back of the ambulance, and stroked his fevered brow at the hospital. Camped out in the hard plastic chair, uncaring of who saw and what they thought of it, and had to swallow past the lump in his throat to manage a smile, when Jim was once again with it enough to focus on what was happening.

“You saved my life,” Jim whispered, voice raw and lips dry, and Harvey had been preparing for this moment. Had sworn he wouldn’t go to pieces.

Lifted Jim’s hand from the starched white bed sheets and pressed a kiss to his palm, breath shuddering as he attempted to compose himself.

“You're not on your own, Jim,” he said when he was certain he could get through the sentence. “I'm here for you whenever you need me. Always.”

“Partners, right?” Jim asked, but Harvey knew he understood. Saw it in his big blue eyes, and felt it in the way Jim squeezed his fingers.

Squeezed his in return and gave Jim a genuine smile.

Couldn't have held it back had he wanted to.

“Partners.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	24. Kid Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets custody of baby Babs after his brother dies, but isn't coping very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDEK. This has been in my drafts a while and is going nowhere so I figured I'd just post it. I like to see Jim suffer, what can I say?

What attracted his attention was that it was too damn quiet. The precinct was a busy, frantic place, full of the pounding of sensible lace-ups, the ringing of telephones, and the indignant complaining of the city’s criminal element.

Outside his own office, where the detectives were nominally at work, it was supplemented more often than not with endless bitching and the clacking of keyboards, punctuated by procrastination so blatant that nothing would ever get done if he didn’t stick his head around the door every half hour.

He brought his next check forward and found a dozen or so officers old enough to know better crowded around Jim’s desk, the air full of stifled laughter and murmuring.

Jim himself was snoring, cheek pressed against the pages of an open case file, and Harvey knew he really wasn’t going to appreciate the unflattering puddle of drool forming when those cell phone pictures started doing the rounds.

Still, people straightened up as he approached. Scurried away to make it look as though they were in the middle of something. He ignored them in favor of leaning in close and shaking Jim’s shoulder gently. Waited for those big blue eyes to blink into focus and told Jim he needed to speak to him in the office.

Jim was embarrassed, contrite even, and to have him apologizing without any prompting was disturbing enough on its own merits. It wasn’t enough though, and Harvey chose to sit in the seat next to Jim, rather than have the desk between them.

Wanted to approach this carefully because Jim was all too liable to fly off the handle.

“Law enforcement not giving you the boner it once did?”

“What!?” Jim sputtered, startled, then glared at him before admitting, “I didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” Harvey asked, determined not to let Jim slope off without really talking about this. “Hell, when was the last time you ate something other than a sandwich?”

Jim just frowned, like he was realizing he couldn’t remember, and Harvey wanted to pull him close and take some of the burden from his shoulders. Wanted to let Jim rest his head against his chest and simply hold him until he felt safe enough to just give in and fall asleep.

Because Jim looked terrible. His skin was _gray_ with exhaustion, his beautiful eyes dull and underscored with dark smudges. His shirt hadn’t been ironed and, up close, the overpowering scent of cologne suggested it hadn’t been washed either.

Harvey took a deep breath.

“I think, maybe, it might be a good idea if you thought about going on reduced hours. Just for a while.”

“No!” the word came out harsh, Jim shaking his head with jerky motions. “No, Harvey, I can’t - I can’t _afford_ to.”

He had seen Jim on the verge of tears before. Had seen him sob, even, drunk and broken. He had never seen him like this, panicked and not quite in control of himself.

“Okay,” Harvey soothed. “All right. But you’ve got to do something, Jim.”

The problem was that Jim was so stubborn. Had refused point blank to take bereavement leave, and wouldn’t accept help when it was offered. What little he would allow Harvey to do had taken lengthy arm twisting.

“Why don’t you go home now,” he suggested, thinking compromise, “take the rest of the day off and get some shuteye?”

Jim scrubbed a hand across his face.

“I can’t. I’ve got a witness to speak to, and the Riley kid’s Mom is coming in to talk to me. There’s a union meeting tonight too and -” He cut himself off and went a few shades paler. “Shit! I haven’t got a babysitter, I’m going to have to -”

The desperate edge was back and Harvey put a hand on Jim’s arm. Couldn’t bear to see him worked up like this, freaking out over nothing and heading straight for a nervous breakdown.

“I’ll do it, it’s fine.”

Jim looked at him dubiously, was gearing up to protest and turn him down.

“I’m perfectly capable,” Harvey said, “Never had a kid die on me yet, you know.”

Things were worse than he had thought. Jim simply nodded, once, and said, “Thank you.”

* * *

It _was_ fine. He’d grown up Catholic surrounded by cousins, and second cousins, and cousins of second cousins, and offering to watch what they were up to was usually better than sitting through evening Mass. Again.

His Mother had always said he was a natural. Had never been at all subtle that it was her greatest wish to see him married and settled young so he could make up for all the siblings the Good Lord, in His infinite wisdom, had decided she wouldn’t be able to give him. It hadn’t happened, but he kind of hoped she were looking down right now because Barbara had a head of ginger curls that would have rivaled any one of the snotty nosed Bullock brats he had honed his childcare skills on.

Those baby blues were all Gordon though, and he glanced instinctively over at the photo of Jim and his brother, Roger.

It was such a fucking waste. The man and his wife both gone in a car crash that he knew had sent Jim back into a spiral of automotive nightmares he had told his shrink he was over at 14. It was his business to know what troubled Jim, after all. Just like it was his business to have keys to Jim’s apartment, and to have a little snoop around now, while Jim sat through some typically pointless union business.

“Shall we have a look at Uncle Jim’s stuff?” he asked, and Barbara corrected him.

“Jimbo.”

Harvey grinned - his conditioning was working.

He had spent plenty of time at Jim’s apartment. Just usually Jim was there too, and he hadn’t been dragged up. He had manners enough not to start pawing through someone’s possessions while they were passed out on the sofa.

Still, it didn’t look as though he had been missing much. Jim’s CD collection was horrendous. Pretentious hipster bullshit, pretentious classical bullshit, and a 20 disc compendium of what looked like enough opera to make a working man want to puncture his own eardrum. All it needed was a selection of whale noises and he’d have felt no guilt in setting fire to the lot of it.

Jim’s choice in films wasn’t much better, and Harvey found himself hoping most of it had belonged to one or another of Jim’s ex-girlfriends. There were some decent looking books, though he couldn’t imagine when Jim found time to read anything, and after putting some food on the stove he went to rifle through Jim’s bedroom.

It wasn’t like there was going to be anything racy in there. Barbara was still sleeping in a cot in the corner, because he guessed that Jim wasn’t joking about not being able to afford to reduce his workload any. He had moved apartment once already, far enough out of the city center that the building wasn’t likely to still have drunks sleeping in the stairwell when he left for work in the morning, and that kind of luxury didn’t come cheap in Gotham.

Jim hadn’t helped himself - never did. Had been busted back down to Detective 3rd grade after his most recent flounce from the Force and as much as he would like to, for all that he did more work than most of the department put together, it wasn’t in Harvey’s gift to simply reinstate him.

What he could do was make the going a little easier.

Barbara was half lost in what looked like the entire contents of Jim’s wardrobe strewing the floor, and he wasn’t going to speculate when the bed sheets were last changed. The cot bedding was plenty fresh, at least, proof that Jim was still making the effort to do some laundry. That was more heartening that the last time he’d seen Jim’s apartment in this kind of state, back when Jim had been all but attempting to drink himself to death.

He collected it all together and had a bit of a poke around while Barbara amused herself by gnawing at one of Jim’s nicer ties.

Jim’s nightstand was boring - phone charger and a collection of half empty glasses of water - and the top of his closet wasn’t much better. A keepsake tin with mementos of the various dead members of his family, Roger’s wedding ring and Thelma’s eternity band being the most recent additions, and a shoe box seemingly full of Dear John letters Jim had received back in the army.

He felt depressed just looking at it.

Put it away and sorted Jim’s laundry instead, because apparently the world had flipped its axis and Jim was the slob now, while he played the role of obsessive compulsive neat freak. It just felt better to see the place tidy. It made him less anxious that Jim was on the verge of throwing in the towel.

When that was done he put Babs to bed, and she went down so easily he suspected that the late night screaming Jim described was more to do with being able to pick up on her guardian’s stress levels. Either that or the noise of the violent nightmares that had startled him awake on more than one occasion, when one of them was crashing on the other’s sofa.

Jim looked beat when he finally arrived through the door, weighed down with paperwork and worrying.

“Eat that,” Harvey said in his best no-nonsense tone, and handed Jim a plate of shepherd's pie, made to his mother’s recipe.

“You made this?” Jim asked, incredulous.

“Just because I don’t cook, doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”

Jim took a tentative bite, then said in between the next three fork fulls,

“It’s not bad.”

“Not bad,” Harvey shook his head. “That’s a culinary masterpiece, right there.”

Jim grinned and continued shoveling in food. Started to lose momentum towards the end, clearly half asleep already.

The sight of it pulled hard at his heartstrings. Had him clearing the dishes and getting Jim to his feet, guiding him through to the bedroom. He helped him get his shoes off and slid his tie free, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt so he could breathe more easily.

Forced himself not to think about the intimacy of what he was doing, then got Jim under the blankets, watching as he went out like a light almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He kissed Barbara on the forehead, softly, and after a moment’s hesitation did the same to Jim, the rush of emotion it incited way out of proportion with the barely there press of his lips he allowed himself.

After that he flicked out the lights, locked the door, and went home to his own empty apartment.

* * *

“You did my washing,” Jim said without preamble after the morning briefing.

“It wasn’t the little laundry leprechaun,” Harvey agreed affably.

Jim ignored him. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t expect it.”

Harvey sighed. Jim looked better this morning. Not great, by any means, but less like the walking dead.

“I wanted to.” And, okay, Jim’s raised eyebrow had a point there. “You’re not on your own, Jim. If you need help you only gotta ask for it.”

Jim nodded, eyes suspiciously bright, and Harvey had to touch him. Laid his hand on Jim’s arm and forced a smile on to his own face,

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

It wasn't the right thing to say because Jim only looked away, miserable, and Harvey wished he could see inside Jim's head and _know_ what was going on in there.

He scarcely saw Jim for the rest of the day, too tied up with HR, and paperwork, and demands for results on the latest high profile case from the press, the Commissioner, and the public. Jim had been off duty for hours by the time he was finally done and he told himself he was weighing up his options even as he began driving.

The sensible thing would be to go home and get a good night’s sleep. The sane thing would be to go drown his sorrows in some bar, maybe find some solace in another lost soul for the night and try not to think about Jim Gordon.

What he actually did was park the car outside Jim’s apartment building and sit there for long minutes wondering how it had come to this. When he had become such a coward. Because it had been months, years even, and he was still trying to pretend that all he wanted from Jim was his friendship.

The truth was that he wanted everything. He wanted to be the person Jim turned to, always, and he never wanted to have to walk away from him afterwards. He wanted Jim to know just how much he loved him and, more than anything, he wanted Jim to welcome it.

On Jim’s floor the sounds of a toddler screaming were echoing down the corridor. He knocked the door, twice, but it wasn’t much surprise Jim couldn’t hear it and he fished the spare set of keys from his pocket. Called Jim’s name and pushed through to the bedroom where his heart seized up at the sight he found.

Barbara was standing in the cot screaming, face red and sick all down the front of her pajamas. Jim was sat on the floor next to it, knees pulled up, sobbing.

Harvey took charge of the situation. Got her bathed and calm and dressed, and went back to the room to find Jim still in the process of stripping the bedding, an awful listless blankness to both his expression and movements. He stepped in and finished it. Put Babs to bed and then lead Jim from the room with the kind of gentle touch he used when taking relatives to make morgue identifications.

“I can’t do it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Harvey said, easily, and Jim only shook his head, face wet again.

Reiterated “I can’t,” and proceeded to crumble before his eyes. The cop, and the war vet, and the have-a-go hero all stripped away until there was nothing left but James Gordon, overwhelmed and exhausted. Until he didn't put up even a token protest when Harvey pulled him close, clinging to him instead like a lifeline, face buried in his shirtfront. 

“You can,” Harvey assured, and they were on the sofa now, Jim all but in his lap. Stroked at his back and said, “You will. You're stronger than you think you are.”

“I don't want to do it alone,” Jim said finally, words muffled against his chest, and Harvey's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't what Jim meant, was never going to be what Jim meant, but he had to say it all the same. Had to focus on keeping his tone even, calm, and promised,

“You'll never have to. Not if you don't want to.”

Jim clung tighter still. Said nothing but didn't move either. Linked his fingers with Harvey's own when he got his hand to co-operate, a sudden dead weight in the face of such an enormous confession - one that Jim perhaps hadn't even registered. 

Except Jim was pulling away just enough to look up at him, face a mess and hair everywhere. 

“You don't mean that,” he said, in unconscious echo of how the conversation had started. “Not really.”

Harvey thought of everything they had already been through - in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer - and smiled in spite of himself. Listened to his own advice for once and tugged at Jim's hand a little, so that Jim settled in his arms, finally giving in and falling asleep, the two of them pressed tight together.

The morning would bring its own problems but for now, at least, he had everything he wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	25. Trans!Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim's brother is a jerk - just maybe not quite so much of one as Harvey initially thinks he is. Inspired by the trans!Jim headcanons I spied on my Tumblr dash.

“I’m looking for _James_ Gordon,” the guy at the front desk was drawling and Harvey disliked him on instinct. Disliked him all the more when Jim’s step faltered beside him, the color draining from his face.

Because Jim wasn’t the type to shy away from anything. Had to play the tough guy, the hero, and it was disconcerting to hear how unsteady his voice was when he said,

“Roger?”

Unlikeable turned a 180, then dragged his gaze up from Jim’s sensible lace-ups to his neat side-parting and back down again. Shook his head like it was a sight he could hardly comprehend and responded with,

“I would never have recognized you.”

Jim’s jaw clenched, arms coming up to cross across his chest the way they always did when he was feeling defensive. Harvey could only guess at what the problem was because Jim was the kind of vision he could spend forever staring at, and the suggestion that he had taken a beating with the ugly stick at any point over the last few years was frankly laughable.

Perhaps it was the other way around, he thought. Maybe Jim was the ugly duckling turned swan, and somehow that idea only made him more appealing.

It said something about his own psyche, probably.

“This is my brother, Roger,” Jim said, either way and, while Harvey was still reeling from that bombshell, nodded his head in his direction and went on, “Roger, this is my partner, Harvey.”

“Partner?” Jim’s brother - and, okay, he could sort of see it now - asked, and the tone, the raised eyebrow, communicated a whole series of questions. A whole mountain of judgement too, and if it were true, if he really did mean that much to Jim, he wouldn’t stand there and let the man get away with it, brother or no. He’d have hammed it up and planted a kiss on Jim’s cheek, just to drive the point home.

He’d have waited until the first moment Jim left them alone and he’d have taken too much pleasure in the flash of fear across Roger’s face, when he warned him that if he ever attempted to make Jim feel ashamed of himself again he’d really really wish he hadn’t.

Back in the real world, where for all he knew blue eyes and a last name weren’t the only things the two of them had in common, Harvey forced a smile onto his face.

“Technically I’m his boss now.”

Roger smiled at that, all relief and understanding, and Harvey wished he didn’t care about Jim so much.

Swinging a punch would have felt so very satisfying.

* * *

A few hours and a lot of beer later, Roger was still there. Was still putting Jim visibly on edge, and still making Harvey want to commit acts of physical violence.

Because at least Jim had channelled his share of insufferable Gordon self-righteousness into something useful. Roger seemed interested in nothing more than good old fashioned moral conservatism.

Lacked any semblance of tact into the bargain, and commented on Jim’s failed engagement to Barbara with,

“I always told you it wouldn’t work. You knew she was interested in women.”

Was blind to the growing tension in Jim’s shoulders and said of Jim’s tryst with Valerie Vale,

“A journalist? I don’t know what you were thinking; you had barely known her two minutes. She could have made your life very difficult.”

Wasn’t satisfied with the shamefaced flush on Jim’s cheeks and moved on to the subject of Jim’s dreams of family life behind white picket fences,

“What a disaster that would have been. Marriages are built on trust and honesty, and there’s you, telling everyone you’re going to be a father.”

Jim was gone at that, looking like he was going to lose his dinner as he staggered towards the men’s room, and Harvey could take it no longer.

He was the third wheel, he got that. Had only come in the first place because he couldn’t work out whether Jim’s invitation to accompany them was stilted because he wanted him there - or because he didn’t.

He couldn’t ignore this though. Knew how much that baby had meant to Jim, and got that flash of fear he had imagined earlier, pressing close in to Roger’s personal space and demanding,

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The man recovered well, adopting the snitty pout that was vaguely adorable on Jim’s face but only intensified Harvey’s dislike of his brother.

“I only want what’s best for him,” Roger said, indignant. “He wants to raise another guy’s kid, that’s his own business.”

Harvey stared, bewildered, because everything he and Jim had been through together and this was the first he was hearing of it. Roger was still talking, oblivious,

“But that charade they had going, that was never going to end well.”

It didn’t make sense, no matter which way he twisted the words, and it had to be written all across his face because suddenly Roger was showing the contrition he hadn’t bothered with all evening. Was raking a hand through his hair - a few shades darker than Jim’s - and saying,

“He hasn’t told you, has he?”

* * *

“You know then,” Jim said miserably when Harvey finally found him, leaning against the railings overlooking the city park, a spot Jim had often told him had been a favorite of his father’s.

Harvey fell into place beside him, the metal cold even through his jacket as he rested his arms on the ledge of the rail.

“It doesn’t change anything, Jim,” He said quietly, because it didn’t.

Jim was still just as infuriating. Just as brave and beautiful and breathtaking, and Harvey was still just as sickeningly, hopelessly in love with him.

Would still crawl through hell and back, if he thought it might make Jim feel any better.

Jim sucked in a shuddering breath. Stared resolutely out into the darkness as he said,

“I never lied to Lee. We just didn’t talk much about it.”

The silence stretched, Harvey giving him the space to say what he wanted in his own time.

“I thought it didn’t matter, maybe - and,” he swallowed, tried again, “and I loved her, Harvey. I loved her so much I didn’t care how or why, only that she was going to have the baby and she wanted me to be the one she raised it with.”

It hurt, physically hurt, to hear Jim’s voice choked up with emotion. Hurt so bad that he had to swallow around the lump forming in his own throat, hesitating for a moment before laying his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, and Jim turned to look at him quizzically, brow furrowed. Harvey shrugged slightly, wishing he had done things differently. Wished that he hadn’t told quite so many off color jokes, back in the beginning, and that he could focus on what Jim was saying about Lee, without the ever present sting of jealousy.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you couldn’t tell me.”

Jim only shook his head.

“I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

* * *

It really didn’t change anything. Jim was a little less stressed, maybe, but that was hard to gauge with someone who lived to throw themselves head first into danger, the way Jim did.

He certainly wasn’t dialling that back any, and after one particularly close call Harvey realized too late that he was clinging too tight to Jim, color blazing along his cheeks even as he forced himself to let go of Jim’s suit jacket.

Jim looked at him like he didn’t know him, like it was all too much for him to process, and Harvey had to turn away because he wasn’t ready for this conversation.

“Roger said - but I didn’t,” Jim was stuttering, and wasn’t that just fucking brilliant? Jim’s big brother had already warned him this was a possibility, and Jim hadn’t even wanted to contemplate it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, because what else was there to say in such a situation, “I know you’re not interested.”

Not then, not now, not ever. Harvey didn’t know why the pain of it felt so fresh - he had had plenty of time to get accustomed to the idea.

He was going to go lick his wounds in private. Was going to go and get so drunk he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the details of this awful moment.

“No,” Jim said, hand clamping around his wrist, and when Harvey risked a glance his eyes were full of panic. “You don’t understand what I’m saying.”

“I get it,” Harvey reassured, reaching for magnanimous, “you don’t need to explain yourself.”

It would only make things more awkward.

Would only hurt worse to be on the receiving end of Jim’s pity.

“No,” Jim tried again, frustrated, the grip on his arm tightening. “Roger said you would still be interested if you knew, and I didn’t believe him.”

Harvey frowned, not sure what to do with the knowledge that Roger had been on his side of the piece. Jim only made an impatient sound, angry at something, and finally let go of his wrist. Put both hands on his upper arms instead, as though to keep him steady, and looked him full in the face,

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Now it was his turn to gape. His turn to stare at Jim, scouring his face for signs of doppelgangers, or hypnosis, or some mind altering substance Narco had yet to catalog. Jim met it without flinching, without backing down, and suddenly Harvey’s heart was pounding.

It was unreal, _surreal_ , and his own hand was coming up to touch Jim’s cheek, his fingers trembling.

Then Jim was pushing forward, jumping to action, and they were kissing just the same as they did everything - Jim leading and him following.

Jim's tongue slick in his mouth, and his hands pulling Jim close, the thrill of it leaving him grinning and breathless.

“Is this going to change things?” Jim asked when they broke apart, uncertainty creeping in at the edges, and Harvey flung an arm over his shoulder as he lead the way back to the car and an afternoon of narrowly averted job related fatality paperwork.

“If you really think nothing is going to change,” he said, whispering low and promising into Jim's ear just because he could, “then you're in for a serious awakening.”

Jim flushed up prettily, kind of shivered against him, and Harvey beamed.

Perhaps he owed Roger an apology after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wrote a companion piece to this from Jim's POV - find it [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27250383).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	26. Foot Fetish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foot fetish smut because - well, just because!

Jim’s apartment getting trashed was the kind of thing Harvey’s dreams were made of. Not because the place was soulless and miserable - though it was - and not because he wanted Jim’s privacy invaded - Jim feeling uncomfortable in his own home was the very last thing he wanted.

It was because it meant Jim was staying with him, would be for the foreseeable future, and every moment he got to spend with Jim was a moment to be cherished, even when some whack job was attempting to kill them. To have Jim dropping tiredly onto the sofa next to him, freshly showered and clad in nothing more than his undershirt and his pajama pants, well, that was the sort of sight he was going to be committing to memory.

Jim stretched his long legs out in front of him, toes furling and unfurling like he was trying to work loose the ache of a punishing day spent pounding the sidewalk, and Harvey had to reach for his drink as a distraction. Took a deep swallow of his beer and watched, transfixed, as Jim twisted a slow circle with his ankle, foot arching.

It wasn’t the done thing, he knew that. But Jim’s face was pulled into a pained grimace, and he was a few beers in already. Dumped the file he had been reading to the floor and said, voice almost steady,

“Let me give you a hand with that.”

Jim frowned at him, confused, and Harvey reached out to pat at his leg, encouraging. Felt his breathing go shallow when Jim got the idea and obligingly swung his feet up and over his thighs, scooting back so he was sitting against the arm of the sofa.

The thing was that Harvey had always had a thing for feet. He had gone weak at the knees the very first time he met Fish, her stiletto clad foot pressed against his informant’s chest, pinning the guy to the floor. And he had spent too much time thinking about Jim’s, relying on the all too brief glimpses he had caught at Jim’s apartment, and in the precinct locker room.

Now they were in his lap, pale and perfect, and suddenly the room was too hot, his fingers trailing a barely there touch along the outside of Jim’s left foot. Jim shivered, the movement strong enough to be visible, and his own voice was low when he asked,

“Are you ticklish?”

“N-no,” Jim managed, and when Harvey glanced over at him it was to find his eyes wide.

Harvey turned his attention to the right foot, the one further away from his rapidly hardening dick, and slid his hands around it reverently. Dug his thumbs into the arch, just under the ball of his foot, and exhaled with a shudder when Jim moaned, helpless like it was torn out of him.

He wanted Jim to make that sound again, wanted it so bad it was making his head spin, and he started working at Jim’s foot in earnest. Massaged the abused muscles and caressed the smooth skin. Ran the blunt edge of his fingernail the length of Jim’s instep and his dick twitched, even as Jim’s foot jerked reflexively.

“Oh,” Jim gasped when he moved back to the other foot. Squirmed, overwhelmed, and Harvey was leaking now, wet and eager, into his underwear. Was straining hard against his zipper, and he met Jim’s gaze, so agonizingly desperate for more but not wanting to do anything Jim wasn’t on board with.

Jim seemed clear enough on the idea though, what with his hands raising Jim’s foot up without much conscious thought on the subject, and he nodded, sharp and stilted. Looked half wrecked, his cheeks flushed and his arousal obvious through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

It was too much, way too much, and Harvey had to put his mouth to Jim’s flesh. Had to suck kisses all along the soft side of his foot, want flooding through him at the way Jim whined and pressed a frantic hand against the bulge in his pants.

“Oh God, Jim, please,” Harvey heard himself begging, “touch yourself for me.”

There was a moment when he was afraid that he had gone too far. Afraid that Jim was going to put a stop to whatever the hell it was that was happening. Then Jim was pushing his hand under the waistband of his pants and Harvey slowly sucked at Jim’s toes, tongue flicking over and between them, unable to look away from the sight of Jim’s narrow hips stuttering up to meet the slide of his fist.

Jim was panting now, harsh and frantic, and when Harvey switched foot again he pushed his pants down to mid thigh in one fevered movement. Stroked himself with one hand while the other clenched tight around the edge of the sofa cushion and, even if this was as much as Jim was ever willing to share with him, Harvey was beyond certain he would be jacking off to the image for the rest of his life.

“Like that,” Jim urged as Harvey swirled his tongue around Jim’s toe before sinking down on it, just the way he would if it were Jim’s dick he were worshipping. “ _Harvey_.”

It was so good, so hot, and when Jim shifted a little, pushed the heel of his free foot against Harvey’s aching erection, it was such a shock that he couldn’t help himself, shaking and shuddering as he came in his pants like an over excited teenager.

Jim groaned, watching, and his hand was a blur, leg muscles trembling as he edged closer and closer. Harvey ran his hands up his quivering calf and mouthed at his foot, wet and open, and that was it, Jim was gasping, coming in hot spurts over his fingers.

Harvey collapsed heavily against the back of the sofa. Stroked almost absent mindedly at Jim’s feet as they both got their breath back, determined not to waste the opportunity. Was glad he hadn't when Jim pulled away, the rejection crushing - but Jim only rearranged his clothing before sitting again, his legs half tucked under him so that he was leaning against Harvey’s side.

He didn’t seem to register Harvey’s wonder at all, instead kissing him briefly, soft and slow, and then curling into him when Harvey ventured to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“If you start making a habit of that I’ll never want to go home,” Jim said, tone light, and Harvey’s heart clenched because Jim being willing to try a repeat performance was so close to and yet not quite everything he had ever wanted.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Harvey said quietly. Hardly dared to look at Jim for fear of what he might see in his expression.

He needn’t have worried.

Jim was craning his head up to look into his face, smiling. Was taking hold of his hand and rubbing his thumb in soft circles.

“Can we shower together?” Jim asked, reminding him that his clothing was uncomfortably damp and sticky. “Can I wash your hair?”

Harvey raised an eyebrow, not missing the flush that was back in Jim’s cheeks, nor the breathless quality to the question. Understood for the first time that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had been looking on the coming weeks of enforced proximity as exquisite torture.

“I’d love that,” he said, finally, and Jim’s answering smile had his stomach fluttering and a new sense of determination forming.

Now he had Jim here, there was no way he was ever letting him go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	27. Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was messing around with one of those artwork name generators and this happened...

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s Transparent Vision of Indestructible Significance.“

“And what’s Transparent Vision of Indestructible Significance doing in the living room?”

That was harder to answer. Jim aimed for the wide eyed look Harvey had often claimed to be helpless against and went with,

“I didn’t have anywhere else to put it.”

“There’s a dumpster out front. That was made for it.”

Jim felt his cheeks burn and Harvey sighed, tone softening,

“At least tell me you didn’t pay for it.”

Jim said nothing and Harvey muttered, low and exasperated,

“Jesus Christ.”

It wasn’t _that_ bad. Some of the squiggly things were kind of interesting, and he liked the shade of blue in the top left corner. The money was going to a good cause too, and he had never been very adept at saying no to people who needed his help, be they little old ladies raising money for the local youth center, or hardened career criminals bleeding out all over the back seats of Harvey’s beloved Diplomat.

“I thought it might brighten the place up a bit.”

That was almost the exact line the woman had used to sell it to him, but Harvey’s resolve was stronger. Either that or his delivery was less persuasive. That was okay though.

He had other tricks up his sleeve.

Moved to stand behind Harvey so that they were both facing the painting, his arms sliding around the other man’s front even as he pressed closer to his back. Said against his ear,

“Maybe I can make it up to you?”

“I dunno,” Harvey said, considering, but Jim could hear the smile in his voice, “that’s one ugly ass picture you’ve just inflicted on me. I’d be expecting some serious groveling.”

Jim grinned. Kissed the spot behind Harvey’s ear and gave it his best attempt at seductive,

“You might even end up liking it.”

Harvey laughed and it might have stung, had he not twisted around in Jim’s embrace and kissed him properly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek and the other settling low on his back.

“I’m never going to like that monstrosity, Jim, but it doesn't matter.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for clarification, and Harvey gave him the kind of dopey smile that never failed to make his heart ache, like it was intent on reminding him just how lucky he was.

“I still got your pretty face to look at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	28. Sexuality Angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just playing around with some backstory ideas.

Jim had always wanted to be a hero. Not like the gunslinging tough men Roger chose to emulate in their imaginary games, but the real good guys. The ones who stood up for what was right and made everyone’s life better, just by making them realize all the wonderful things they were capable of.

The problem was that he was never very good at it.

He tried. He had sobbed at his father’s graveside as a teenager and swore he would be a credit to his memory. Pledged that he would make a difference, and that he would grow up to be a man his dad could be proud of.

At school he had toed the line. Did all his homework on time and never stayed out past curfew. Was made a hall monitor and split his free time between Scouts and Church and the Young Marines. Told himself that it didn’t matter that he never felt like he quite fit in at any of it, because that only meant he needed to try harder.

Needed to do more, be better, and not listen to any of the nagging doubts because his dad had always said that if you didn’t believe in what you were doing, then you were part of the problem.

His mother tried to talk him out of it when he made the announcement after graduation. Told him he was wasting his education and throwing his life away. That all he would do was make himself miserable and wept, helpless, when he wouldn’t be swayed on the issue. She tried to dissuade him until the very last moment, then suffered a fatal heart attack during his first tour, before he ever had chance to thank her for caring enough to even question his decision.

Because sometimes he worried that she had been right. That all he was doing was making things worse, watching on as mothers and children were blown to pieces over something that he couldn’t pretend to understand. Something that he increasingly questioned until, finally, he refused to obey a direct order and was given the choice of leaving quietly or being dishonorably discharged for insubordination.

Shipped home to find himself without friends and without family, because Roger had his own life, his own worries, and nobody else had ever much liked him, anyway. That was how it felt, at least, and he spent long hours staring at what he had left of his father, and thinking about what advice he would have given him.

Eventually thought instead of the cop who had pulled him from the wreckage of the crash and let him cry all over his patrol uniform. Thought of the comforting solidity, and how when he had said things were going to be all right, in spite of everything he had believed it.

So he signed up and breezed through the Academy. Felt proud, perhaps for the very first time, when he looked at his reflection in the mirror and held his head high out on foot patrol, wanting to be a credit to his warrant card. He was still a rookie when a high class blonde pressed her phone number into his hand, and he flushed scarlet at her suggestion he come back off duty to advise her on security measures, explaining that it wouldn’t be ethical.

But he met her again a few weeks later while he was serving as the precinct’s representative at a charity event at the local art gallery, and this time when she asked he could do nothing but nod, dumbly. Ignored the locker room jibes that she was only looking for someone to slum it with, and spent near enough a month’s pay on their first date - not because he wanted to impress, but because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

By the time he was off probation they were a real couple, were going to get married, and Barbara casually mentioned a gallery she had heard about in Gotham. Hinted too obviously about the fast track scheme advertized in the Force circular, and laughed along with her snobbish friends after too much wine, when they commented on how awful it must be for him, going to work every day in such an ugly mess of polyester and command patches.

“Imagine how proud your parents would have been,” she whispered later, an expose on corruption within the GCPD splashed across the inner pages of one of the newspapers, “to see their son clean up the department.”

They would be proud he was trying, at least, and his heart pounded when he walked up the steps of the precinct, remembering the last time he had been there. His mother had helped him limp to the front desk, to leave a card for the man who had risked life and limb to get him free of the passenger seat.

And then his heart kind of stuttered in his chest, his breath coming sharp and stilted, because the man was right there. Was sneering at him like he was something stuck to the sole of his shoe, and it was like the realization of all his very worst fears.

He wasn’t good enough, hadn’t worked hard enough, and the one person left in the world who he dreamed of impressing could see it in an instant.

Except Harvey Bullock didn’t even recognize him. Was objecting to him on nothing but principle, and it almost hurt worse to know that someone he had spent more than half his life idolizing was the personification of everything he had sworn to put an end to. Harvey was lazy, sloppy and workshy, and on the take just like the rest of the department.

Didn’t even want to respond to the call out, and Jim repeated some of Harvey’s own words to Bruce Wayne, even as the man himself glared at him, disgusted. Couldn’t offer the kind of confident comfort he had once been given, and pledged instead to catch whoever was responsible. Got chewed out for making promises he had no right to, and cried hot frustrated tears in the shower when the shift finally ended, wishing he had stayed the hell away from Gotham.

There was no turning back now though. Nothing to do but keep going and he could do that, had already put in plenty of practice and, just when it felt like his life was about to fall apart, Harvey tugged him in close and told him that he was doing the right thing. That he was making a difference, and Jim shook and trembled, clinging back as long as he dared, breathing in great lungfuls of Harvey’s scent, the way he had when he was 12-years-old and his whole world had just imploded.

He attempted to fish after that. Confessed to Harvey about his father, about the car crash, and waited for the realization that never seemed to come. Asked him during never ending stakeouts about Harvey’s early years with the Force, and tried to goad him into bragging about his own acts of heroics. Never got anywhere and wondered, bitterly, if it had meant so little Harvey simply didn’t remember.

What did happen was that Harvey started, slowly, to open up to him. Began touching him with ever increasing frequency, patted at his back and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Pressed scruffy kisses to his cheek and let Jim lean against him, whenever he wanted to. Let him see past the uncaring façade, and this time around answered his questions about Dix and the shivering working girls he gave money to, so they could go get a coffee and some breakfast.

Was selfless and non-judgemental in all the ways Jim still failed at, and after Lee, after Blackgate, he heard dark whispers of the payment Falcone had extracted, in return for providing Harvey his assistance.

It made him hate himself all the more, lose himself more desperately in the bottom of bottle after bottle, and again it was Harvey who was there to save him. Harvey who held him, and Harvey who checked up on him. Harvey who told him things would be okay, and Harvey who offered up his sofa again and again, when Jim couldn’t bear to be alone in his apartment.

He trailed his fingertips over Harvey’s possessions when the other man was at work. Wondered where they had come from, and what they meant to his partner. Didn’t question the descriptor his brain supplied, even when he was adamant he was never ever returning to the GCPD. One day he even rifled through Harvey’s mess of a filing system, guilty but curious, and didn’t know what to do when he found a faded thank-you card with a message in his own childish handwriting.

Left it, eventually, just underneath the top of the pile and later agreed to Valerie Vale’s suggestion that they go home together.

Stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror afterwards and wondered what it was exactly he was trying to prove. What kind of man used someone else to feel better about the tangle of conflicting emotions he was too afraid to start making sense of.

It ended in disaster, only made things worse than they had been before, and it wasn’t until he gave in to the nagging and stood in the middle of the bullpen, Harvey smiling fondly at him, that it finally hit him that this was the one place he had ever felt the sense of belonging he had always been chasing. The one place where his best sometimes even felt good enough, and the one place where he didn’t have to pretend he was someone he wasn’t.

Except maybe it wasn’t the precinct, nor the police force. Maybe it was working alongside Harvey. It was watching him take over from Barnes without any expectation of personal gain. It was seeing the way people reacted to his words of encouragement, and admitting the way they left him so ridiculously pleased with himself whenever Harvey aimed them in his own direction.

It was the skill he had always most coveted, most dreamed of possessing, and when he thought that nobody was looking too closely he tried to emulate it. Offered stilted praise to the rookies for what they did right, rather than only berating them for the things they didn’t. Asked uniform, awkwardly, what they could be doing to make scene preservation easier, in place of simply throwing a fit about evidence contamination.

Harvey clapped him on the shoulder and told him, pitched for his ears only, that he was proud of him. It made him shiver, left him breathless, and the world didn’t topple off its axis when he finally let himself admit that what he wanted from Harvey was something more than a comforting hug and recognition that his life had been worth saving.

He _wanted_ Harvey. Wanted Harvey to want him in return, and once the admission was made there was no hiding back behind his wall of wilful ignorance.

Instead he forced himself to re-examine things he had long pretended to be without significance. He thought of the teasing and the name calling in high school, and how his own staggering lack of interest in the opposite sex had scarcely registered in spite of it. Thought of the scout leader he had trailed around after like a lost puppy, and what Roger had really been saying the night the guy had been leaving their house when he got home from his church study group.

It had never been concern over his grades suffering, or worry that he was going to spread himself too thin. It was that everybody but him could see how desperately obsessed he was with the man. Because he had been. He had wanted to be near him every second he could, had lived for the way he occasionally clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations, and imagined the breathless excitement that came over him every time their eyes met was what anyone would feel in the presence of someone they wanted to make proud of them.

He flushed to think of it now. Cringed to realize how obvious he must have been, how blatant, and understood for the first time what his mother had been trying to tell him when she had said that he could never be himself, would never be happy, if he went ahead and joined the army. She had known him better than he had known himself, and he saw now that he had been no different in the military. Had lurched from one embarrassingly transparent fixation to another, and it was doubtless only his single minded focus on self-improvement that had saved him from becoming the subject of a DADT inquiry.

Because now he could see his interest for what it had been it was all he could concentrate on. All he could think about, and Harvey knew him too well to not be aware that something was bothering him. Watched him fidget and fluster, and raised an eyebrow when he caught him staring for the third time that evening. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t seem to control himself, and dreamed of Harvey taking the decision out of his hands by leaning over and kissing him.

“Is it Lee?” Harvey asked, like a bucket of cold water. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Once there would have been no question; Lee had been the only thing he could think of. He had loved her, adored her, even if things hadn’t been exactly the way they should have been. Even if he had never been driven half wild by nothing more than her proximity - nothing more than the idea of her proximity.

“It’s nothing,” he lied and though Harvey was clearly sceptical, he let it drop.

Gave him space and didn’t push. Didn’t say a word when Jim disappeared the moment they were off duty the following day, feeling pushed past breaking point, and answered the door at 2am a few nights later, though they had work the next day and Jim had been drinking.

They needed to talk. _Jim_ needed to talk. Had to explain, had to try, because it was tearing him apart, the hoping and wishing and wanting. It was all he did, was going to destroy their friendship if he kept it up, and it had to be better to get shot down now so he could start attempting to get over it. He didn’t know how to get words out, didn’t know where to start, and when Harvey asked what was wrong his attention was caught by a card pinned to the notice board, where before there had been a clipping about the Lakeside killer.

Harvey followed his gaze and pushed a hand through his hair,

“I told you then that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. You’re gonna find it, Jim, you just got to keep going.”

Jim turned to look at him at that. Really looked at him, because it was the early hours of the morning and Harvey was still soft with sleep, hair mussed and the imprint of the pillow on his left cheek. Wasn’t even mad at him for hauling him out of bed to stand in the cold of the living space, clad in nothing but his undershirt and boxers.

He moved without thinking, without second guessing, and clung to him. Wound his arms tight around him and felt peace like he’d never known when after a few seconds of hesitation Harvey hugged him back. Clutched him just as close and pressed a kiss into his hair. Gasped when Jim reciprocated by dragging his mouth up the side of his neck before finally brushing their lips together.

Kissed him properly for one wonderful, exhilarating moment, then pulled away a little. Cupped his cheek and asked him, voice gravelly, if he knew what he was doing. If he had thought about how he might feel in the morning.

“I already found it,” he said in answer. “I would have found it sooner but I was looking in all the wrong places.”

“Jim,” Harvey breathed in response, like it was his heart threatening to hammer free of his chest, and Jim had to kiss him again. Lost himself in it like he never had before, but it wasn’t frightening. It felt right, it felt like everything he had ever wanted, and, later, when he was falling asleep, Harvey’s arms wrapped around him, his kisses and his praise warming him through, he came to another realization.

What he had wanted wasn’t to be a hero - it was for someone to make him feel like one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	29. Santa's Lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [this](http://gothamkink.dreamwidth.org/551.html?thread=55079) prompt on the kink meme: _Bullock/Gordon, Santa!kink. Harvey plays Santa and Jim sits on his lap._

Essen would never have been subjected to this indignity. Barnes, neither, and Harvey thought longingly of the bottle of whiskey in his bottom desk drawer.

It wasn’t that he disliked kids, or even that he begrudged the precinct custom of handing out gifts and Christmas cheer. It was that Anderson had been rushed into hospital the night before with a ruptured appendix, and inconsiderately left him to wear the red suit and fluffy white beard.

The damn thing itched and chafed, but when he tried leaving it off some precocious 6-year-old told him he had seen better Santas rooting through the dumpsters outside the local supermarket.

“What are you hoping for this Christmas?” He asked, all the same, and the kid’s bottom lip kind of wobbled as he said,

“My dad to come home again.”

He might have said something encouraging, thinking of the armed forces or the many names in their Misper files, but the boy’s mom chose that moment to put in an appearance and suddenly he knew exactly where the man was. Prison, on his word, and there was no way he was going to be getting out any time in the next decade.

From there things only went from bad to worse.

Toddlers screamed, and babies cried, and one little brat kicked him so hard in the shin it brought tears to his eyes while her dad apologized over and over again.

Marten could barely stop sniggering, the bell on her elf hat jangling, and Harvey grit his teeth and forced a smile onto his face. Ho ho ho-ed and finished dispensing the brightly wrapped presents. Stumbled awkwardly over questions about how he managed to squeeze his gut down the chimney and the names of his reindeer, and collapsed in a relieved sprawl when they were finally being shepherded out and he was left to his own devices.

He ditched the cotton wool and the Santa hat, pushing one hand through his hair, and looked up to see Jim leaning against the door frame, smiling.

“I don’t know what you’re so pleased about,” Harvey griped, even as Jim started crossing the room, “next year I’m going to put you in the damn elf outfit.”

Now that was a sight which might make the whole thing bearable.

Jim didn’t say a word, and Harvey realized what his plan was right about the exact same time he found himself with a lap full of very adult detective. His mouth caught in Jim’s kiss, and his hands pulling Jim in closer, Jim’s fingers coming up to tangle in his hair.

“So have you been a good boy this year?” He asked breathlessly when they came up for air, giving it his most lecherous leer, and Jim only grinned in response, mischievous, and said,

“I can be a bad boy, if you want me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	30. Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I promised I would write them getting married at some point!

He and Harvey had taken to spending all their free time together. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, wasn’t something he had set out to do, but Jim couldn’t pretend that it was something he worried about. It was comfortable, easy, and Harvey didn’t care that his only real topic of conversation was the job, or that his idea of fine dining was anything which required utensils.

Harvey made him laugh, no matter how terrible the day had been, and the nights when he fell asleep on Harvey’s sofa, the other man so close he could reach out and touch him, were the only ones where he wasn’t haunted by nightmares.

He felt happier than he had in a long time, than he had ever, maybe, and Harvey was happy with the arrangement too. At least Jim thought he was, until the evening he turned up at Harvey’s apartment to find him suited and booted, hair still damp from the shower and expensive cologne thick in the air.

“You didn’t need to get all dressed up on my account,” he said, dumbly, to hide the way the sight made something twist in his chest, tight and painful. Harvey didn’t even tell some inappropriate joke about how he might get the effort if he was going to put out after dinner, instead giving him a kind of bashful smile and asking,

“It’s not too much, is it?”

Jim shook his head, his chest aching, and Harvey offered to give him a lift home even as he started rambling about how long it had been since he had last been on a real date with anybody. Looked relieved when he declined, and Jim stopped in every bar along his route back, unsure what exactly it was he wanted to avoid thinking about, only determined to ensure that he achieved it.

The next day his head pounded, the hangover refusing to dissipate, while Harvey was in such a good mood it set his teeth on edge. Made him grip too hard at his pen as he filled out his paperwork, and grit his teeth together when Harvey was too intent on being jovial and generous, buying him half decent coffee and asking his opinion on which restaurant sounded fancier.

Jim went with the one he personally thought sounded tacky, then felt guilty because friends were supposed to be pleased for each other when one of them met someone they so wanted to impress.

Harvey hadn’t given him a hard time when he started dating Lee, for all that it seemed half a lifetime ago, and he would be encouraging if he ever got his act together enough to try putting himself out there again. Jim knew it. He was just jealous, he supposed, because he hated being alone. Hated that he was such a failure at what the rest of the world seemed to find so easy, and without Harvey’s company he would have no distraction from the endless stretches of silent loneliness.

The nightmares were bad that night, worse than they had been in a long time, and he woke with tears on his face. Woke wishing that Harvey were there, and for a moment he almost considered ringing him before realizing what an idiot he was being. Harvey was probably in bed with his new love interest. Was probably doing things that would make Jim blush like a sheltered schoolboy, and the very last thing he was going to appreciate was being disturbed by a work colleague.

He tried to act like one in the days which followed. Tried to be mature and professional, and when that didn’t work he tried asking leading questions about the woman Harvey preferred to spend his time with.

“A gentleman never tells,” Harvey told him, the lecherous smirk saying everything, and Jim lost his temper while arresting a couple of low lever mob associates. Slapped the cuffs on too tight and shoved them into the car with unwarranted violence.

Put his head in his hands afterwards, in the relative sanctuary of the locker room, and attempted to make sense of what he was feeling. Gave it up as a bad job and got a front row ticket to a scene that set every tongue in the precinct wagging.

“Never took you for the prejudiced type,” Tuttle commented a couple of hours later, and Jim realized with a start that he had been doing nothing but scowling, lost in thought, for the last twenty minutes.

“I’m not,” he said, voice gruff, and turned his attention back to the case file in front of him. Slid straight back into reverie, and wondered how he had missed it. Searched for a memory of Harvey telling him. He remembered him bragging about his conquests, back in the early days, and telling tales of all manner of filth during long stake-outs, in an attempt to shock him.

There had never been mention of another guy, he was certain, and the fact hurt worse than Harvey’s apology that he was going to be busy again, doubtless with the man who had showed up at the front desk with a kiss and a smile for him.

Jim wouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, he wasn’t like that. It had never mattered to him; not at school, and not in the army. Barbara hadn’t kept it from him, and it had never been Montoya’s gender that had hurt when the truth came out about them. The longer he thought about it, the more it tore at him, because he had told Harvey everything. Had confessed all his deepest darkest thoughts, and Harvey hadn’t even trusted him enough to know that sometimes men did it for him.

He drank too much again that night, alone in his apartment, until he felt angry and hard done by. Until he felt abandoned and hopeless. Until he sobbed, helpless, into his pillow because he was bitter and jealous, and both were excellent reasons why he was destined to be on his own forever.

Why he rolled out of bed and scarcely bothered to do more than rake a hand through his hair, and why Harvey called him into his office and asked quietly,

“Is there something I ought to know about?”

Jim stared at him blankly - he wasn’t the one keeping secrets.

Harvey sighed, “Last time you were knocking it back like this someone had a hit out on you. It makes a man antsy, you know what I’m saying?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, and forced a smile to his face. Spent the rest of the day trying to convince himself he had meant it and, when the shift finally ended and Harvey asked if he wanted to come over for pizza and beer, the relief that washed over him was so strong that the smile that spread wide across his face didn’t need any coaching.

He had never properly appreciated how good it was to spend time with Harvey, he thought later as Harvey laughed at some off-color joke he was in the middle of repeating. He had taken it for granted, and maybe that was why Harvey hadn’t told him. Perhaps he had simply believed that Jim wouldn’t be interested, and Jim determined right there and then that he would be a better friend.

Started specially buying stuff he knew that Harvey liked, and wore the shirt Harvey had once complimented. Listened more attentively and made eye contact, because he had been on a course where they said that was how you showed interest in someone. Found he didn’t have to try at it, that it was something he had already been doing, and every smile he managed to coax, every laugh he was the cause of, felt like a victory.

Every evening Harvey chose to spend with him over some stranger felt like winning a battle.

So when he had the guy’s file pulled, it wasn’t snooping, not really. It was just that Gotham was the kind of place where nobody was what they said they were. He didn’t want Harvey to end up hurt and heartbroken.

That was what he told himself when he used his day off to sit for hours in the cafe opposite the guy’s - David’s - workplace, and it was what he told himself when he tailed him home, just to check that the address matched up with what his research told him. Shrank into the shadows when David looked over his shoulder, nervous, and though the place was nice - way nicer than the soulless box he was currently renting - he had to concede that it wasn’t beyond the means of some fancy bar owner.

Because that was where they had met, of course it was, and Jim twisted dates and times around in his head, wondering where he had been and why they hadn’t been together.

Wondered why he was so obsessed in the first place, and the realization hit him so hard and so sudden it knocked all the breath from his lungs.

It couldn’t be, he reasoned. He would have known before, surely. He was too old for that kind of revelation. But when he let himself think of it, tentatively, in his darkened bedroom, it wasn’t strange or off-putting. In fact it proved the opposite, and he couldn’t look Harvey in the face the following morning, afraid the older man would know, somehow, what he had been imagining.

What he had been doing as he imagined it, and he flushed, helpless, when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder.

Stared, stupidly, when they were sat close, and wished he was a better man, the kind who stayed away and let people get on with their lives, instead of selfishly clinging and distracting.

Because he still wanted Harvey’s undivided attention, the only difference was that now he understood _why_ he wanted it. Tortured himself with comparisons, and lay awake at night wishing he knew what it was that David had and he didn’t. They were both about the same height, both blond haired and blue eyed. David wasn’t that much older than him, even, and Alvarez said once that he had mistaken David for him for a moment, when he had seen Harvey out with him.

Which meant that it was just him that Harvey didn’t find attractive. His face and his personality. His emotional baggage, and the fact he didn’t have the sense he was born with because eventually he sank one or two beers too many and asked Harvey,

“If you had met me in a bar, if you didn’t know me, would you have asked me to go home with you?”

Harvey coughed and choked on a swallow of beer. Put the bottle down and looked him in the eye, flashing a smile that was strained around the edges.

“Of course not, I’m not that much of a masochist.”

It was like a punch to the gut. Had him curling forward a little, a stupid despairing sound escaping his mouth, and he couldn’t understand why he had said it. Couldn’t understand why he was such an idiot, and he staggered to his feet, garbling out some excuse for why he needed to leave, right now. Clattered down the stairs of Harvey’s apartment building and rested his forehead against the cold brick of the nearest alleyway, giving in yet again to the hot spill of drunken tears.

He was a mess, a _virus_ , and instead of being happy for Harvey, all he was doing was attempting to sabotage his best friend’s relationship. He needed to back off and he needed to sort his head out. He needed to get a grip and he needed to stop dreaming about things that were never going to happen.

Except when he took a deep breath and went to ask Harvey to lunch the next day, to apologize for his behavior, Harvey looked washed out and exhausted. Stood up and closed the door to his office, then said,

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable last night. You gotta know that that’s the last thing I ever wanted you to feel.”

Jim shrugged and managed a stilted,

“It’s okay.”

Nobody in their right mind would want to get mixed up with him, he got that. It just sucked to be reminded of it and, because Harvey looked less than convinced, he added,

“It was my own fault for asking. I shouldn’t have been big headed, right?”

The smile wouldn’t come, not properly, and Harvey just frowned at him in confusion. Tried to cheer him up anyway, the same as usual, and joked, tone almost normal,

“If I looked like you I’d be big headed too.”

It worked, if only temporarily. At least Harvey didn’t think he was ugly, and that was something, it had to be. Had him repeating his offer of lunch, the stupid smile on his face unshakable, and when Harvey agreed Jim put an arm around his shoulders and sat too close, determined to make the most of it.

Afterwards, when the happy glow had faded and he was sat with a beer and crushing silence in his apartment, he only felt worse for it. Recognized that he had done everything he had said he wasn’t going to do, and when the knock sounded at the door he debated not answering. He was depressed enough without a fresh homicide on top of it.

The knock came again though, insistent, and he pulled the door open to find Harvey stood on the other side of it, a little dishevelled like he’d spent the evening drinking. Jim waved him inside and Harvey slumped onto his sofa, asking,

“You ever wonder if you just made a decision you’re gonna end up regretting?”

“All the time,” Jim answered truthfully as he moved to sit next to him, and the smile it raised on Harvey’s face was so beautiful it made his heart ache. Made him wonder how he could ever have been so blind to what that squirming feeling in his gut meant, and how he was going to cope with feeling it on and on, without respite.

“I put an end to it, Jim,” he said then, smile slipping. “It wasn’t fair - it wasn’t right. Nobody wants to be someone’s second choice.”

Jim frowned, anger flaring, because he had always known - hoped, he reluctantly acknowledged - that David would eventually reveal himself to be a scumbag. But Harvey was still talking, awkward like Jim had never seen him,

“I swear it’s not going to change anything. I just -” he sighed, finally looking him in the face, expression anguished. “How is anyone supposed to get over you?”

The words took a moment to really register. Left him shocked and useless, and Harvey was shaking his head, hand pushing roughly through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Harvey said when the silence began to stretch, and that was enough to spur him into action, because he sounded so defeated. He sounded so miserable and it was _his_ fault. It was in his power to change that, and yet he heard himself saying, the words just as pathetic out loud as they had been in his head,

“You never even told me you liked men.”

The look Harvey gave him made his cheeks flush. He felt stupid, embarrassed, though his gut twisted and his breathing grew shallow.

“I kind of assumed it was obvious.”

His voice was little more than a whisper when he managed,

“I never even realized I did.”

Harvey touched his arm, tentative, and studied his face. Asked him, not quite steady,

“Jim, what are you saying?”

He couldn’t say it. Even now, even here, and instead he gazed back into tender blue eyes. Lost himself in the heady feeling of being wanted, and then he was leaning forward. Was pushing the fingers of one hand through the scratch of beard at Harvey’s cheek before tangling them into his hair. Was half overcome with nerves even as he brushed their lips together.

There was nothing for a moment, nothing but the hammering of his own heart and the pounding of blood in his ears, and then Harvey was kissing him back, passionately.

It was everything he had imagined and more, because Harvey knew what he was doing. Had him frantic and trembling with nothing but the slick swipe of his tongue in his mouth and a hand at the small of his back. Had him all but in his lap, desperate to get closer to him.

Desperate for more, and then he was panting harsh into the crook of Harvey’s neck, his hips rocking of their own accord. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t calm down, and suddenly Harvey was pushing him down into the sofa cushions, weight pinning him in place as his hand worked its way into his underwear.

“Please,” Jim begged, arching up into the touch. “ _Please_.”

“Jim,” Harvey groaned in response, sounding pushed past breaking point, and Jim shivered all over. Nipped hard at Harvey's bottom lip when he succeeded in crashing their mouths back together, and did his best to thrust up against him until Harvey turned his attention to the skin of his throat, all wet heat, and Jim lost himself to it. Clawed at Harvey’s back and shuddered hard when he came, making so much noise he would have been embarrassed.

Would have been if Harvey wasn’t panting into his ear, the hard press of his arousal against Jim’s thigh, telling him over and over how hot he was. How hot being with him was, and how he only had to say the word and be given anything he wanted.

He wanted _everything_.

Swallowed thickly and said,

“I haven’t - I don’t know. I want you to show me how it’s supposed to be.”

Harvey looked shocked, the flush creeping down past his shirt collar.

“You don’t have to,” he said, and it only made Jim want it more. “I don’t expect anything.”

Jim answered with a kiss, grinding his thigh upwards, and Harvey had always given in to him. Had always supported him in his schemes, no matter how ill advised they were, and this was no different because Harvey followed him into the bedroom. Looked him up and down slowly, until Jim began to worry, and then pulled him in close, kissing him all over again, soft and reverent, and telling him,

“I never dreamed you could actually want this.”

It was as slow and tender as what had happened on the sofa had been rough and fevered, Harvey treating him like he was some kind of blushing virgin. Jim supposed he was, in a way, and it was so intense, so overwhelming, he was glad of it. Liked it more than he could ever have imagined, having someone touch him so devotedly. Touch him so carefully that he could hardly breathe, the sensation building and building until there were tears on his cheeks and he couldn’t stop trembling.

“That’s it, Jim,” Harvey praised when they were finally - _finally_ \- moving together, his hand wrapping around him even as he struck that perfect spot within him over and over again. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Jim whined, undone, and Harvey kissed him through it. Reached for one of his hands and tangled their fingers tight together, shaking with his own climax. Held him close and gazed into his eyes, so that neither of them were in any doubt that nothing was ever going to be quite the same again.

“Are you going to call me sweetheart all the time?” Jim asked eventually, but it wasn’t quite the joke he had intended, not when he sounded so blissed out and breathless.

Harvey beamed at him and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek,

“You keep looking at me like that and I’ll call you anything you want me to.”

It sounded good to him. Sounded so good he simply squirmed in closer and shut his eyes, content in the knowledge that Harvey wasn’t going to disappear on him. Wasn’t going to leave before sun up, or act as though this had never happened. He wouldn’t.

Because they went back to spending all their free time together. It was comfortable, easy, and Harvey still didn’t care that his only real topic of conversation was the job, or that his idea of fine dining was anything which required utensils. They made each other laugh, no matter how terrible the day had been, and his nightmares were a thing of the past, with Harvey’s solid presence to keep him grounded.

He felt happier than he had in a long time, so happy he hardly knew how to deal with it, and Harvey was happy with the arrangement too. So happy that the next time he got to see Harvey in a fancy suit and tie, hair still damp from the shower and expensive cologne thick in the air, they were facing each other, dutifully repeating the words of the officiant.

“You didn’t need to get all dressed up on my account,” Jim whispered, fond, when it was done, when it was official, and Harvey only kissed him. Took his hand and rubbed his thumb over the unfamiliar weight of the ring on his finger, smiling at him so that Jim's heart ached all the harder when he said, simply,

“Of course I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	31. Harvey gets injured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll write something which isn't tropey trash... today is not that day.

The last thing he managed to focus on before going over the ledge was Jim’s face and, okay, the look of horrified fear plastered across it kind of sucked, but at least he was getting to see the thing he loved most one last time. At least he had something nice to fixate on as he screwed his eyes tight shut and waited to meet his maker.

Except after the falling came not nothingness but pain. Serious, agonizing pain, and the washed out droning of sirens and screaming. Panic and people and Jim’s blond hair haloed by the bright overhead lights of the ambulance.

“Stay with us,” someone demanded and he tried to look for the source, only to find the movement halted by the neck brace and the backboard. Saw Jim reach for his hand but didn’t feel it, and finally, helplessly, gave into the darkness.

He learned later that Jim had ignored every regulation in the handbook. Had abandoned his prisoner and let their assailant flee, preferring to all but throw himself down the steps of the fire escape and cling to him with an air of desperation that helped shift copies of the following morning’s Gotham Gazette.

Tuttle brought him the clipping, when he was up to receiving visitors, and Harvey hid the threatening burn of tears behind a hissed curse as he attempted to shift up the bed a little. Because if Jim was that cut up why wasn’t he there? Why hadn’t he seen him in days, and what was he supposed to do if this was it and Jim had decided that he hadn’t signed up for playing sick nurse?

“IA’s been all over him,” Tuttle said without his asking. “The Commissioner’s all kinds of pissed; they’re going to have to bring in a replacement from upstate.”

Harvey stared at the ceiling and did his best not to react to the news. He had never wanted to be Captain anyway.

He had just felt that maybe, perhaps, he had been doing a decent job of it. He had been starting to really get to grips with things and make plans for the future. Had a training program almost ready to go, and the redeployment of uniform resources that close to being signed off by both HR and the Union. It was all for nothing now, and he’d be lucky if he ever even returned to active duty.

No wonder Jim didn’t want anything more to do with him.

But when he woke in the early hours of the morning, the pain unbearable, it was to find Jim curled up in the plastic chair at his bedside. His face was ghostly pale, dark circles under his eyes, and even in rest his brow was furrowed. Harvey reached a hand out for him and Jim jerked awake, panic flashing for a moment, before he realized where he was and what was happening. He smiled then, a real genuine smile, and put a finger to his lips.

“If they think I’m disturbing you, they’ll kick me out,” he whispered, and Harvey knew without being told that this was where Jim had been spending the better part of every night. Swallowed around the lump in his throat and whispered back,

“I’d like to see them try.”

Jim grinned and scooted closer. Folded his arms on the edge of the mattress and lay his head atop them. It couldn’t be comfortable, not at all, but Harvey slid his fingers into Jim’s hair and watched as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep again, utterly exhausted.

In the morning - the actual, light filtering through the hospital windows morning - Jim was long gone. Instead he had a tray full of slop calling itself breakfast, and a doctor telling him yet again how fortunate he was. That he could be dead, or paralyzed, or laying unresponsive in a coma. He was going to walk again, eventually, and all the broken bones would heal. His insurance premiums were up to date and, barring any new problems, he would be home recuperating in his own bed before he knew it.

That wasn’t quite true, but it wasn’t totally off the mark either, and Jim fussed and fretted as he struggled to negotiate the distance from the front door to his bedroom. Had to be helped in and out of bed, courtesy of another bout of surgery, and Jim left him his tablets and his lunch before he left for work each day, accompanied by neatly written notes with messages like,

‘Please try to eat something.’

‘You really need to eat this.’

‘Don’t lie to me, you’re no good at it.’

‘If you don’t eat today I’ll give Alvarez the key to your apartment - his wife’s kicked him out again.’

The thought of having to serve as Agony Uncle was enough encouragement to try a few bites, in the hope of getting Jim to quit nagging, and the pleased smile Jim gave him when he got back made him want to punch something. Because it was still all he could do to get out of bed unaided. Near killed him to shuffle to the bathroom and back, and one evening he stood in there sobbing, unable to get a grip though Jim was only on the other side of the door, listening.

It just hurt. _Everything_ hurt, and at least in hospital he had been able to kid himself that being discharged was going to make all the difference. That things were going to be the way they used to be, with him standing strong so Jim could lay his burdens on his shoulders. Now he couldn’t do it physically, and he couldn’t even do it emotionally. He was relying on Jim for the most basic tasks, and it was only a matter of time before Jim grew sick of it.

Before Jim realized he had absolutely no obligation to stick around now he had nothing left to offer him.

He splashed cold water on his face, eventually, and went to face the music. Found Jim waiting, tense and silent, and instead of simply supporting him back to bed, Jim climbed in with him. Curled in close, fingers digging in just a little too tight, and when Harvey wrapped his good arm around his shoulders Jim managed a scratchy,

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It hurt worse than anything the fall had done to him. Hurt worse even than his wounded pride, and he sucked in a shaky breath. Braced himself for Jim to say that he couldn’t do it. That he had tried, but they would both be better off without the other. But Jim only pressed closer still, the hot spill of tears soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“It’s my fault. It’s _all_ my fault. We should have waited for back up. You told me we should wait for back up.”

“No,” Harvey shook his head and he wished he could move to pin Jim beneath him. Begged Jim to look at him instead, thumb swiping his cheek clean, and said, “Don’t ever say that. I’m a grown man - I was the senior guy on the scene. I knew the risks, Jim.”

Jim kissed him, messy and desperate, and that night Jim slept in his bed for the first time since it had happened. Twitched and mumbled, restless, and Harvey tried to be positive. Tried to believe that they could make it work, and that it was what Jim actually wanted, not simply a manifestation of his needlessly guilty conscience.

It wasn’t Jim’s fault.

Not that some scumbag had succeeded in shoving him off a rooftop, and not that Harvey couldn’t seem to get a handle on his own emotions.

Some days he felt almost normal. Watched repeats of police procedurals on his ancient television and made wagers with Jim via text message on who dunnit. Complained bitterly when Jim won them, but took his punishment like a man and went for short painful walks around the neighborhood. They stopped off for drinks, Jim sitting just a little too close, and it felt like he really was getting better.

Other days weren’t so good. Jim was too busy to text, and he was bored and uncomfortable. Hated being cooped up in his apartment, and was frustrated at his slow progress. Brooded endlessly about all the reasons why Jim was going to leave him, and the terrible things he had done in his life that meant he deserved all the misfortune that came his way.

Then there were the bad days, the dark awful days when it all seemed hopeless. When he was angry and bitter, and wished Jim would just put them both out of their misery. When he thought it would be better if he made it easy, and made an extra effort to be snide and nasty.

He had plenty of ammo, because Tuttle had already rung him to say that the perp was getting off. That the judge had believed it was an accident, and Jim’s performance in the dock had been less than stellar. Jim certainly looked defeated when he put in an appearance that evening, tired and vulnerable. Still he turned away when Jim tried to kiss him, tender and needy, because he wanted him so badly but there was no way it was going to happen, not with the state his back was in.

Not when they had reduced his painkillers again, and half the time his body refused to react to the signals his brain was sending him. Jim did his best not to let on how it stung, but failed miserably. It encouraged him to push still further, even as his gut churned and twisted.

“I don’t know why you’re even here. _That_ isn’t happening, and we both know your conversation is about as thrilling as watching paint dry.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jim said, sounding less than certain, and Harvey knew he was standing at a crossroads. He could apologize and beg for Jim’s forgiveness. Pull Jim close and accept his pity.

Or he could finally put an end to it.

“Don’t I? Look, Jim, it’s cute that you keep trying but there’s nothing you can offer that I can’t get better elsewhere. At least if you pay for it you get someone who knows what they’re doing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jim flinched like he’d been hit, and he’d taken a lot of his shit over the last few months. Had been stoic and silent and endlessly supportive, but even he had his limits, and the room was deathly quiet as Jim laid the spare key he had since before they had ever even kissed each other on the coffee table.

“If you need anything you’ve got my number,” he said at the door, as though to prove what a disgustingly decent guy he always strove to be, and then there was nothing but the weak beer in the fridge and his own guilt to keep him company.

The next day was dire, hideous, but only paled into insignificance compared to the day afterwards. Because he couldn’t bring himself to make the first move, and Jim made no attempt to contact him. Had his own life to get on with and, while he would be upset for a short time, probably, he doubtless knew he was going to be better off in the long term.

By the third day he was wishing the fall had finished him off, and when the knock sounded at the door he moved too quick and too eager, hoping in spite of everything that Jim might be a glutton for punishment.

“Your boy sent me round to keep you company,” Charmagne told him without preamble when he pulled the door open, and when she pushed past him he caught the scent of fast food and cheap perfume. “He said to make sure you ate,” she shrugged, by way of explanation, and went to help herself to coffee in the kitchen.

Returned to find him off kilter and bewildered, and said, motioning at the rapidly cooling fries,

“You going to eat those or what? You look like shit, anyone told you that?”

That had always been what he liked about Charmagne, she never bothered to sugarcoat anything.

He shrugged in answer, suddenly very aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower.

“What did Jim say?” He asked eventually, unable to stop himself, and she just smirked, self satisfied, and ate the food he couldn’t face.

“Not much. He didn’t try to haggle, either.”

Harvey rolled his eyes - that argument was age old - and wondered if this was Jim’s way of making a point, or of rubbing salt in the wound.

“He looked worse than you do,” she said when she was done eating, consolingly, and it would have been the kind of bonding moment Hallmark made movies about if she hadn’t added, “I hope you’re not expecting a refund.”

It should have left him feeling worse, probably, but it didn’t. It put things into perspective. This was what his life would have been if he had never met Jim. Drinking himself into an early grave and paying people who thought him pathetic to spend the odd hour or so in his company. Even if he was stuck behind a desk until retirement, even if Jim made him grovel every day for the rest of his life, it would be better than living one more day without him.

He had to at least try to make things right between them.

It was slow going, because he had to wash, and dress, and get himself to Jim’s apartment, but he did it. Waited nervously in the hallway of Jim’s building and prayed to God he wasn’t going to slam the door in his face when he saw who was standing there.

He needn’t have worried.

Jim just stared at him in shock. Looked every bit as bad as Charmagne had implied. Worse, even, and when Harvey reached for him, tentative, Jim clung to him, half desperate. Accepted his apology and told him, voice rough,

“I don’t expect it to be easy. Nothing I ever wanted came easy. But I love you; I don’t understand why you won’t believe it.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Harvey told him in turn, simply, and this time when Jim kissed him he didn't attempt to put a stop to it. He kissed him back instead, overwhelmed with how close he had come to never having the solid heat of Jim in his arms again, and Jim whispered against his jaw,

“Why don't you try letting me be the judge of that?”

“I don't want to hurt you, Jim,” he managed, finally, because as much as he wanted to, he couldn't promise that he wouldn't slip up again. That this would be it, and from this point on everything would be perfect. 

Jim just smiled at him, kind of lopsided, and said, bluntly, effectively putting an end to the conversation,

“When did the risk of getting hurt ever stop me doing anything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	32. Bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For yukichouji who prompted sharing a bathtub. :D

“Don’t argue, Jim,” Harvey said and he supposed it wouldn’t hurt if, just once, he did what he was told to do.

The bath looked appealing, anyway, and the thought of getting out of his rain sodden clothes and getting warm into the bargain wasn’t one to turn his nose up at. Harvey watched, expectantly, and Jim liked the way his eyes widened, ever so slightly, when he started stripping off in front of him.

He wasn’t quite the prude Harvey made him out to be.

It was too cold to make a show of it - even if he had had the first idea how to - and he fought his way out of his wet pants and socks, shivering helplessly. Hissed in happiness at the sting of hot water and then raised an eyebrow as Harvey swiftly unbuttoned his own shirt and said,

“Budge up, then.”

Harvey clambered in behind him, and it was kind of awkward for a few moments. A knee in his back and soapy water sloshing over the side of the bathtub. But then Harvey was pulling him back against his chest, arms wrapping around him, and that was nice. That was really nice, because Harvey was warm, and comfortable, and if Jim was getting a different kind of shivery, that was only because Harvey was intent on sucking at the tip of his ear.

Was letting his fingertips trail over his skin and when Jim gasped, head tipping back against Harvey’s shoulder, he told him breathlessly,

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you sound?”

The words sent another shudder through him, and Harvey started washing him. Made the act as drawn out and sensuous as he would have quick and perfunctory, and punctuated his every move with hot wet kisses against the sensitive skin of his neck, and a steady stream of dirty talk seemingly designed to ensure that he was going to be burning up like a furnace every time he thought of it.

Grinned filthily when Jim tried to twist around in the restricted space, kissing Harvey desperately and attempting to guide his hand to where he needed it.

“I love it when you get demanding,” Harvey said, and Jim figured it was just as well because the frantic grip he had on the other man’s wrist was likely to leave bruises. The way the fingers of his other hand were digging into Harvey’s thigh wasn’t much better, and he was biting down hard at his own lip, muscles tensing up as Harvey finally touched him.

Finally stroked him, sure and slow, until he was all but begging for more, harder, _faster_.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey groaned into his ear, grip tightening, “I want to see you come for me. Please.”

He whined, Harvey’s mouth at his neck only making everything more intense, and he was dimly aware of the fact he was getting water everywhere. Vaguely recognized that he was making a lot of noise, but it didn’t seem important, not particularly, and when Harvey scraped his teeth against the side of his neck, that was it, and he was panting and shuddering and collapsing back against Harvey, exhausted.

At least until he felt Harvey pressed up against him, desperate for attention.

“The water’s getting cold,” he said, as casually as he could manage.

“Yeah?” Harvey responded, arms back around his chest, and Jim smiled. Thought about how neither of them were on the rota to work tomorrow, and how it wouldn’t matter how little sleep they got over the next few hours.

Squirmed a little so that Harvey gasped and he could look up into his face, giving it his very best innocent look.

“Yeah. You’re going to have to find another way to warm me up, aren’t you?”

Harvey grinned at him, the kind of grin that never failed to get a reaction out of him, and said smoothly,

“I think I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	33. Break Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst - an argument proves final.

They didn’t argue often. He was wrapped around Jim’s little finger, and Jim knew it. Knew exactly the right words to say and the right buttons to press, and nine times out of ten he got his own way without even breaking his stride.

This was different though. This was Jim offering himself up like a lamb to the slaughter, and there was no way Harvey was going to stand back and let him do it. Refused to be swayed on the issue and called in every favor he was owed to ensure the Commissioner overlooked Jim when it came to the setting up of her new and improved Task Force.

“You had no right!” Jim told him, all but vibrating with frustration. “You knew how much I wanted it.”

“Anyone else would be thanking me,” Harvey snapped in turn. “It’s a goddamn suicide mission!”

“What, you think I’m not up to it?” Jim demanded, because when playing fair got you nowhere it was time to play dirty. Harvey rose to it, couldn’t help himself, and realized too late that he was yelling in retaliation,

“Was that what I said? Jesus Christ, Jim, why have you gotta twist every fucking thing I say to you?”

On the rare occasions they did argue, this was usually the point where one of them made the decision to be the better man. To turn the hate into love, or whatever hippy bullshit was in vogue that week, and channel that aggression into kissing each other senseless.

But Jim was wound too tight, and the whole thing had spent too long building. Jim yelled back, he said things he didn’t mean, and when Jim slammed the door behind him he felt like putting a fist through the wall.

Drank too much and stared into space, pausing only to check his cellphone roughly every four minutes or so, just in case Jim had tried to contact him. He didn’t. Had gone to his own apartment, probably, and then the worry that he hadn’t began to kick in. The fear that Jim was angry enough to do something stupid and reckless, and he was going to get a call from one of his colleagues to say that Jim was in hospital or - and it didn’t even bear thinking about - waiting for formal identification in the mortuary.

Jim didn’t pick up when he gave in and tried calling him, and he ended up passing out on the sofa, angry at Jim and furious with himself for losing his temper.

When he woke he was already late for work, and everything was a blind rush as he battled against the hangover. As he swore and cursed and charged up the steps of the precinct, every head in the place turning to look at him. It was unnerving, unsettling, and as he made his way to his office Tuttle blocked his path and said,

“You’re doing the right thing, putting in an appearance. We’re on your side, not Gordon’s.”

It sounded ominous, had him panicking, and then he was swiping the Gotham Gazette from the nearest desk, appalled to find his own photo on the cover under a headline proclaiming,

_GCPD Captain Accused of Sexual Misconduct with Subordinate_

He swallowed, skin icy and palms clammy. It had always been a possibility, he wasn’t stupid, but it had never seemed very likely. They kept things discreet, didn’t go around advertising it, and it wasn’t as though he had coerced Jim into a relationship.

The Gazette hadn’t received the memo.

Was telling its readers that he had pursued Jim ever since he transferred to Gotham and been inappropriately intimate from almost the very beginning. That he had abused his position to rearrange Jim’s shift rota and pulled strings to keep him desk bound, where he could keep his lecherous eye on him.

It was true, all of it, but not in the way they were suggesting. Because in black and white it sounded sordid and disgusting, a promising young detective being endlessly harassed by a dirty old man with a previous verbal warning on his file for attempting to solicit a prostitute while on duty. They had a quote from her, even, and it didn’t matter that he had cleaned his act up, not when there were plenty of people willing to attest to his years of alcohol dependency and propensity for accepting backhanders.

The phones were ringing off the hook by 9am, and he had two uniform officers outside wasting their time keeping the press in check. The Commissioner arrived at half past, no commenting all the way, and the look she gave him when he admitted that he had no idea where Jim was made his stomach churn.

“Is it true?” She asked, clipped and curt, and he only hesitated for a second before nodding miserably.

“I love him,” he said stupidly, as though she gave a shit about the details and she just shook her head.

Would likely have told him exactly what she thought of the statement, if there wasn’t a sharp rap at his office door, and then Jim was standing there, face ashen and hair dishevelled.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, voice scratchy, “I didn’t mean to.”

He had to sit at that, knees as weak as water, because it simply hadn’t occurred to him.

The Gazette really had had an inside source.

“I was angry,” Jim explained later, when they were trying for damage limitation. “I just wanted to complain. I never thought she would make a story of it.”

Harvey didn’t know what hurt worse. The rubbish in the newspapers, or that Jim had been so very eager to spill his guts to one of his former hook-ups. For her part, Vale was claiming that she had written nothing that she hadn’t heard confirmed from Jim’s lips and, besides, it was in the public interest to know if high ranking officers felt themselves above the department’s regulations.

He was put on temporary suspension, the humiliation burning as he handed over his badge, and nobody wanted to meet his eye as he made for the front entrance. Plenty of them were happy to be quoted in the tabloid press though, and things only grew worse because his closet was packed with skeletons, and everything from the accident that put Dix in a wheelchair to the speeding tickets he had once written off for a mob widow was used to pad out column inches.

Jim apologized, over and over, but it wasn’t something that words could make better. Wasn’t something he could laugh off, no matter how desperately he wanted to, because the way people looked at him, the way they spoke to him - he had never known how glad he was for the second chance at being a decent guy, not until it was stripped away again.

It died down eventually, and he got to go back on duty. Got bumped down three pay grades in the process and offered a sideways move into Fraud or a straight transfer out of the city. He went for the former and wished he had taken the latter, because it didn’t matter how many times he said it was fine, or how many times Jim said he was sorry.

Things could never go back to the way that they had been before.

He was proud of Jim, all the same, when his career went from strength to strength, and they exchanged awkward smiles when Jim made Commissioner and gave a speech on his commitment to rooting out misconduct and corruption.

“I wish you’d reconsider,” Jim said later when Harvey could keep the truth from him no longer, because he was sick of seeing the stories raked back over and Jim’s name dragged through the mud. “The department needs experienced officers like you.”

Harvey drained his drink, just to have something to focus on, something other than the finality of the moment, and said, simply,

“But not as much as it needs you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	34. Sharing Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because someone who knows who they are suggested the borrowing of each other's clothes... :D

“I’ve got a tie like that.”

Jim shifted, awkward, and Harvey figured it was only natural. His wardrobe had ceased to be fashionable - if it ever had been - at least twenty years previously, and the idea that Jim had gone out and spent good money on a tie that could have come from it was just too perfect.

Not that it phased Jim, not overly, because he wore it again a few days later, and then again the week after that. It wasn’t even a particularly nice tie, which wasn’t to say that he had any better, but Jim certainly did. Fancy silk numbers you couldn’t even chuck in with the rest of the laundry. He was learning though, because the poly-blend stripe went into regular rotation, and though Harvey stopped commenting on it he still noticed it.

Tried to find his own because Jim would really hate that, the pair of them turning up for work in the same shirt and tie combo, but he had either lost it or gotten blood over it. That was how it usually went.

It was what happened to his third favorite shirt, and his second best suit jacket. The spare sweater he kept in his locker was missing, even, and at this rate he was going to have to actually go out and buy some clothing.

The idea was about as appealing as spending an evening with a nutjob like Nygma.

So when he caught Jim changing out of his second ruined shirt of the day he couldn’t help but ask,

“Where the hell did you get my sweater?”

Jim jumped, startled, clearly thinking he was alone in the locker room, and Harvey was only further convinced of its provenance. It was way too big for Jim and he looked guilty as sin, jaw tightening as he tried to fob him off with,

“You must have left it at my place.”

He hadn’t. He was certain of it, and though he tried to puzzle it out he couldn’t understand why Jim was so weirdly defensive on the subject. Why he continued to insist that he had thought it was his own when anyone with eyes in their head could see that it was probably older than him.

Still, he let it go. Let Jim have his dirty little secrets, and only brought it up occasionally, like the night when it was so cold Jim was shivering and he shrugged out of his coat and handed it over, ignoring Jim’s protests.

“I’m lending it to you,” he said, stressing the verb. “You still haven’t given me my damn sweater back.”

“Should I be worried about how much you love that sweater?” Jim asked, but he put the coat on. Pulled it tight around him and popped the collar, so that Harvey had to look away before the sight made his mouth run away from him. Jim looked kind of adorable, all bundled up like that, and when he wound an arm around his shoulders it was only because it was cold and they had both been drinking, not because he desperately wanted to be closer.

He got the coat back when they arrived at Jim’s place, and as he walked home he imagined he could still smell Jim’s aftershave clinging to it.

Found himself wishing that he really did have something of Jim’s he could sniff at, and that was the real reason he wasn’t ribbing Jim mercilessly about his misplaced sweater. He liked the idea of Jim wearing something of his - that some part of him would get to know what it was like to be pressed tight against Jim, because he was under no illusions as to the likelihood of his ever actually experiencing it.

Jim was designer and he was thrift store, he got that, but it didn’t stop him dreaming.

Didn’t stop him wanting and, when he was woken in the early hours with news of a big case that required his attendance, he drove to Jim’s place to pick him up, hoping pathetically that he might catch a glimpse of Jim in his underwear.

He was disappointed when Jim pulled the door open, just for a moment, because then he looked closer and the filter between his mouth and brain was useless, his tone breathy rather than accusing,

“You’re wearing my shirt, Jim.”

It was definitely his, no question, and there was no way Jim could claim he had taken it off and left it there. Sadly. Jim just flushed, embarrassed, and Harvey had to look away and think about anything other than how Jim looked, hair dishevelled with sleep and his shirt brushing against his bare thighs.

How badly he wanted to reach out for him and discover if the cotton felt different, smelled different, after being on Jim’s body.

They didn’t talk about it though. Not as Jim disappeared back into his bedroom to get changed, and not as they left the crime scene, witnesses to track and leads to follow up. It didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it though, and Jim was too, if he had any read on the younger man. He kept glancing at him, nervous, and by the time the case was wrapped up he could keep quiet no longer.

Followed Jim up the stairs to his apartment and accepted his offer of a drink, asking too casually,

“So what’s the deal, is law enforcement not paying enough for you to buy your own clothes anymore?”

Jim stayed silent, transfixed by his beer, and Harvey kept his tone light. He wanted to know what was happening, not make Jim feel bad about himself. Jim did a good enough job of that without his input.

“Don’t tell me, I’m your fashion idol. I _do_ look good in a suit, I keep saying -”

“You do,” Jim agreed, and Harvey gaped as the other man risked a sidelong glance at him before returning his attention to his beer bottle. Fidgeted with it and exhaled shakily before continuing, “I just wanted to feel close to you.”

That didn’t mean what he thought it meant, it couldn’t do, but Jim’s shoulders were tense and his face was too pale. He was miserable, frightened even, waiting for his reaction, and Harvey decided that it didn’t matter if he was about to get knocked back and rejected. It was better than Jim thinking he was going to turn his back on him.

“How close are we talking?” He asked, and slowly put a hand on Jim’s arm. Watched his face carefully as he queried, “a friendly arm around the shoulders, a kiss on the cheek? Waking up next to each other in bed where I can screw your brains out?”

Jim shut his eyes, head dipping, and Harvey shifted closer. Touched the fingers of his free hand to Jim’s jaw and waited until he opened his eyes and met his gaze.

“I want all of it, Jim. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

He had just never imagined he would get it, and it didn’t feel real even as Jim pressed forward. Even as Jim kissed him, soft and tentative, and let his own fingers tangle into his hair. The kiss deepened and it had to be real, because his pulse was pounding and Jim’s overenthusiastic grip was sending sparks of arousal through him.

Had him pulling back a little, just to regain control, and the way Jim looked at him, dark eyed and wanting, was so perfect that it made his heart ache. Made him whisper sincerely,

“I’ll even let you keep my sweater, if you want it.”

Jim smiled at him and leaned back in for another kiss, nerves finally beaten into submission.

“Good, because I was going to anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	35. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was arguing about which movie to watch. :)

“It was the husband.”

“You can’t just say ‘it was the husband’ and walk out of here. You haven’t studied the scene, you haven’t spoken to a single witness. You don’t even know for sure that she was married.”

Harvey made a show of peering around the room. He tapped a finger against the framed photograph of a happy couple on their wedding day, held a whispered conversation with the fish tank on the far wall, then said decisively,

“It was the husband.”

Jim scowled and Harvey sighed. Came over and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder because he was too soft, and he hated the idea of Jim being in a mood with him.

“We’ll do it your way but it was the husband. Bet you anything.”

“Anything, really?” Jim’s tone was disapproving, arms going across his chest and Harvey let it drop. Brought it back up later when they were done for the day, and Jim had a couple of drinks inside him.

Riled Jim up enough that he agreed to the wager, and went so far as to say, boldly,

“If it was the husband I will do whatever you like, no argument.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

Jim blinked at him, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Finished off his drink as though it would provide inspiration, before finally settling on,

“You have to take me on a date. A proper one.”

“I take you on dates,” Harvey protested, indignant. “We’re on one now.”

“We’re at a cop bar talking about work. It’s not a date.”

Harvey thought about that over the days which followed. Watched Jim sleep one night, curled up close to him, and wondered if maybe he could be doing better. Because they didn't really go anywhere special, do anything special. They just spent all their time together already; it had never really seemed an issue.

Still, when they arrested the husband for his wife’s murder he didn’t gloat. Not too much anyway. Let Jim sweat a bit over what depraved acts he might ask of him, and refused to explain further when he told him to get changed after work and meet him outside the precinct.

“So where are we going?” Jim asked, no little trepidation, and Harvey took a moment to enjoy the sight of him in jeans and leather jacket. Slid an arm around his shoulders and said,

“I’m taking you on a date. Obviously.”

It was all worth it for the smile on Jim’s face. That was what he told himself when they got to the cinema and he caught sight of the ticket prices. When he was subjected to the jostling of teenagers and the endless advertisements for movies that looked terrible.

There was a limit to what he was willing to suffer though, even for Jim, and when he caught him looking at the poster for something with subtitles demanded,

“Is that an art film?”

“Not that kind of art film,” Jim rejoined, all sniffy, and that was everything he needed to know.

“If you think I’m sitting through two hours of foreign trash without a decent set of jugs to ogle, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Jim grouched and Harvey pointed to a poster that was 100% guns and explosions.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? That’s a classic of the future. Probably.”

“You think _A Dirty Western_ is a classic.”

Harvey grinned, “Damn straight it is.” Capitulated somewhat and asked, “What do you want to watch then? What about that one with all the happy little animals?”

Jim rolled his eyes, like that was going to lessen his suitability for the kids’ movies, but Harvey changed his mind on closer inspection.

“Not that one - you’re too partial to penguins as it is.”

He realized too late that he had said that last part out loud, but Jim only leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Smiled soppily at him and said, entirely too pleased,

“You’ve nothing to be jealous of.”

He knew. It was nice to hear, all the same. So nice that when Jim suggested the generic looking horror film, he was willing to compromise. Barely complained at all about the disgusting amount of money he was forced to part with at the concessions stand, and when Jim was careless with the popcorn restrained himself to a very reasonable,

“Jesus Christ, Jim, that’s ten dollars worth you just dropped on the floor!”

Jim didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Settled in with a smirk and started eating, and waited until the first jump scare to whisper,

“What sort of date is this? You haven’t even tried to cop a feel.”

He got the message. Put an arm around Jim and smiled when he cuddled in close. Smiled harder still when the next scare spooked him, and filed it away with all the other things to tease him mercilessly about.

“It’s all right,” he reassured, lips against Jim’s ear, “I’ll protect you.”

Jim gave him the look - the long suffering with a hint of judgemental one - but softened it by resting a hand on his thigh, perfectly chaste and perfectly maddening, and said,

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Harvey didn't say anything, even as the second partygoer was slaughtered up on screen, and pressed a kiss into Jim's hair. Held him tighter and hoped Jim understood what he was trying to tell him.

He was lucky. 

The luckiest guy in the whole damn universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	36. Sharing Body Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing body heat. <3

Harvey had his evening all planned out. Television, bottle of Jack, potentially a visit from Mrs Palm and her five lovely daughters. Hardly the high life, true, but still a damn sight more appealing than the evening he was actually living through.

Jim had to rush in head first, as usual, and he hadn’t called for back up because he was Jim Gordon, and he thought himself Superman. Bullet proof. He wasn’t though, and now they were both locked in some dank freezing cellar, Jim’s blood soaking through the makeshift bandage wrapped tight around his thigh.

They had already been through the denial stage, and the anger. The door was none the worse for it, but Jim’s knuckles were raw and bloody. They had had the bargaining and a few pained tears too, illuminated by the eerie glow of cell phones lacking a signal, though Jim would doubtless later blame those on the blood loss. Now they were at acceptance. Nothing to do but sit it out and hope to fuck Alvarez had been paying attention when he had mentioned, earlier, the tip-off Jim was eagerly working on.

He had once imagined becoming Captain was going to change things. That he was going to be able to reign Jim in occasionally - dampen the extremes of his impetuousness and outright order him to think before leaping into dangerous situations.

The truth was that nothing he said or did made the slightest impact on Jim and, okay, perhaps he was still stuck on depression. Jim meant everything to him. He was the last thing he thought about at night and the reason he hauled himself out of bed in the morning. He worshipped him, adored him, and Jim was refusing to contemplate even sitting next to him.

Had slumped instead against the opposite wall, pale and shivering, when he was right there. When he had taken the shirt off his own goddamn back to dress Jim’s bullet wound with. When all he had wanted for months - years even - was to know what it would be like to hold Jim in his arms, and tell him how desperately he was in love with him.

Except maybe Jim was stuck on depression too. His shoulders were shaking, head buried in his hands, and when the sound of a sob filled the frigid air, Harvey couldn’t take it. He crossed the small space and settled beside Jim. Reached for him and this time Jim didn’t hesitate. He pressed his face into Harvey’s chest, tears burning hot in contrast to his chilled skin, and Harvey pulled him into his lap. Cradled him close and crooned in his ear, alternating sugar coated reassurances with helpless outbursts of frustration.

“Why have you got to be so stubborn, Jim? I’m here. I’ve been here the whole damn time and you’d still sooner freeze to death.”

Jim hadn’t even been wearing his suit jacket when they were forced down here, guns confiscated and held to their own temples. Had nothing to protect him from the cold but his shirtsleeves, and Harvey took hold of his hands and slid them inside his own jacket. Winced as the icy cold soaked through his undershirt, but wound his arms around Jim all the same.

“You really think I’d let you die on me? When we get out of here I’m going to put you on desk duty for a month. You even think about complaining, and I’ll make you wear the mascot costume. You’ll be doing nothing but school visits until you turn gray, so help me.”

Jim laughed, albeit weak and watery, and Harvey had to clench his own eyes shut for a moment. Sucked in a shaky breath and said,

“I’m not joking.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped tightly around each other. Until the battery of his cell phone was completely dead and they were left in darkness. Until Jim was starting to drift in and out of awareness, because it made sense that getting what he most wanted should be accompanied by his very worst nightmare. Jim might actually die in his arms, it was an increasingly likely possibility, and Harvey wished they had at least left him his pocket knife. If Jim really did - he couldn’t even think the word. If Jim did, he didn’t want to get out alive. It was that simple.

Jim seemed to know it too.

Mumbled - slurred - slowly,

“If I die, Harvey -”

“Don’t. You’re not going to fucking die.”

Jim ignored him.

“If I die, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He wanted to, he really did. Jim was shivering hard, breath too shallow, and he would do anything to make him feel better. But this was his very own Meatloaf moment. He couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t make Jim a promise he knew he couldn’t keep.

“Promise me,” Jim repeated. “Please.”

“I’ll try,” Harvey managed. “I promise you I’ll try, Jim.”

It was the best he could do. He hoped Jim understood that.

Jim was silent for a few long minutes, anyway.

“I was afraid I’d mess up if I got too close,” he said finally, solemn and quiet. “I couldn’t let that happen. You’re the best friend I ever had, Harv.”

“Don’t - Just don’t,” Harvey tried again, voice cracking. Attempted to regain control of himself while Jim’s breathing grew ever more laboured. While he tried to keep speaking, little more than a whisper,

“I love you. I want you to know that.”

He couldn’t hold back at that. Clung to Jim even as tears streaked his own cheeks. Rocked him back and fore and told him over and over that he loved him too. That he loved him more than anything, because even if they weren’t talking about the same kind of love, it didn’t make Jim’s confession any less breathtaking.

Jim was fading. Was struggling to swallow, to breathe, and when the door was forced open Harvey scarcely registered anything, not until Jim was pried away from him.

“You had a close call,” the doctors said later and Alvarez gave him an oddly pitying look. Clapped him on the shoulder and said, all false cheer,

“Gordon’s tough. He’ll pull through.”

He would, Harvey told himself, over and over. Did nothing but stare into space, sick to his stomach and skin icy, waiting for news. Shook all over, slightly hysterical with relief when he was given it, and staggered through the hospital corridors to be at Jim’s bedside, refusing to take no for an answer.

He had to be there when Jim woke up. Had to see with his own eyes that Jim was safe and recovering.

“You really going to put me on desk duty over this?” Jim rasped when he came around, the hint of a smile on his lips even as he frowned with the effort of talking.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Harvey confirmed, gripping tight at Jim’s fingers.

Jim squeezed back and looked at him, unwavering, until his gaze was focused. Until what he wanted to say couldn’t simply be blamed on the drugs or the trauma.

“I meant what I said.”

“Yeah?”

He couldn't say more. Couldn't work up the courage to check that they were singing from the same hymn sheet. 

Jim just smiled at him, genuinely happy even under all the cuts and the bruises.

“Yeah. I don't want to let you out of my sight either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	37. Life Affirming Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - 'the death of a fellow cop makes them both think about life and they wind up in bed together, but it's more than just sex.' (Even though this kind of ended up mostly sex...)

It could have been him in that casket. It could have been any of them - could have been Harvey - and Jim shivered at the thought of it. Stood up straighter and focused more intently on the words of the eulogy. Stared at the misery etched on the face of McKenna’s partner, and the emotion in Harvey’s eyes, when it was his turn to speak about the sacrifice McKenna had made for the people of Gotham.

It wasn’t the first time he had heard the speech, and it hit him with a sudden surge of grief that it wouldn’t be the last time either. He was going to stand here again and again, uncomfortable in his dress uniform, and watch good officers - better officers - be lowered into their graves, until either it was his own funeral or he simply couldn’t take it any longer.

Because afterwards, when his colleagues turned to each for comfort, he felt more alone than he ever had. Nobody sought him out, and nobody wanted his company. He had no family to go home to, and no lover waiting for him.

He startled when somebody touched him, a heavy hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up Harvey offered him a sad half smile.

“Come on, partner, let’s get out of here.”

He wasn’t on his own, he realized. He hadn’t been for a long time.

He had someone who had risked everything for him, over and over again.

Harvey had never demanded anything in return, had never even expected anything, and Jim felt like he was seeing him for the first time in spite of all the years they had known each other. He took in the way Harvey’s hair was already fighting loose from the tie at his nape, and the imposing figure he cut in his dress uniform. The way Harvey’s arm felt wrapped around him, and the reassuring warmth of his body heat, because somehow he had never noticed before how reliant he was on Harvey’s constant proximity.

They joined the rest of the department at the precinct’s favorite bar, and Harvey didn’t even have to ask what he wanted, or where he wanted to drink it. Harvey knew him better than anyone, better than he knew himself even, and now he had started Jim couldn’t stop looking at him. He wanted to commit every facet of him to memory.

Wanted to press closer still and breathe in the familiar scent of him.

He wanted -

“You all right, Jim?” Harvey asked, concerned, and his standard response was on the tip of his tongue. He was always fine, even when he wasn’t. Even though Harvey _knew_ that he wasn’t.

Except…

What was the point in lying to Harvey? Harvey hadn’t cared when Jim had a price on his head, or when he had been cruel and bitter, intent on drinking himself to death. He wouldn’t turn his back on Jim now, not for being honest with him.

“No,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe. It depends, I guess.”

“Depends on what?”

Jim glanced down at his hands for a moment, then met Harvey’s gaze. Lost himself in the way Harvey was looking at him - the way he always looked at him - as though whatever he had to say was going to be worth listening to. He could feel the flush working its way across his cheeks, the result of the drink and the scrutiny, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears when he answered,

“You.”

The bar was packed, noise and bustle all around them, but it was scarcely registering. It all seemed far off and distant, nothing compared to the pounding of his heart in his chest and the confused frown furrowing Harvey’s brow.

“It could have been me today,” Jim said, trying to explain, “it could have been any of us. I’m sick of pretending that I’m happy with the way things are between us.”

Harvey paled, gaze dropping as though he were ashamed of all the ways he made Jim’s life more bearable, and that hadn’t been his intention. Had him groping for Harvey’s hand across the table, desperate, and the implication was obvious. Had to be, because Harvey’s eyes went wide, just for a moment, and then he was taking charge.

Stood, slow and careful, and pulled Jim to his feet. Ribbed Jim good naturedly for being a lightweight, loud enough for everyone around them to hear, and then he was being lead out into the cool night air. Down the emptying streets and Jim was more grateful than he could ever say for the guiding arm around his shoulders.

Later, he wondered how things would have happened if they hadn’t been in uniform. If Harvey would have risked kissing him in the middle of the sidewalk. If they would have found some darkened alleyway and pressed frantically against each other. As it was all he could do was concentrate on walking and breathing, his pulse rushing in his ears, and it wasn’t until the door of Harvey’s apartment was safely closed behind them that Harvey finally gave in and whispered low and hot in his ear,

“Just tell me what you want, Jim.”

Jim responded by winding his arms around the back of Harvey’s neck, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. He hadn’t had many but in that moment he felt every bit as drunk as Harvey had made him out to be, his breathing shallow and his awareness of everything but the man in front of him dulled and distant.

Harvey seemed just as moved, just as lost, and when Jim tentatively brushed their lips together he could feel Harvey’s breath hitch. Felt Harvey’s hands pull him in close, and waves of heat flood through him when the kiss deepened and Harvey’s tongue slid against his own. Jim tilted his head to make the angle better, to let Harvey plunder his mouth, hot and wet and perfect.

When Harvey pulled away from his mouth it was only to kiss at his jaw and then his ear, beard scratching against his skin and sending sparks of arousal coursing through him. He was panting already, aching, and he groaned when Harvey sucked at the sensitive skin of his throat, clinging closer to make up for the way his knees were threatening to buckle on him.

He wanted it all, wanted everything, and he was tugging feverishly at Harvey’s jacket and his own shirt buttons. Knocked his cap to the floor and pulled Harvey’s hair free from its tie, tangling his hands in its length even as Harvey flung his own cap somewhere. Started walking him backwards towards the bedroom, capturing his lips again and pushing his hands up and under his shirt, the skin on skin contact only making Jim moan for more.

Harvey gave it to him, touch lingering as he succeeded in getting him out of his shirt, and encouraged him to lay back against the bed. Looked him over for a long moment, like it was a sight he had spent a long time imagining, and then their eyes locked again and Jim was pulling the older man down on top of him. Was working his hands under Harvey’s shirt and running them against hot skin, never once breaking eye contact.

He had fallen into bed with friends before. Had had drunken one night stands and had made love to people he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It had never felt like this, like this was exactly where he was meant to be. Like every breath they took was binding them closer together, and all he could do was help the process along. Lick wantonly into Harvey’s mouth and push up against him, his cock leaking and desperate in the confines of his clothing.

“Anything you want,” Harvey reiterated, voice not quite steady. “You only gotta tell me.”

Harvey would do it too, he didn’t doubt it. Would do anything he asked just because it was him asking, and he had to swallow back the rush of emotion, the certain knowledge that he was never going to have to feel alone again.

“I want you to tell me what you want,” he said, the smile coming unbidden, and Harvey cupped his face as he kissed him. Pushed himself up on his hands when Jim began to lose himself in it, so that he was gazing up at Harvey - at the freckles visible under the flush spreading across his cheeks, and at the strands of hair falling between them, begging Jim to reach out and run his fingers through it.

“I want you, Jim,” Harvey told him, so sincere it sent shivers through him. “Any way I can get you. I want to make you call my name, and I want to see your face when you come. I want you so bad,” he faltered, Jim biting at his lip at the sound, “wanted you since the first damn time I clapped eyes on you.”

“Thought you hated me then,” Jim said in turn, ending on a groan because one of Harvey’s hands was at his belt buckle, and suddenly Jim was a mess of limbs and movement, attempting to get the rest of their clothes off.

“Still wanted you,” Harvey confessed, finally stripping him naked. “God, look at you. You’re even prettier than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not pretty,” Jim protested, blushing, but Harvey was sliding down the bed, breath hot and damp against his dick, and frankly he couldn’t care less what Harvey called him, so long as he did something. So long as he didn’t stop sucking kisses into the skin of his thighs, fingers trailing closer and closer to where he most needed them.

He raised himself up on his elbows, watching, and the intensity was back again, Harvey’s eyes meeting his own as he sucked at his fingers. As he rubbed them slowly against sensitive skin, tongue flickering out to taste the head of his cock. Really went to work and Jim had to close his eyes, head tipping back. It was good, ridiculously good, and he cried out, stricken, when Harvey swallowed him to the root and pushed a finger into him.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised when he came up for air, finger moving within him, “you ever do this before?”

Jim shook his head, feeling green and stupid, not least because he couldn’t get his legs to quit trembling. Harvey only surged up to kiss him again, a strange mix of comfort and desperate turn on, and then Jim had to focus to make out what Harvey was saying,

“We don’t have to. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want to.”

It surprised him just how much he did want to. He wanted to be reminded that he was alive and he wanted to experience new things. He wanted to give Harvey what he wanted, and he gripped at Harvey’s wrist when he moved his hand away from his body, trying to push it back between them.

“I trust you,” he said and he didn’t just mean the sex. This was going to change things, was going to mark the beginning of something, and Harvey kissed him soundly. Sucked at his ear and mouthed at his neck. Raised a possessive bruise against his hip bone and slicked his fingers, sliding one into him so that he gasped and squirmed, his own fingers tightening in the bedclothes.

Another finger joined the first and Jim whined, loud and shocked, when Harvey swallowed his dick again. Made so much noise it was embarrassing when Harvey crooked his fingers and pressed them firmly against something inside him.

“Please,” he ground out when Harvey did it again. “Harvey - fuck! - _please_.”

He wasn’t even sure what he was pleading for. For Harvey to stop or for Harvey to keep going. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t think. Could hardly breathe, and Harvey was mouthing up the length of his dick now, unruly hair brushing against his abdomen, three fingers filling him.

“Please,” he begged again, overwhelmed, and Harvey refused to be rushed. Brought him to the edge and then backed off just enough for him to regain control of himself. Did it over and over, until his cheeks were wet and he was little more than a shaking mess, Harvey murmuring praise against his overheated skin.

“You’re doing so well,” he told him, “you look gorgeous like this, desperate for my dick in you. I’m going to make you feel so good, Jim. I’m going to make you come so hard. Do you want that? Come on, Jim, tell me what you want from me.”

“Want you,” he managed, sounding nothing like himself. “Want to feel you.”

Harvey groaned, hand pressing hard against the erection trapped in his own underwear, and Jim shuddered all over. Watched and wanted and tried to get his limbs to co-operate enough to reach out for him. Harvey went to him instead. Kissed him and stroked him, and Jim was too far gone to keep track of what was happening. Simply clung and begged, and panted, open mouthed, as Harvey fumbled with a condom and moved over him until the blunt head of his cock was nudging against him.

Jim sucked in air, bracing himself for it, but nothing happened. Not until he pulled himself together enough to get his eyes open, gaze meeting Harvey’s. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him, seeing Harvey’s eyes so dark and knowing he was the cause of it. Knowing that Harvey wanted this just as much, and that getting to do this, getting to come home to this, was about to become his new normality.

It hurt a little, just enough to center his awareness, and Harvey held still, watching his face carefully. Finally pushed forward and it was so different to anything he had ever felt before. Was entirely too much for his self-control and Harvey was rolling them onto his side, one hand at his ass, holding him in place, and the other at his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Jim buried his fingers in Harvey’s hair, even as he wrapped his other arm tight around him.

Gasped and whimpered as Harvey thrust into him, until he was so close, so very close, and he was pushing Harvey back against the mattress. Was straddling him now, and he was pushing back, his own weight forcing Harvey deeper, so deep that Jim couldn’t keep quiet, one hand on his cock and the other scrabbling for something - anything - to hold onto as he rocked back, Harvey’s dick rubbing against his prostate.

“You like that, Jim?” Harvey was panting, hands gripping at his hips, “Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so tight, so fucking perfect.”

It was too much, too intense, and then Harvey was rolling them again, a tangle of limbs, and then he had his legs hooked up and over his arms and was thrusting hard in just the right spot that had him seeing stars. Had him sobbing and cursing, and then Harvey pushed in further, crashing their mouths together, and he was coming, shaking apart even as Harvey kept moving, voice rough and gritty as he spoke,

“Fuck, Jim, that’s it. Oh, _Jim_.”

His vision was blurred as he tried to watch Harvey’s face, tears clinging to his lashes. Harvey fell forward to kiss him anyway, soft and slow and tender, nose brushing against his own playfully. Harvey was the one to clean him up; rubbed the wetness from his cheek with his thumb, and stroked down his arms and his flank, until he stopped trembling.

Jim kissed him in return. Brushed his hair back from his forehead, and spent long minutes doing little more than gazing into the older man’s eyes.

“Do you really want this, Jim?” Harvey asked eventually, reluctant like he was afraid the answer wouldn’t be what he was hoping for.

“Do you?” Jim countered. Smiled widely at Harvey’s ‘of course I do’ and said, “I told you. I want what you want.” Cuddled in closer and endeavoured to be serious, just for a short while. “I want something worth fighting for. Something worth trying to be one of the good guys for.”

“And you think I’m it?” Harvey asked, sounding dubious, and Jim thought of how intense the experience had been. Thought of how relaxed and comfortable he was, and how he couldn’t even work up the energy to care that he was spilling all his inner thoughts and feelings.

He kissed Harvey, getting lost in it for a moment, then said, simply,

“I know you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	38. A/B/O AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the A/B/O AU prompt.

Jim didn’t do as good a job of hiding it as he thought he did, not even at the very beginning. Harvey could _smell_ it on him, sickly sweet where it reacted with whatever medication he was on, and he wasn’t getting caught in the crossfire when Jim forgot to take the correct dosage and became a homing beacon to every nutjob alpha in the city.

He went to Essen, laid it all out before her, and she read him the riot act. Told him that the GCPD did not discriminate on the grounds of biology and, when he still refused to back down, looked him over with disgust and said,

“What, are you telling me you can’t control yourself?”

 _That_ rankled. He was a slob, sure, and he had never pretended to be the most by the book guy on the Force. He wasn’t a scumbag though, and he certainly wasn’t the type to go around forcing himself on anyone, not least uptight little pricks with chips the size of Fort Rock on their shoulders.

Because Jim was textbook. Totally obsessed with proving how genetics had no bearing on how tough you could be, to the exclusion of any hint of common sense or reason. Jim could look after himself, no question, but it wasn’t an admission of failure to ask for help once in while. It wasn’t a slippery slope straight back to the bad old days, where the most taxing police career he could have hoped for was as a secretary or to provide eye candy for the recruitment posters.

And Jim was eye candy, that was the worst of it. Not so much that he couldn’t pass easily enough, maybe, but it was there all the same. Those big blue eyes and distractingly long lashes. His elegant fingers and the arch of his cheekbones.

He could ignore it, mostly, but it hit him sometimes. Took his breath away when they were stuck in the car on some never ending stakeout, or he caught Jim staring at him, instead of focusing on his paperwork. It made him shift awkwardly in his seat, and cover with bad jokes and insults. Had him fighting back all his natural instincts, because the better he got to know Jim, the more protective he felt of him.

The more he wanted to preen and posture, and outright threaten anyone who dared to look at Jim.

When Jim shacked up with Lee Thompkins, it was torture. He wanted to touch Jim constantly. Wanted to pull him in close and rub his scent all over him, until every last trace of her was gone. She knew it too, had all the medical training and the beta indifference to nature’s cruelty to see straight through his increasingly pathetic attempts at pretending he didn’t care less who Jim shared his bed with.

Jim wouldn’t thank him for his interest, that was a given. Chose to keep up the pretence right until he was arrested for Pinkney’s murder, and even then he prevaricated around the issue until Harvey stood up to the plate and said frankly,

“Look, it’s okay, I’ll sort it. Let me know which pills you’re on and I’ll make sure you get them.”

He stayed true to his word and got them pushed through the official system. Went the unofficial route too, up and over the recommended dosage, because he knew Blackgate and they both knew that there was just as much crime going on on the inside as there was on the outside. Stuck with it when Jim was out because he wasn’t taking care of himself, and Harvey didn’t need that on his conscience.

Couldn’t bear to see Jim upset, even, and spent long evenings watching Jim get drunk and maudlin. Listened to him talk about his mess of a love life and how in spite of it all he had ended up an Omega stereotype, pining endlessly for someone who didn’t want him. It tore Harvey up inside, broke his heart, but he never once tried anything. Never once slipped up, not even when Jim was so drunk he forgot himself. Not even when Jim curled up close and pressed his nose into his neck. Inhaled deeply and made him half lose his damn mind because it was like a scene out of his favorite fantasy, the one where Jim was wanting and desperate, but still aware enough to beg for it be _him_ who helped him through it.

It wasn’t going to happen, he had long resigned himself to that fact.

He wasn’t completely delusional.

Jim didn’t get any less appealing though. Didn’t quit tugging at his heart strings, and when he kept swiping at his face one afternoon, cheeks blotchy and overheated, Harvey couldn’t help but worry. Asked if he wanted to see a doctor, needed the hospital, and Jim only shook his head and said that he wasn’t feeling too well. Lasted out the entire day then went straight home rather than to the bar, and Harvey did his best to put all thoughts of Jim and stupid fantasies about taking care of him through his cold from his mind until the following morning.

Rapped a few times at Jim’s door when it came because there was no answer, and finally fished the spare key from his pocket and pushed the door open. Had to breathe shallowly through his mouth from the moment he set foot over the threshold, pulse racing and hands shaking, because suddenly Jim’s malady was incredibly obvious.

Even modern suppressants couldn’t work forever, not continuously. Harvey knew all the details, had been on all the training courses, and for all he knew of Jim’s stubbornness he still hesitated in the hallway in case Jim had planned ahead and was already dealing with it. There was some old flame who’d be happy to lend a helping hand, maybe, or some buddy from the army. One of those classy services you could book in advance, or one of those kinky freelancers who left cards in telephone boxes.

Gotham catered to all sorts.

But Jim’s was the only scent he could smell, and it was only Jim’s voice he could hear, wrecked and desperate. He followed the sound, couldn’t stop himself, and the sight of Jim was completely overwhelming. The expanses of flushed skin and the sweat slicked hair stuck to his forehead. The tears on his cheeks and the huge blue eyes that sought him out, aware enough that he sobbed in relief,

“Please, please. Harvey, help me, please.”

Harvey needed to get out of there. Needed to turn around and walk away before he did something they both ended up regretting. But Jim was pleading, writhing, and even from the other side of the room Harvey could see the wet trails down Jim’s thighs. He couldn’t look away from it, nor the fevered grip Jim had on himself, hips pushing forward, chasing the kind of release his hand was never going to be able to give him.

He started moving without thought, without consideration. Just crawled onto Jim’s bed and pressed his cheek against Jim’s heaving chest. Pushed up across his overheated skin, and up the side of his neck, Jim winding his limbs tight around him in an attempt to get closer. When their mouths met Harvey knew he was lost, knew that the best he could hope for was to try not to lose control completely, because Jim tasted so good, and he was never going to be the powerless submissive type who lay there quietly.

Instead Jim was giving just as good as he got, fingers tangling in his hair and teeth nipping at his lower lip. Started tugging at his clothing when he didn’t remove it fast enough, and strained up against him, muscles trembling, rocking and squirming in an effort to get Harvey in him.

It would be so easy to give in. So easy to just push into that wet heat and bite at Jim’s neck. To rut and snarl like an animal - to pin Jim down and take what he wanted.

But this was it. This was going to have to last him a lifetime, sustain him through endless lonely nights of remembering how perfect Jim felt and tasted and sounded, and that meant he needed to focus. Needed to commit all of it to memory, and Jim cried out, frantic, as he drew things out as long as he could bear it.

He sucked at his peaked nipples and licked broad stripes along the outlines of his ribcage. Kissed his way along shaking limbs and swirled his tongue around Jim’s cock, his own aching painfully as Jim whined and cursed, dark eyes wet and glistening whenever he succeeded in getting them open. He held Jim’s gaze for a long moment, shivering at the intensity of it, then hooked his hands under the backs of Jim’s knees and dropped his head.

Licked and sucked and thrust his tongue as deep as he could manage, spurred on by the fevered, desperate sounds Jim was making.

“Please, please, please,” Jim was chanting, begging, and he was so wet Harvey was certain he could drown in it. Had to physically force himself to stop, regardless, and watched, rapt, as Jim took two fingers, then three, all while trying to move back against them.

He couldn’t make it last any longer - captured Jim’s mouth with his own and swallowed his gasps and whimpers. Threw all his good intentions out the window and pushed into Jim in one long movement. Scarcely managed to stay still long enough for Jim to signal that it was okay, that he should keep going, and then it was just a blur of want and need and _more_.

Jim kissed him in turn, all slick tongue and sharp teeth, and clawed his fingers down his back, too far gone to care about anything beyond reaching completion.

“Harvey,” Jim whined as he came and the rush of emotion that came with it, the surge of lust and the primal feeling of belonging was enough to tip him over the edge with scarcely any extra stimulation. Had him shuddering and rolling his hips, prolonging the sensation, and Jim whimpering, limp and sated and clinging to him as the knot settled, tying them together.

It was then that the guilt began to set in. The cold reality of what he had just done, and he thought of the way Essen had sneered at him all that time ago, when she accused him of not being about to control himself. He had deserved her scorn, and her condemnation, because Jim hadn’t asked him for this. Jim hadn’t even wanted him to know he was an omega, let alone be his heat partner.

“I'm sorry,” Harvey managed then, and he sounded devastated to his own ears. Wished that they could bypass this awkward aftermath even as he wanted it to never end. Never wanted to have to let go of Jim. “I swear to God I tried, Jim.”

Except Jim wasn't having any of it. Pulled too hard at his hair until he looked at him, and his words were only slightly slurred when he said, 

“If I hadn’t wanted you to, I’d have said so. Trust me.”

Harvey tried to smile - wanted so badly to believe him. Jim just nuzzled into the scruff of his beard and sighed deeply. Seemed in no rush to move for once, content to simply lay still and do nothing for a while. 

“If I'd had the choice of anyone,” Jim said eventually, a good enough detective to know that he hadn't taken anything he'd said on board, “I'd still have chosen you.”

“Now I know you've lost your mind,” Harvey responded, but it meant a lot to him, more than he could ever say, that Jim cared enough to try and make him feel better. Jim knew it too, had a better read on him than he had ever imagined. He had to because he pushed his nose into the crook of his neck then, and followed it up by raising a mark, the kind that once upon a time was only ever given the other way around. 

“Who else is going to put up with me the way you do?” Jim asked, his smile audible, and Harvey had to smile back, finally relaxing enough to simply enjoy the closeness.

When you looked at it that way, they were made for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	39. Soulmates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates AU for Leaper182. :)

Jim had always known that he was different.

Other people didn’t hear things - see things - that weren’t there. They didn’t have entire other families who lived only in their heads, and they certainly didn’t throw screaming tantrums because their mom refused to smell the same way their other mother did.

His mom, for her part, broke down in tears and yelled about how she couldn’t take it. His dad told her not to be so stupid. That it was nothing but an imaginary friend, or else a silly prank Roger had put him up to. Said that all kids went through weird phases, and finally relented and took him to see a doctor who spoke to him like he was a baby and asked him if he liked to make up stories.

Encouraged him to draw pictures of the things he saw, and frowned at the resulting mess of paint and crayon, and his explanations of the dead man and the crying lady. Didn’t understand, no matter how many times he told her, and it wasn’t until he called for his mom to come, _quick_ , when they showed them both on the television that he began to wish he had never said anything.

Later he understood why it had caused problems. Knew he would react just as badly, most likely, to a preschooler obsessed with iconography of a religion they had no reason to know anything about. As a kid it was frightening, terrifying, because his mom cried all over again, and even Roger thumped him hard in the arm when their dad decided the best way forward was for his brother to drop baseball practice in favor of them all spending more closely supervised family time together.

He learned not to talk about it after that. Did his very best to pretend that it was all make believe, just the way adults told him it had to be. Failed spectacularly the fall he turned eight because one minute he was glaring at Roger for making fun of him, and the next it felt like his heart was being torn out of chest. Felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and he sobbed for almost three days straight, while doctors poked and prodded and attempted to make sense of what was wrong with him.

“He’s a freak,” Roger told the other kids on their street with all the confident certainty his extra three years on the planet afforded him. “They’ll probably have to send him to Arkham Asylum.”

They didn’t lock children up there, his mom assured him, but Jim worried about it anyway. Panicked before every new medical appointment, and wished that someone would run their fingers through his hair, the way he was sure his other mom would have, if she hadn’t had to die and leave him. Because she had, he knew she had, and it was months before he stopped waking up with tears on his face.

It came less frequently after that, the strange awareness of things that he wasn’t actually experiencing. The confusing dreams and the waves and waves of sadness he didn’t know how to deal with. He began to hope that one day it would be nothing more than a distant memory, and his dad was telling him how proud he was that he had chosen to start acting like a grown up, to be sensible, when a drunk driver slammed into the side of them and he recognized the renewed agony in his chest for the grief it had been.

He didn’t escape the crash unscathed, not physically and certainly not mentally. Had endless nightmares, over and over, about people - men, women, children - dying while he had to watch and do nothing. Tried instead not to sleep at all and, when the school rang home for the umpteenth time because he had fallen asleep in class, his mother announced that they were moving away from Gotham.

Roger hated him for it, blamed him for all the ways in which his own life subsequently fell apart, but Jim chose to see it as a fresh start. A chance to be normal, and to be alone in his own head. Denied that it had ever been something he experienced, at least until a whole bunch of them went to a fortune teller for a laugh, and the woman dropped the entire mystical routine as soon as she clapped eyes on him. Reached for his hand, like she couldn’t help herself, and said,

“I’ve never seen a bond this strong. It’s almost as though I could touch it.”

“Don’t tell me,” one of his friends joked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, “he’s going to meet someone tall, dark and handsome.”

She only smiled, somehow more chilling than the serious solemnity that had gone before it, and said,

“I can’t see, but you could, if you put your mind to it. I don’t doubt it.”

It shook him up bad because he had never told anyone in Chicago. Had spent years by that point suppressing it. But he still saw things in his head. Still felt like there was someone with him, sometimes, their presence like an itch he couldn’t scratch. They were always just out of his reach.

He began researching it. Ducked his head as he checked books out of the city library, and tentatively broached the subject with his mother, because she was ill and getting weaker, and he didn’t want to upset her. She patted at his hand, comforting, and revealed that she had once done her own research. Confessed that she had been convinced that he was remembering some past life, and reminisced about the time a crazy old man had approached them at the city park, and ranted and raved that it wasn’t right, to have a child with only half a soul wandering about the place.

He shivered, even as she said it, because of all the ways he had ever attempted to explain what he felt, that was easily the most accurate. After she died he went to spiritualist meetings and read weird blogs on the internet. Lit candles and wore crystals and, when he finally worked up the courage to try the positively medieval sounding ritual he had read about, it was so effortless it was frightening. Truly, because he was there and he wasn’t. Himself but someone else, and it hit him for the first time that he wasn’t the only person involved in this because he could feel the other person’s panic. Smell the scent of their aftershave and hear the sound of their voice.

When he pulled himself out of it he couldn’t stop shaking. Staggered to the bathroom and was sick everywhere, the pain throbbing in his head and his heart hammering like he had just been sprinting.

He shouldn’t have done it he learned afterwards. It was stupidly, idiotically dangerous, and all the examples he came across tended to involve people ending up in some kind of institution. It wasn’t surprising, not exactly, because even as he completed basic training, even as he was shipped out on his first tour, it still felt as though there was a gaping chasm in his psyche. Like huge chunks of him were missing, and at night he dreamed of being pulled close and clinging to broad shoulders, as though he wanted to ruin his career with the military.

People could sense it too - all of it. Gossip went around barracks about him, and when they patrolled civilian areas dark eyes watched him with open curiosity, even as people shied away when he got too close. Mothers pulled their children to their sides, and one of their translators refused to go anywhere near him until the air around them stank of burning esfand.

Back home Roger laughed about it when Jim visited him in rehab, hollow and bitter, and told him for the first time that he had used to talk in his sleep. That he had run off once, when they had been out with their father, and that they had found him on the steps of a church in the East End of Gotham, an elderly priest trying to console him as he howled nonsense about needing to wait for his other family. He didn’t remember it, not clearly, and Roger turned haunted eyes on him and said,

“You knew their names, you knew where they lived. If I’d believed you it could have been different. Everything could have been different.”

It was too late now.

There was no going backwards.

Yet he ended up in Gotham, all the same, and his attempts at building a life for himself, at ignoring the constant ache in his heart, were for nothing. Because he suspected from the moment Harvey first put a hand on his shoulder but he fought it, battled it, until after things fell apart with Barbara and Harvey pulled him into a drunken hug and Jim never wanted to let go again. Never wanted to be parted from him, not even for a moment, and felt drunk on his proximity, how right it felt, until Harvey let him go and then he fought harder still, determined not to let some stupid superstition ruin his entire life.

They could be friends, brothers, they didn’t need to get any closer.

He did his best to avoid Harvey’s touch. Scrubbed the feel of it from his cheek and put all of his energy into falling in love with Lee. To taking hold of his last chance to live the kind of life he had always dreamed about. Easy, uncomplicated, _normal_. He pushed away when he wanted to press close, and acted as though he couldn’t see the hurt on Harvey’s face, when the older man proved again and again that he was willing to offer him anything.

It didn’t work, deep down he had always known it wouldn’t, and finally he drained a bottle of whiskey and decided it was time to stop fighting against it. Turned up at Harvey’s place in the early hours of the morning and recited all the details he remembered. The images on the stained glass windows at the church Harvey’s family had attended, and the fragmented memories he had of the cases Harvey had been working, the ones that had haunted his teenage nightmares. The time of day his mother had died and the hymns they had sung at her funeral.

“That’s not funny,” Harvey warned, raking a hand through his hair, and Jim struggled to keep his tone even as he agreed,

“It wasn’t. It was awful.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Jim,” Harvey said, even as he gravitated closer. Even as his hands came to rest on Jim’s shoulders, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah, you do,” Jim said, making eye contact. He raised his own hand, slowly, and touched his fingers to Harvey’s cheek, warmth - comfort - radiating through him. “You know you do.”

“You’re drunk,” Harvey accused but didn’t pull away. “You’re talking bullcrap.”

Jim shook his head. He was sick of lying and pretending. Sick of knowing that he could be happy, could be whole, if only he had the courage to fight _for_ it.

“You can feel it too. I know you can.”

He had to be able to. He had to because Jim didn’t know how he was supposed to carry on if Harvey didn’t want this. If Harvey decided that it wasn’t worth it, that he could manage just fine, and left him lost again, now that he knew what it was like to feel the connection.

He kissed Harvey then, desperate to convince him, and he couldn’t even begin to describe it, the wet heat and the scratch of Harvey’s beard, combined with the way it sent sparks up the entire length of his spine. The way the world spun but made sense, and all the burdens on his shoulders eased, because he wasn’t carrying them alone, not with Harvey’s arms wrapped around him.

“I thought I was going mad,” Harvey whispered when they came up for air. “It felt like something had broken inside me. Like I’d lost something I never even knew I had.”

It had been the day he had tried the ritual. The day he had attempted to break down the barriers and almost killed the both of them in the process.

“You’ve been in my head all my life,” he confessed in turn. Swallowed around the lump in his throat and attempted to smile, “I guess that means it’s your fault I turned out this way.”

Harvey kissed him again. Kissed and kissed until they were both a mess, both shaking with what it meant, and the sheer intensity of it.

“It’s not my fault,” Harvey told him eventually, gaze meeting his own, “it just means you were made for me.”

Jim laughed, at the surreal absurdity and at the lopsided grin on the other man’s face.

“Maybe I was,” he conceded. “But what are you going to do about it?”

Harvey’s expression went soft, fingers petting at his hair as he pulled him close against him. Walked him through to the bedroom and simply held him as they lay in the darkness.

“We’ll work it out together,” Harvey assured him, pressed so close Jim could feel the words being spoke. Could feel the fear lifting, and knew the struggle was ending. “That’s why we’re partners.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	40. Fuck Buddies to Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fuck buddies to lovers prompt. :)

Harvey’s initial assessment of Jim Gordon was that he needed to get laid, and he needed it badly. If he was the one to lay him, well, so much the better. He had never claimed to be immune to a nice ass and a pretty face, especially not when he was forced to spend all day every day with their owner.

It had surprised him, legitimately, that the kid actually had a girlfriend. A fiancée, even, and by all accounts was getting it on the regular.

But the more he saw of Jim, the better he understood the problem. Jim wasn’t the type to just let go and enjoy anything. He was terrified of losing control of himself, and had turned the act of self-denial into an art form. Seemed convinced that fun was a byword for failure, and strove to be endlessly dour and miserable.

Harvey tried. Told bad jokes and livened up boring stakeouts with lightly embellished stories of the kind of things he had been indulging in when he was Jim’s age. Jim blushed and frowned and occasionally looked faintly horrified, and if it wasn’t balanced out by the occasions he squirmed about in his seat, nowhere near as subtle as thought he was being, Harvey might have given it up as a lost cause.

Maybe.

Because somewhere along the way, his interest in Jim turned personal. Became an outright obsession, and he no longer cared about finding a way to get Jim to lighten up and stop nagging him. Jim could be just as irritating as he liked. Could nag and bitch and moan, and Harvey would only try to spend more time in his company. All he really wanted was for Jim to be happy. For Jim to smile and laugh, and to stop stressing about things he had no influence over.

He was falling for Jim he realized eventually, falling hard, and by the time he first allowed the word ‘love’ to creep into the equation, his every fantasy involved working past Jim’s myriad trust issues. Proving to him that the world wouldn’t fall apart if he let someone else past the walls he had built around himself.

If Jim let him in, because he wasn’t the good guy Jim still believed he could be. He wasn’t selfless and he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t leave Jim alone and when Jim pressed their lips together one night, drunk and desperate, Harvey didn’t try to stop him. Just pulled him in closer and moaned into Jim’s mouth. Kissed at his jaw and sucked at his throat - pushed his hand into Jim’s pants and went off like a rocket just from the knowledge that it was _Jim_ coming over his fingers.

He put Jim to bed afterwards. Tucked him in, even, and spent long minutes just watching him sleep. Rubbed his thumb over his temple, and imagined all the ways things were going to change now. Went home with a big dumb grin on his face and in the morning, at the precinct, greeted Jim with coffee and a lingering hand on his shoulder. Smiled at him, helpless, and it was only when Jim met his gaze that he took his hand away.

Because Jim wasn’t smiling back at him. He looked awkward, embarrassed, and it hurt so much Harvey didn’t know what to do with himself. Jim had been drunk - completely wasted. It had meant nothing to him, of course it hadn’t, and now he simply wanted to forget all about it.

Harvey did his best to keep his expression neutral. Forced himself to keep his stride even until he reached his desk. Stared unseeingly at his paperwork and cursed himself for the biggest fool to ever graduate the academy.

“About last night,” Jim stiltedly attempted to explain later. “I didn’t -”

“I wasn’t expecting wedding bells and commitment rings,” Harvey scoffed, to better hide how much it stung. “Figured you were looking for somebody to scratch an itch with, that’s all.”

Jim colored up, just to make his stupid heart flip flop in his chest, and questioned quietly,

“What, friends with benefits?”

“I think fuck buddies is the term you’re looking for,” Harvey said, deliberately crass, and then he didn’t know what to do because Jim was turning those criminally pretty eyes on him and saying, as though he were reciting the GCPD handbook,

“That wouldn’t make for a good working relationship.”

By rights he should have simply laughed it all off as some big joke. Agreed with the sentiment, there and then, and put an end to it. But he had never been any good at self-preservation when it came to Jim, and what he actually did was smirk, challenging,

“You couldn’t handle it anyway. I’d blow your mind, Jimbo.”

Jim’s jaw tightened, predictable as ever, and that evening they went from sharing a couple of beers as they talked over a case file, to Jim moaning, fingers petting uncertainly at his hair, as Harvey set about putting all his years of experience to good use. There were a considerable number of them, he couldn’t lie, but Jim didn’t seem inclined to complain, not when he stroked at his hip bone with one hand, to help keep him steady, and swallowed through his gag reflex.

“Oh God!” Jim cried out, startled, and it was so fucking hot Harvey had to push his other hand against his own straining erection. Had to rock his hips forward, frantic, because Jim tasted so good, smelled so good, and he couldn’t even begin to quantify the number of nights he had spent alone in his bed, wishing he could know what it felt like, just once, for Jim to actively want his hands on him.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised when he pulled back to catch his breath, his hand picking up the slack. “You’re so close, aren’t you, Jim? You gonna come for me? I want to hear you. Come on, let me hear how good it feels.”

Jim whined at that, fingers tightening in his hair, and Harvey put his mouth back on him. Swirled his tongue around the head, precome flowing, then sank lower, Jim gasping and panting and coming with a strangled,

“Fuck, yes, Harvey!”

It was almost too much, hearing his name on Jim’s lips like that, and he surged up to kiss him. Pushed Jim back against the sofa and plundered his mouth, half afraid Jim would push him away, even as he worked his hand into his trousers and stroked himself with hurried movements. Jim’s hand joined his own, tentative, and that was all it took. He shook and shuddered and never once stopped kissing Jim, not until Jim broke away from it.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Jim told him, one hand raking through his hair and the other reaching for his neglected beer bottle. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Harvey searched for something to say. Something that would salvage their friendship without revealing his heartbreak, but Jim sucked in a shaky breath and said, lips quirking,

“I’m glad we did though.”

And just like that, trading _stress relief_ with Jim was his new normal. They exchanged hand jobs on the sofas of their respective apartments and once, even, in a squad car. He jerked Jim off in the bathroom stall of a dive bar they were meant to be investigating, and he blew him every chance he got, including against the wall of Jim’s living room, Jim’s thighs trembling as Harvey snuck a hand behind his balls and knew without being told that nobody else had ever touched him there before.

“Please,” Jim begged, rough and desperate, and Harvey would never get enough of this. Would never be sated when it came to Jim, and they ended up on Jim’s bed, Jim sobbing and cursing as he worked his tongue inside him. “More,” Jim managed, rocking back to meet him, “please, more.”

Who was Harvey to deny him?

He slid a finger into him, slow and careful, and the heat, the tightness, took his breath away. He could imagine his cock in its place. Could picture Jim’s face, flushed and tear stained, as he made love to him - as he watched him come apart, blissed out with the force of it. That wasn’t what Jim had asked for though, and Harvey made himself concentrate on the task in hand.

Crooked his finger firmly and groaned at the sound Jim made, because it was so utterly pornographic.

“You sound so fucking hot,” Harvey told him, unable to hold back. “The way you moan my name, I can’t bear it. I’ve been thinking about it all day. Been staring at my goddamned paperwork and thinking about making you come. About the noises you’re gonna make when you come for me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jim ground out, panting hard into the pillow beneath him, and Harvey kept up the stimulation against his prostate. Added another finger and watched, mesmerised, as he worked them in and out of Jim’s body before pressing them both to the right spot, so that Jim whimpered and wrapped his hand around his cock, clearly desperate.

“Come on, Jim,” Harvey encouraged, moving his fingers with short sharp thrusts. “I need to hear you. I need you so badly.”

Jim came, loud and long and messy, and Harvey rubbed soft circles against his back afterwards. Held him close, peppered his jaw with kisses, and thanked whatever kindly deity might be looking down on him that had convinced Jim this was a completely normal and expected part of the arrangement. That he had been just as intent on kissing and cuddling with all his casual fucks, and wanted nothing more than to feed them and hold their fucking hand afterwards.

He wanted everything and more from Jim, and if this was as much as he was going to get, well, he was pathetic enough to settle for it. If he made it good, if he made it really good, Jim wouldn’t care who was attached to the mouth and the hands on him. Would keep coming back for more, at least in the short term, even though he fell far short of the kind of lover Jim really wanted.

They’d be just as gorgeous as Jim, no doubt, all perfect body and perfect smile, and when Jim found them Harvey was going to have to go back to being nothing but the friend who hauled his drunk ass home from the bar on Friday nights. It was going to kill him, he thought, as Jim fell asleep in his arms, too relaxed to even panic about the situation. He knew what it was like to touch Jim now, to kiss him and hold him, and giving it up would be torture.

To stave off the inevitable he redoubled his efforts. Employed a few tricks he had learned from the professionals, and mentally catalogued each and every place on Jim’s body that got him squirming and vocal. Went to town on using them to drive Jim crazy, teasing the sensitive skin of his neck with his tongue and the scratch of his beard, and trailing fingertips down Jim’s side until his eyes were dark and wild, and he was turning the tables and pinning Harvey down against the soft mattress.

“It’s not fair,” Jim said, beautiful and breathless, “how am I supposed to return the favor when you get me worked up like this?”

Harvey cupped Jim’s cheek with one hand, kissed him deeply, and promised to let Jim do whatever he wanted. Could scarcely keep his eyes open when Jim proved he had been keeping notes of his own, sucking wetly at the ridge of his ear until he was aching, grinding up against Jim’s leg, and then he was turning the air blue, Jim’s fingers scrabbling at his belt buckle and removing the remaining layers of clothing between them.

Jim’s mouth on him was everything he had always imagined it would be. Wet and hot, and the sight of Jim’s lips stretched around his length was so arousing he had to clench his eyes tight shut so he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

“Don’t stop,” he heard himself plead, voice wrecked, and once he had started he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Please, Jim, please, don’t stop. Oh, fuck, Jim, that feels so good.”

Jim moaned around him, like he was the one being sucked by the hottest catch in all of Gotham. Like he was every bit as turned on, and Harvey made a grab for him. Hauled him over and into position, and sucked him down, hands on his ass, even as Jim never let up on what he was doing, mouth so wet on his dick Harvey could feel the excess dripping down the insides of his thighs and lower.

It didn’t last much longer, not surrounded by Jim as he was, and Jim gave him a goofy smile afterwards, all the tension drained from his shoulders for the time being. The words burned on his tongue, the ‘I love you’ Jim was never going to welcome, and Harvey settled for kissing him sweetly.

He had known the score when he signed up for this, it was no good getting upset about the situation.

It was easier said than done, that was the problem, and it became harder and harder to keep a lid on his feelings. He felt sick with jealousy whenever anyone flirted with Jim - and looking the way Jim did, that was near fucking constantly - and he had to remind himself over and over not to reach out and touch when they were in public. Not even whenever he felt like it, because if he got clingy Jim would lose interest, and he’d be back to long nights with his right hand and fantasies about waking up with Jim next to him in the morning.

“She gave me her number,” Jim grinned at him one lunchtime, showing him the slip of paper, and suddenly Harvey wasn’t hungry. Glanced up to see the waitress smiling back at Jim, tight fitting dress leaving very little to the imagination, and he was clambering to his feet and shrugging into his coat.

“I’ll get out of your way then. Give you lovebirds some privacy.”

“Harvey, wait -”

He didn’t. Didn’t look back, even, and kicked a dent into the door of his locker when he arrived at the precinct out of petty frustration. It wasn’t Jim’s fault he wanted more than the other man could give him, and it wasn’t the rest of the department’s either. He snapped at them, all the same, and deliberately avoided meeting Jim’s eye though he stared longingly at the back of his head, lovesick.

He couldn’t keep doing this, he knew. It was killing him, sure and slow, being so close to Jim and knowing that he was never going to get what he really wanted. That Jim was never going to love him back, and wasn’t even going to feel guilty about ditching him for the first person who showed an interest. He had no reason to. This was supposed to be about sex, plain and simple, and Harvey wished he had listened all those weeks ago when Jim had warned it would ruin their working relationship.

His good intentions lasted another two days. Two nights of drinking himself to sleep and pretending to ignore the concern etched across Jim’s handsome face. In the end it made no difference, because Jim turned up at his apartment on the third night, pushed past him without being invited, looked around the place, then said bluntly,

“I thought you’d gone back to keeping professional company.”

“They expect paying,” he said in turn, heart hammering, “all you need is a couple of beers inside you.”

It wasn’t what he’d say if they were truly an item. He’d cover Jim in kisses and promise that he’d never go looking elsewhere. Would sink to his knees and prove it to him. They weren’t though, and it was better that he pushed Jim - that he kept some kind of distance between the world of fantasy and reality.

Jim only snorted, amused. “Lucky for you I stopped for a drink on the way here. Guess that means we can get right to business.”

Business.

The smile on his face felt brittle and fragile, and when Jim stepped closer it was clear he had stopped for more than a drink in the singular. Harvey could smell the alcohol on his breath, and even without it the color in his cheeks and the glassiness to his eyes would have been a dead giveaway.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked and he meant it to sound cold and demanding. It came out breathy and vulnerable, and Jim pressed closer still. Rubbed his cheek against Harvey’s own, the gesture oddly touching, and said,

“I want you.” He took hold of Harvey’s wrist, pulling his hand down until his meaning was obvious. “I need you.”

It wasn’t what Jim meant, but Harvey took it anyway. Was so desperate that he let his pledge of distance and restraint slide away, and sank to his knees right there in the living room, mouthing at Jim through the fabric of his trousers before letting Jim fuck his face, like it really was some sordid business transaction. Jim left when it was done, finally sick of his desire for coddling it seemed, and Harvey swore that it was really over this time.

Failed over and over again because Jim was like a drug and he was addicted. Treasured every moment they spent together, and began to blur the lines between what he wanted and what was happening, because he wasn’t just sucking Jim, he was snuggling up to him on the sofa. Was kissing his cheek without thinking, and rubbing his feet at the end of long days, breath coming short at the way Jim gasped and groaned, so excited he left damp spots on his underwear.

Jim didn’t make things any easier. Stole soft kisses from him at work, when no one was looking, and encouraged him to sit close when the day had been tough, fingers stroking against his scalp and messing with his hair until he felt drunk on it, his entire body tingling with the sensation. Jim wound his arms around him, chest pressed to his back, and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re gorgeous?” Jim asked against his ear, making him shiver, and Harvey reached up to link his hands with Jim’s own.

“Only some crazy dude,” he smiled. “Think his name was Gordon or something.”

Jim rewarded him with a sucking kiss to his neck and, when the haze cleared, Harvey did his best to cling to the blissful feeling of contented happiness.

That was how he wanted to remember this.

The breaking point came long after it should have, after weeks and weeks of Jim blowing red hot one minute, and claiming to be too busy the next. Clinging to him like a limpet one day, then keeping him at arm’s distance, like he was being punished for how blatantly he had enjoyed it. Jim came to him one night, making all the first moves, and before Harvey knew it they were both laid out on his bed, Jim begging him to give him more than his fingers. To fuck him, properly, and God help him, but Harvey considered it. Let himself imagine how the scene would play out if this were all real, and he could satisfy his every ridiculous fantasy, telling Jim again and again how desperately he loved him.

He was going to do it regardless, was that close to giving in, but Jim was gazing up at him with trusting eyes and that was the reason he was in this mess. He had wanted Jim to trust him as much as he wanted him, and suddenly he was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he whispered,

“I can’t do this, Jim. I just can’t.”

Jim’s hand was on his shoulder, damp with sweat, and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand to know he was so close to what he really wanted, yet still so very far away.

“What’s the matter?” Jim asked, tone anxious. “Did I do something wrong? I haven’t, I mean -”

That was the whole crux of the problem. For everything they’d done together, Jim had never gone that far, had never asked him to, and now it was happening Harvey couldn’t do it.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he managed, voice strained as he stared at his hands, “not now, not ever.”

Jim made a sound at that, pained, and Harvey had to risk looking at him. Was met with frightened blue eyes and he stumbled over himself to clarify,

“I’ll always be your friend. I’m always going to be there for you. Always. But I can’t keep doing this - it’s killing me.” He shook his head. “I _love_ you, Jim. I adore you. I can’t pretend like this is just some casual fuck to me.”

Jim _laughed_ , actually laughed, and Harvey couldn’t hide the way he flinched at the sound. Swallowed thickly, desperately, as Jim reached out his hands to frame his face, forcing Harvey to meet his gaze and realize that he was half crying along with it.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

He frowned at Jim, understanding slow in coming, and Jim kissed him. Stroked his tongue into his mouth and it began to dawn on him what Jim was attempting to tell him.

“You said you weren't interested - that you only wanted something casual. I've spent the last six months trying to convince you otherwise.”

Harvey gaped, shocked dumb, and Jim had to visibly screw up his nerve to confirm,

“I love you too. So much.”

He scarcely knew what to do with himself. Wanted to laugh and jump and sing, but settled for wasting no time in plundering Jim’s mouth, hot and possessive, and the emotional charge only served to make Jim more responsive, clinging to him like he might disappear.

“It’s all right,” Harvey murmured, hands sliding down to Jim’s ass and using the grip to help Jim frot against him. “I got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jim calmed a little. Gazed up at him, eyes soft, and it him all in a rush that he had hit the jackpot and just been handed everything he wanted. Couldn’t help but kiss Jim all over again, and let his hand wander, fingers slowly sinking into Jim’s still slick hole. Jim had been close before, excruciatingly close, and he groaned deeply now, pitch rising when Harvey pressed the pads of his fingers to his prostate.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told Jim as he continued his careful movements. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long. You’re gorgeous - you make me lose my mind, Jim. Every time I touch myself, I think of you. Your pretty face and the sexy sounds you make. The way you beg me to let you come, it gets me so hard -”

“Please,” Jim begged, writhing back on his fingers. “Please, Harvey, I need you, please.”

There were tears on his cheeks, his face flushed pink and rosy, and Harvey licked desperately up the side of his neck, chasing the blush. Nipped at his jaw and then captured his mouth in a kiss, swallowing his whines and his whimpers as he struggled to get his hands to co-ordinate. To get the condom on and the cap of the lube open.

He fought for control at the feel of his hand, and held Jim’s hips steady as he moved forward, biting his lip at how good it felt and how good Jim looked. He used one hand to brace himself, giving Jim a moment to adjust to it, and reached for Jim’s hand with the other. Linked their fingers together and squeezed tightly, finally allowing himself to spill all the sentimental nonsense he had been too afraid to give voice to.

Told Jim over and over how much he loved him, how much he was always going to love him, and how happy he was - how stupidly, ridiculously happy - that Jim wanted to be with him. That Jim was with him right there, right then, and how incredibly exciting it was to watch Jim lose control, frantic and desperate as he put his trust in Harvey to send him over the edge, and to be there to catch him.

He was there.

Groaned and trembled through his own climax even as he kissed Jim through his. Carried on kissing him, slow and sweet, and held him close, hands soothing and petting, because he had to be touching Jim. Had to have him wrapped around him as he asked, light but sincere,

“Does this mean you’re going to stop arranging dates with waitresses?”

“I was trying to make you jealous,” Jim confessed, the hint of a smile on his lips, and it tugged at his heart strings. Made his heart turn cartwheels in his chest, overwhelmed with it all, and he admitted, honestly,

“It worked. I never thought I was the jealous type.”

“You’re my type though,” Jim said, relaxed enough to let his mouth run away with him, and Harvey only held him tighter.

“You really need to work on your lines, Jim.”

Jim found his hand again, fingers tangling with his own, and gave him the cheeky grin he already knew he was never going to tire of,

“Jealousy again. They're just better than yours, and you know it.”

Harvey grinned right back at him. That was the kind of jealousy he could live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	41. Blindfolded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was Jim getting blindfolded and working through trust issues. And smut. Lots of it. :)

Generally speaking, Jim was a man of few words. His reports were clear and to the point, and he couldn’t seem to understand the rationale behind making conversation for the sake of it.

It had driven him around the twist at first, had him convinced that Jim was nothing more than a stuck-up rich kid, but he had learned to read between the lines. Had managed to get Jim’s life story out of him, with the bare minimum of alcohol for encouragement, and come to grudgingly respect him.

Had grown to genuinely like Jim, to value his friendship, until eventually he was forced to recognize the breathless joy he felt in Jim’s company for what it really was.

He had fallen head over heels in love with him.

Would follow him to the ends of the earth and back, and risked his career and his reputation - his life - for him, over and over again, because what would any of it mean without Jim?

Jim was never supposed to know, that went without saying, because Jim was gorgeous and going places, while he was over the hill and heading for retirement. He had nothing to offer Jim beyond his love and devotion, and when he tried to explain that, Jim proving why he was the department’s star detective, he didn’t know what to do when Jim looked him in the eye and said,

“That sounds like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He had figured he was dreaming, or else laying in a coma somewhere, but Jim had maintained eye contact. Had reached a hand out for him, fingers curling around the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, while his thumb brushed at the edge of his jawbone. Stroked at the skin there, slowly, until it was just too much and he had to kiss Jim, determined to ensure that if Jim came to his senses in the morning, he would at least have the memory of the slick heat of Jim’s mouth to look back on.

Except the morning came and Jim remained in the grip of Gotham’s madness. Was certifiably loopy because within weeks Jim was living with him. His books were piled on Harvey’s shelves, and his clothes were hung in Harvey’s closet. His toothbrush and razor were next to his own in the bathroom, and his frantic cries filled the still night air, the memory alone enough to get him hard and aching.

Because he had always assumed Jim’s stoic silence would extend to the bedroom. Had always imagined, even when he had his hand on himself, spurred on by his favorite fantasies, that he would be lucky to get more than a gasp or two out of Jim. That he would be restrained and reticent, and Harvey would have to coax every single murmur.

It was the happiest surprise of his life to find that Jim was _vocal_. 

What was less positive was how ashamed of it Jim seemed to be. How desperately he fought to bite back every sound, and how embarrassed he got when Harvey told him that he loved it. Begged him not to hold back because it had always done it for him, hearing how much his partner was into it, and getting constant proof that Jim was enjoying himself was the kind of thing wet dreams were made of.

Jim tried, he knew that. Heard him admit as much, stilted and quiet as they lay together afterwards, and Harvey only kissed him silent. Cupped his face and did his best to convince Jim that it didn’t matter - nothing mattered beyond Jim feeling happy and comfortable.

“I want to,” Jim confessed, frustrated, and Harvey simply held him close and mulled the problem over.

Jim was so obsessed with being in control of himself. Was terrified of sliding back into the darkness of depression, and of giving in to the oblivion of drink all over again. Harvey needed to prove to him that he could relax sometimes.

That he was going to be there to break Jim’s fall, and that he wasn’t facing things alone any more. Never would again, not so long as Harvey had life in his body.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Jim admonished a few days later, and Harvey frowned at him in confusion,

“Do what?”

“That,” Jim said pointedly, and eyed up the pen he had been chewing at, lost in thought over what he might do to help Jim to let go a little. Jim glanced around to check they were alone and lowered his voice, “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re putting on a show like that?”

Harvey smirked, gave the end of the pen a parting lick for good measure, and said,

“If you think that’s a show you need your eyes tested.”

Jim sniped back, good natured, and Harvey let him get the last word in for once, thoroughly pleased with himself.

That was the answer, he was sure of it.

Still, he broached the subject with Jim carefully, and made sure he gave him plenty of time to think about it. Left the decision in Jim’s hands, and had to force down the urge to drag Jim into the precinct locker room when he told him in between calls,

“I want to try. I trust you.”

Instead he had to wait until the end of shift. Had to deal with a potential witness off their face on Gotham’s latest recreational drug, and ruined a brand new pair of socks traipsing around the dockside, following up a lead that proved fruitless. He groaned in relief when the day was finally done, and then groaned for another reason entirely, Jim pressing him against the door of their apartment and proceeding to kiss him senseless.

He grabbed hold of Jim’s tie in response, reversing their positions so that he was the one pushing Jim into the wall, his thigh falling between Jim’s legs as he slid his tie free of his collar in a satisfying rustle of silk against cotton.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked during a brief respite from kissing, gaze flickering over Jim’s dark eyes and flushed cheeks. “You don’t have to.”

Jim smiled at him, so honest and beautiful it took his breath away,

“I know.”

He kissed Jim all over again. Manoeuvred him into the bedroom and out of most of his clothing, until he was pressing Jim down into soft sheets, kissing and kissing as he reached again for Jim’s tie. Wound it carefully around his head, covering his eyes, and knotted it off center, so that it wouldn’t dig into Jim’s skull.

“All right?” He murmured, peppering chaste kisses along Jim’s jawbone, and Jim nodded slightly. Exhaled shakily and confirmed,

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Harvey kissed his cheek, once, in reassurance because he knew what a step it was for Jim, to willingly hand over control to somebody else, and then he took a moment to simply admire the view. Trailed his fingertips down Jim’s side, to the waistband of his boxer shorts, and swallowed thickly at the way Jim gasped, startled.

He did it again, and again, then detoured to brush his thumb against a nipple, and when Jim moaned his own restraint faltered, his head dropping to work at it. Jim’s hands came up to tangle in his hair as he started sucking and it was hot, so unbearably hot, especially when Jim gave up on trying to keep his mouth shut.

“Oh God, like that,” he breathed, grip tightening, and Harvey could take orders. Kept at it even as his fingers found the other nub, rolling and pinching, and Jim was squirming and whimpering. “So good,” Jim whined when Harvey switched his attentions, and Harvey smirked widely as he said,

“I haven’t even started yet.”

He took his time. Was in no rush in spite of his aching erection, and made sure to avoid giving Jim’s any stimulation, pulling his hands away whenever they got too close, until Jim was outright begging, hips stuttering up in search of any kind of relief they might encounter.

“Please, Harvey. Please. Touch me, suck me, anything, just please, please, do something.”

How was he supposed to resist a plea like that?

“Shhh, it’s all right,” he soothed, palms stroking over Jim’s flank and down his thighs. Removed his underwear and slid his hands back up, making the same journey with lips and tongue, sucking kisses into the soft flesh of Jim’s inner thighs as Jim got louder and louder. “I’m going to take care of you.”

He set about doing just that, pushing a hand into his own underwear as he breathed in great lungfuls of Jim’s scent. As he lost himself in the taste of him, mouthing his way up the length of Jim’s dick before taking him deep, loving the way Jim cried out and pulled at his hair. The way his hips bucked, helpless, and Harvey reached up to push two fingers to Jim’s lips, a fresh wave of arousal washing over him when Jim sucked at them enthusiastically, tongue teasing at his fingertips.

“Fuck, Jim.”

His own voice was wrecked, ragged, and the sound Jim made when he pressed his fingers to his opening had his dick twitching. Had him straining and desperate, and Jim didn’t help matters by pushing back and moaning like a porn star. By bending his knees and pulling him closer, and when Harvey crooked his fingers _just so_ , Jim cursed like a sailor.

Pleaded for him to keep going, to never stop, and Harvey didn’t know what he had ever done to deserve it. Was thankful beyond measure, all the same, and the way Jim tipped his head back, mouth hanging open, as he pushed into him was enough to have him scrabbling for composure. The way Jim tore the blindfold free, gaze meeting his own, was enough to make him fall in love all over again.

“I need to see you,” Jim said, and Harvey had never heard him like that. There was no restraint, no attempt at hiding how affected he was. “I need you.”

“You got me,” Harvey managed, and it was too intense. He was too worked up, and Jim was too responsive. So ridiculously beautiful that he couldn’t make it last. Couldn’t help himself, and the best he could do was aim for the right angle, Jim’s cries so much of a turn on that he had to push close enough to kiss him.

That was it, that was all he could take, and Jim didn’t seem to need any extra encouragement, his whole body tensing as he came.

Was wiped out afterwards, clingy and affectionate, and Harvey loved Jim in all of his moods but that was definitely one of his favorites. 

"Maybe next time you'll let me cuff you," he suggested when Jim nuzzled in close, and Jim only raised one sleepy eyebrow.

"If anyone's getting tied up, I think it should be you."

Harvey grinned. He was game for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	42. PWP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some random smut I wrote this week.

Harvey loved to tease him. Joked and bantered ceaselessly at work, and was absolutely merciless in the bedroom. Drove him out of his mind, got him frantic, and Jim was determined to press his every current advantage.

The other man deserved a taste of his own medicine.

Deserved everything he had to give and more, and Jim wasn’t blind to the way Harvey attempted to turn the tables and, when that failed, to try and keep his undershirt on.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, breath hot against Harvey’s ear and, okay, maybe he was playing dirty because he knew full well that it was Harvey’s weak spot. Knew exactly what it did to him, getting his ear worked over with lips and teeth and tongue, and the moan Harvey couldn’t hold back only made him more desperate.

“Please, I want you, Harvey. Want you so badly.”

Their gaze met, Harvey’s eyes already dark and wanting, and Jim had to kiss him. Had to slide his hands up and under the soft cotton, revelling in the expanses of heated skin. When he pulled away from Harvey’s mouth it was only to suck at the skin of his throat. To rub his cheek against the scratch of beard and then continue downwards, pressing kisses to the freckles along Harvey’s shoulders and the top of one arm.

Licked at the crease of his elbow and mouthed delicately at the pulse point at his wrist. Spent long minutes worshipping his hand, kissing and nuzzling and finally sucking at two fingers, gaze flickering between Harvey’s face, flushed and stricken, and the movement of his other hand, pushed beneath the waistband of his boxers. He moaned around the fingers, helpless, and Harvey tipped his head back, panting,

“Fuck, Jim, you keep doing that and I’m not going to be able to help myself.”

Jim shivered, cheeks burning still hotter, and he forced himself to pull off with a final lick to the pads of his fingertips.

He was on a mission and couldn’t afford to get distracted.

Surged forward to capture Harvey’s mouth again, and tugged at the hand the older man had wrapped around himself, nipping at his bottom lip and saying,

“If you can’t control yourself, maybe I’ll have to restrain you.”

Harvey groaned, the sound tore out of him, and Jim was so hard it was kind of painful. So desperate he felt drunk on it, and he was yanking at the hem of Harvey’s undershirt, frantic, and then had to take a moment just to take in the view. Had to press a hand to his own arousal, couldn't bear it, because the flush was creeping down Harvey’s chest, and the sight was just as breathtaking as he had known it would be.

Just as exciting and Harvey still didn’t get it, just didn’t understand, and Jim wished that he were better with words. Wished that he could explain what a turn on all that pale skin was, and describe the nights he had spent in his lonely bed, touching himself at the idea of having Harvey laid out like this before him. At the memory of his solid weight and broad shoulders, and how he imagined it would feel, to be allowed to put his hands all over him.

Now he was actually living it, and he couldn’t get a words out. Had to settle for letting his fingers wander, exploring, and followed with his mouth, breathing in lungfuls of Harvey’s scent as he kissed and licked and sucked a hickey into the flesh of his hip.

Got rid of the rest of Harvey’s clothing and made sure they were making eye contact when he put his tongue to the head of his dick. Harvey groaned his name, reverent, and it was just as thrilling as it had been the first time. Got him just as eager, just as frantic, and he lost himself in the taste and the feel. In the breathy noises Harvey was making, and the movements of his own hand, pushing him closer and closer until Harvey hauled him up into a kiss, getting a hand around both of them, the extra friction everything he needed.

Had him panting and trembling, desperate, and then he was coming, Harvey working him through it, on and on, until he had to push away, jaw slack as he watched Harvey spill over his own fingers.

“How did I get so lucky?” Harvey asked him after, catching his breath, and Jim still couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know how to convince Harvey that he was the lucky one. That Harvey was everything he had ever wanted, everything he could ever want, and maybe all he could do was keep trying. 

Keep proving it, until Harvey didn't doubt his sincerity. Until he had no doubts, whatsoever, about his attraction to pasty police detectives. 

“You know I love you, right?” He managed, fingers petting at Harvey's hair. “I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.”

Harvey smiled at him, expression soft, and it made his heart clench. Made him push on, though he was never going to be a wordsmith. 

“And I'm not kidding when I say you really do it for me. I'm not that good an actor.”

Harvey snorted, straddling the line between amused and embarrassed, and Jim kissed him in lieu of waiting for an answer. Knew that Harvey didn't believe him, not really, not yet, but that was okay. 

He wasn't going anywhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	43. Harvey sleeps with Lee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stock romance trope #217. (Or, the one where Harvey gets drunk and wakes up in someone else's bed.)

Harvey had made some bad decisions in his life. Had done some criminally stupid things, some stupidly criminal things, and had more regrets than some men had had hot dinners.

None of it compared to waking up with a splitting headache. To turning his head to the side and forcing his eyes open and realizing that he hadn’t gone to bed alone the previous night. To realizing that he wasn’t even in his own bed, and that the face he saw in front of him was really, actually, there, not just some alcohol fuelled nightmare.

“Morning,” Lee groaned with a grimace of her own and that was it. He was moving, staggering, retching his guts up in her pristine bathroom, over and over, because Jim was never going to forgive him.

Jim was going to hate him, despise him, and he had to rest his forehead against the blessed coolness of the tiles. Had to focus on breathing, in and out, and then splashing cold water over his face. On meeting his horrified reflection in the mirror and pulling himself together enough to start apologizing.

Lee was looking calm and collected by the time he emerged. Had brushed her hair and found her robe, and was clutching at a mug of coffee, nothing but the pallor in her cheeks as proof that she had been just as wasted as him the night before.

“You really know how to make a woman feel special,” she told him, not best pleased, and he couldn’t blame her. He deserved all of her derision and more, and could only nod at her, grateful, when she added, “I think it would be best if this stayed between us.”

He felt guilty, all the same, because Jim could be too observant for his own good. Never missed a beat when it came to what Lee was doing, and even sniffed deeply when Harvey shrugged into the jacket he had been wearing the night before, and accused obliviously,

“So that’s why you didn’t want to hang out last night. You had a better offer.”

Harvey attempted a smirk. Tried for his usual wisecracking and banter, but his words fell flat and the smile wouldn’t quite settle. Jim misinterpreted it. Proved again why Harvey was so helplessly devoted to him, and put a hand on his arm, tone painfully sincere as he said,

“If she can’t see what she’s missing, you’re better off without her. Trust me.”

“You’ve been reading Seventeen again, haven’t you?” Harvey mocked, but it was without malice. This was the side of Jim people didn’t see. The side they doubted existed, because Jim came across as gruff and uncaring. Too absorbed in his own problems to have time for anything other than the job.

The truth was that Jim was a good friend. The kind of friend who always had your back, and who wasn’t afraid to sound soppy when the situation called for it. Jim was the best friend he’d ever had, and that was why he had gone to see Lee last night. He knew she still cared about Jim, even after everything that had happened between them, and he had wanted her to reconsider.

Had forced himself not to think about how seeing them back together would break his own heart, and asked that if she couldn’t give Jim another chance, then perhaps at least they could try to be civil. They had to work together, and everyone’s life would be easier if they got on better.

If Jim were happier, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back again. Lee had been hurt too, he knew that. Had gone through hell and back, and he wasn’t insensitive to the fact. He was just on Jim’s side of the thing. Would always be on Jim’s side, no matter what he did or how dangerous it got, and suddenly they were bonding over it, the agony of being in love with Jim Gordon.

Because he did love Jim. Loved him desperately, as a friend and as a brother. In all the other ways Jim could never know about, and he kept drinking, on and on, listening to Lee exhaust her anger and her tears, and then start talking about what it had been like, to wake up wrapped around Jim every morning. To fall into bed with him each night and it was all kinds of wrong, all kinds of inappropriate, but they had drawn closer and closer, and suddenly Lee was telling him what Jim had been like in bed. His single minded intensity and the things he did with his fingers. The way his hair hung in his eyes, damp with sweat, and the sounds he made when he came, the ones Harvey was ashamed to admit he had strained to overhear, back when Jim had been sleeping on his sofa.

“Perhaps I should just show you,” Lee had breathed, and if he had had any sense he would have gotten out of there. Would have laughed it off or chalked it up to drink induced insanity. But Lee was drunk, and he was plastered, and they ended up on Lee’s bed, his face between her legs, lost in the scent and the feel and the filthy fantasy that they could do this again with Jim present, his tongue chasing the taste of Jim within her as he watched on, face flushed and eyes dark.

In the present Jim’s gaze was just concerned, brow furrowed, and Harvey spent the whole day avoiding questions and plead the world’s worst hangover. Cursed himself for a fool and prayed to God Jim never found out about it. Didn’t know what to do when Jim simply accompanied him home, without a word, and raided his kitchen, made them both dinner, then settled contentedly on his sofa, like it was exactly where he was meant to be.

It was where he was most evenings, at least, and the guilt was so thick in his throat that Harvey couldn’t eat anything. He had never planned to tell Jim about his visit, or that it was made to try and fight his corner. Had kind of assumed it would come out eventually anyway, and hadn’t worried, not overly, because he was sure Jim would come to accept it in the spirit he had meant it in.

This was different though, something else entirely, and Harvey struggled through the next few days, unable to appease Jim’s growing anxiety.

“Are you ill?” Jim tried during their last shift of the week, the genuine worry in his voice making Harvey feel worse than ever. “Has something happened? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m fine, Jim,” he said, all false bravado, “you nag worse than my mother.”

“I bet you’d have listened to your mother,” Jim groused back, nudging his shoulder and smiling. “I could see you as a mama’s boy.”

“Feeling brave, are you, partner? You should know better than to bring up a man’s mother.”

Jim smirked, pleased to see him acting more like his old self, and Harvey clung to the sense of normality. Thought helplessly of his mother and conceded that the reality was that he probably would have been, had she lived longer. He managed a real smile then because his mother would have loved Jim. Would have fussed and nagged and hovered over him, and warned him in Jim’s earshot that he had better take good care of him, because people who tried to act tough were always hopelessly fragile.

He was still smiling when they reached their destination, and then it slid off his face because it wasn’t Lucius waiting to talk them through their victim’s autopsy report but Lee. Her face fell at the sight of him too, the pair of them awkward and flustered, and Jim wasn’t blind.

He wasn’t an idiot.

Harvey could feel curious blue eyes on him all through Lee’s professional explanations, and his stomach churned as she bit at her lip, like she was considering saying something. He did his best to hurry the meeting along, to get out of there before the tension grew any thicker, and he was so relieved when they were back on the streets that he began to get careless.

Didn’t notice the messages Jim was sending, nor the meeting he was arranging. Didn’t think anything of it when Jim wandered off when they arrived back at their desks, not beyond the usual pang of loss at the fact Jim was no longer in his immediate eyeline.

Wished he had paid more attention when the sound of raised voices began to filter over the usual noise of the precinct, more and more of those on duty dropping what they were doing in favor of eavesdropping.

On exchanging knowing looks as a seriously irate medical examiner yelled that her private life was absolutely none of Jim’s business.

Harvey was moving before he could think better of it. Before he had had chance to think about the consequences, and the look Jim gave him, the devastation in his eyes when he asked if it was true, turned his skin to ice. Had him groping for something, anything, to say to make it better, and Jim just shook his head, jaw clenched and lips pressed tight together, then turned around and walked away.

There was no screaming, and no yelling. No tears and no threats of violence.

It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced, all the same, and the rest of the day was nothing but a numb blur, punctuated only by the breathless hope every time his cell buzzed, just in case it was Jim trying to contact him.

It wasn’t, though he left Jim too many messages, begging to be allowed to try and explain himself. Went straight to Jim’s place when his shift was over and, when he found it empty, started trawling the bars and the nightclubs, and anywhere else he thought Jim might have gone to. Eventually he was left with no choice but to return to his own apartment, ready for the welcoming embrace of whisky and oblivion, and he near jumped out of his skin when he switched on the light to find Jim sat in his favorite armchair, knees hugged to his chest.

“Why were you sitting in the dark?” He asked, choosing the least painful topic, his throat still aching and his heart thumping.

“How long has it been going on?” Jim countered, and his eyes were rimmed red as though he had been crying. “Do you love her?”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting, weren’t questions he had even considered Jim asking, and all he could do was shake his head stupidly. Stumble forward to sit opposite and only manage to restrain himself at the last moment from reaching out and taking Jim’s hand in his own.

“We were drunk, Jim, that’s all. It didn’t mean anything.”

Jim swiped a hand across his face, silence reigning, and Harvey had to fill it. Rambled, panicked, about how he had only wanted to talk to Lee, to make her see that Jim had only ever done what he thought was right, that he had only ever tried to protect her. That what had happened next was all his fault, and that he shouldn’t think any differently of Lee because of it.

He couldn’t bear to lose Jim’s friendship. Could hardly breathe at the mere idea of Jim hating him. But if this ruined any chance Jim had ever had of making things right with Lee - of Jim being happy… He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jim asked finally, scarcely more than a whisper, and Harvey weighed up his options. He could say that he was ashamed, because he was. That he was embarrassed by his lack of self-control, and worried, just a little, that Jim would want to swing for him. That it would make their working lives difficult, and they would never regain their easy camaraderie.

It all boiled down to the same thing and suddenly he was sick of lying to Jim.

“I was scared of losing you,” he said simply. “Your friendship means everything to me.”

“Clearly,” Jim shot back, justifiably bitter, and Harvey hung his head. Leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, his face in his hands, and he had to fight to keep it together. Had to battle to stop his hands shaking, and to force away the urge to get on his knees and beg for Jim to tell him that it was going to be okay, and that he hadn’t destroyed the only thing that got him out of bed in the mornings.

The only good thing in his life and if this was it, if Jim was never going to speak to him again, he might as well compound the issue.

“I was jealous of her, Jim. I always was.”

“You wanted to hurt her?”

Jim sounded shocked, bewildered, and Harvey forced himself to meet Jim’s eyes. Couldn’t pretend a moment longer, not with Jim in front of him, genuinely trying to understand.

“Of course not. I’m just a drunken old fool, okay? I wanted -” he faltered. Licked his lips and tried again, “It seemed like being with her, being with someone who had been with you…” He shrugged, bracing himself for Jim’s judgement. “It felt like it was the closest I was ever going to get to being with you.”

Jim gaped at him, speechless, and Harvey felt exhausted. Wished that it was all over, that Jim would do what he would - yell, swear, laugh - and leave him alone to wallow in his misery. Wished, conversely, that he could stretch this moment out forever, the last moment before Jim decided he was pathetic as well as past it.

That he wasn’t worth his time, or even his anger.

Instead Jim found his voice. Spoke calmly and clearly as he said,

“I love Lee. I’ll always love Lee.”

It hurt, more than he had expected, but he nodded stiltedly. Jim carried on talking, leaning so far forward he was on the edge of his seat. So earnest it took Harvey’s breath away.

“But I’m not _in_ love with her. Not anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Harvey frowned, disbelieving, and Jim reached out and did what he had so wanted to do earlier, taking his unresisting hand and linking their fingers together.

“When I saw the way you were looking at each other. When I realized…” Jim gave him a self-deprecating half smile, the very same one that had first made him realize how desperately he was in love with him, and finished, “I was jealous of Lee too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’m hearing it,” he answered truthfully, heart pounding as he tried and failed not to get his hopes up, “I’m just not sure I’m processing it correctly.”

“I’m in love with you,” Jim clarified and that breathy sound was falling from his own mouth. The giddy happiness was overpowering his senses, and he pushed forward. Ended up on his knees in front of Jim, hands framing his face as he held Jim’s gaze, checking it was true.

Ensuring that he wasn’t dreaming.

Then he was kissing Jim, completely overwhelmed with what it meant. Totally overcome by the knowledge it was Jim he had in his arms. Jim he was touching.

“This is where you're supposed to say it back, you know,” Jim admonished, a wide smile transforming his face, and Harvey didn't care how much of a sap he sounded. Said it over and over, grinning stupidly and punctuating it with soft kisses. 

He had made some bad decisions in his life but this one, coming clean and laying himself bare, wasn't going to be one of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	44. Jim woos Harvey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the suggestion that I do something based on that classic exchange in S1:E19 -
> 
> JIM: "The victim deserves justice!"  
> HARVEY: "Yeah, and I deserve a mute supermodel who likes pasty Irish guys and loves to cook."
> 
> :D

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

Harvey eyeballed all of the detectives in his immediate vicinity. Kept a lookout for guilty twitches or signs of too knowing amusement. Was met with nothing but a few stifled bursts of surprised laughter and he settled for glaring at each and every one of them, softening only at the sight of Jim’s frown, before storming back to his desk to lick his wounds in private.

He got it. He wasn’t the fittest guy on the Force. Never had been, was never going to be.

That didn’t mean he wanted constant reminders of it. That he was going to simply ignore the fact somebody had left a damn salad on his desk, complete with a patronizing smiley face on a post-it note.

He was still seething when Jim rapped at his door, and if it had been anyone else he would have carried on moping regardless. Jim was one of a kind though. Just the sight of him got his pulse rate up and his stomach fluttering, so he resolved to push all thoughts of his mystery health adviser aside so he could better enjoy a few moments in Jim’s company.

Jim had other ideas.

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked, tentative, and Harvey glowered at the thing.

“Why, you hungry?”

“No, I just,” Jim faltered, rubbed at the back of his neck as he tried again, “Somebody went to the trouble of making it. You might like it, if you try it.”

“Do I look like a rabbit?” He snapped and was suddenly very glad that Jim wasn’t privy to his school years, when a question like that would have been an outright plea to be ribbed mercilessly over the never-ending stream of Bullock cousins on the roll. For the nastier kids to ask if he was doing his best to eat for all the siblings his own parents hadn’t succeeded in giving him.

Instead he pushed on, trying to make sense of Jim’s uncomfortable stance and strange behavior,

“Do you know who left this? You do, don’t you?”

“No. But maybe they were trying to be nice. Maybe they just wanted to make you dinner.”

Harvey only raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Maybe he’d look out the window and see a pig flying by.

Jim broached the subject again that evening, when they were downing a few drinks in the precinct’s closest bar. He must have downed a couple too many because he said more than he otherwise would have. More than he wanted Jim to know because if there was anyone on the face of the planet he didn’t want thinking him a total loser, it was Jim Gordon.

“They probably didn’t think how it would look to you,” Jim said finally, frowning at his beer, and Harvey swallowed down the comeback on the tip of his tongue along with the rest of his drink.

Stranger things had happened.

Except the next day he got back from a meeting with HR to find a wrapped sandwich and a donut on his desk, accompanied by a post it note with a neatly printed ‘sorry for yesterday :(‘. The day after he went to a nearby diner with Jim, but still returned from giving a stressful press interview that afternoon to see somebody had fixed him fresh coffee, paired with an offering of two of his favorite candy bars from the vending machine.

Jim grinned when he stuck his head around the door and caught him eating them, and Harvey fixed him with his best warning look,

“Don’t say a word. It’s been a hard day, all right?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Jim protested, hurt, and Harvey felt a flash of guilt so strong it had him offering the unopened bar to Jim and insisting he sit with him and eat it.

“I’ll have half of it,” Jim agreed finally, “if you have the other half.”

He could do that, it was no hardship, and then he was cursing his poorly thought through word choice because watching Jim eat anything was maddening. Watching Jim rhapsodise over vaguely phallic chocolate was enough to have him shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Jim sucking his fingers clean, the sound almost obscenely loud, was enough to have him breathing heavy, unable to look away as Jim pulled his fingers free and said,

“That was good. Somebody must really like you, huh?”

“I think I like them too,” Harvey said, sincere as he finished off his own half with a flourish, and Jim looked so happy anybody would think he was the one getting bought sweets and pastries.

The truth was that he just wasn’t sure what the reason behind it all was. He had thought it a joke at first, and then chalked it up to whoever it was realizing that, actually, it wasn’t very funny. But he had lunch left for him again on Thursday, some mystery mix of pasta and God knows what that he was dubious about but ate anyway, and then wished that there was more of it.

Friday was the best day. He had the weekend off for once, the prospect of a long lie in, and there was a whole Tupperware container full of home made cookies on his desk, plus a loveheart on the now standard post-it note.

It made him a little giddy to see it, a doubtlessly stupid smile spreading across his features. Somebody liked him, really liked him, and if he had to grill every officer in the station until he found out who it was, well, it was better than making a start on his paperwork.

The problem was that nobody was talking. Wouldn’t admit to having seen anybody loitering or acting suspiciously, and Marten from the front desk told him bluntly he should either work it out himself or wait for them to reveal themselves because,

“That’s the whole point of having a secret admirer. It’s the mystery that’s romantic.”

Tuttle shook his head, crashing everyone down to earth with his usual brand of pessimism, and said,

“You should have taken them down to forensics. It could be someone out to poison you.”

Alvarez sniggered around his own lunch, crumbs clogging the keyboard, and said, “Too late for that. The food is _long_ gone.” He went on in amusement, either oblivious to or simply uncaring of the way Harvey was scowling at him, “Perhaps you’re both right. She must be crazy, whoever she is!”

“Do none of you have anything better to do?” Jim snapped, appearing from nowhere, and Harvey twisted around to look at him.

He hadn’t even known Jim had finished at his latest crime scene.

People began to get back to work, albeit with bitter muttering, and Jim’s cheeks were still flushed with righteous anger. It was enough to make Harvey feel guilty, almost, for wasting time and he polished off the last but one cookie - Alvarez didn’t have the first idea what he was talking about - as he steered Jim away and asked him to bring him up to date on the case.

“Maybe you could stop by later?” Jim suggested after outlining the basics and when Harvey hesitated, he added, “I’d really appreciate your input.”

The reality was that he was trying to be less pathetic when it came to Jim. Was attempting to follow the advice of the bartender at his favorite watering hole - the closest thing he’d had to a good friend before Jim turned his life upside down - and give Jim chance to finish moving on from Lee and meet somebody.

Jim was ready for it. He could talk about and, more importantly, to her now without tearing up, and he could go weeks without mentioning her name in a context outside an autopsy report. He needed somebody in his life, deserved somebody who was going to be completely devoted to him, and he wasn’t likely to find them with Harvey at his side.

He was too obvious, tongue lolling at the sight of Jim’s trim waist and handsome face. He couldn’t keep his eyes off him, nor his hands, and the inclusion of drink in the equation only made it worse. He was forever touching Jim; putting an arm around a shoulder or smacking a kiss to his cheek. Sitting too close and glaring daggers at anyone who had the audacity to try and steal Jim's attention away from him.

Mooned over him, maudlin, and generally acted like a lovesick teenager.

“I thought you’d be going out tonight,” was what he actually said, aiming for casual, and Jim met his gaze properly. Turned those big blue eyes on him and he was lost, all his good intentions forgotten.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay.”

Harvey swallowed and shook his head, feeling drunk on the strength of the connection it seemed only he could feel between them.

“I’m not busy. I’ll be there.”

A few hours later he was stood at the door of Jim’s apartment, heart hammering in helpless anticipation. He had been home to shower and change, and it was way too easy to imagine this was a date. That Jim was going to greet him with a smile and a kiss, and that he would be allowed to return the favor. To hold Jim in his arms and tell him how stupidly beautiful he was looking.

Because he was. There might have been no kiss when Jim pulled the door open, but his smile was absolutely stunning. He had changed too, into dark jeans and a black top that clung to his biceps, and he smelled of soap and some fancy cologne that made Harvey doubt himself.

“Did you change your mind about going out? I don’t want to hold you up, Jim.”

Jim frowned, confused, and Harvey waved a hand to encapsulate his entire get up.

“You’re looking very put together just to keep me company.”

He watched as Jim’s expression changed, the frown becoming a pleased smile. It was like the sun emerging from behind rain clouds, or something equally as ridiculous.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, you know,” Jim said, voice soft, and Harvey felt the color hit his cheeks, unable to do a damn thing about it, because maybe he had been through half his closet trying to find something that he didn’t completely hate the look of himself in. Jim just carried right on smiling up at him, so perfect it was all he could do not to throw caution to the wind and kiss him anyway.

He wasn’t that much of a masochist.

Instead he started rambling about the case, about the half formed ideas he had been considering as he got ready, and it wasn’t until he’d set up base on Jim’s sofa that he realized there was no sprawl of notes and files. None of the usual debris was cluttering up the place, even, and he was suddenly all too aware of the appetizing smell of food cooking.

Jim handed him a drink - poured into an actual glass, no less - and said, like it was nothing,

“Dinner should be ready in ten minutes.”

He flitted back and fore between the living space and the kitchen, and finally emerged with two plates of food that looked entirely edible. Harvey felt a little guilty at the thought. Jim was a grown man, of course he was capable of cooking and taking care of himself. He had just never seen Jim do the former, and he was forever butting in and attempting to take over the latter.

“This is really good,” he praised, to make up for it, and his heart twisted in his chest at Jim’s bashful look of pleasure.

“I’ve had plenty of practice recently.”

“Yeah, what have you made me for dessert then?” Harvey asked, light and joky, and the look Jim gave him in response took his breath away. Had him putting two and two together and coming up with fifty because it was so obvious he didn’t know how he had missed the signs.

So impossible that he could scarcely allow himself to contemplate it.

Jim put his plate down and sucked in an audible breath. Was flushing all across his pretty face and down his neck as he said, voice not quite steady,

“I was kind of hoping I’d be sweet enough.”

It was such a terrible line. So unspeakably awful coming from Jim’s lips and, really, the entire scenario spoke of another’s involvement. A cheesy self-help manual, or else some questionable dating guide Jim had found on the internet. Jim looked so desperately embarrassed when he laughed at it, all the same, and Harvey put his own plate down.

Moved to sit beside Jim and slid a hand into his hair, to cradle his skull, exactly the way he had so often wanted to do. Just that simple touch sent sparks through him. Had him overwhelmed with how perfect it felt, the heat of Jim’s skin and the soft slide of his hair.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he said, lost in Jim’s gaze, trying to make Jim understand that this was more than he had ever imagined. That not even in his wildest dreams, his most far out fantasies, had he let himself believe that not only could Jim come to want him, but that he would think he needed to try and win him over.

Jim broke eye contact briefly, gaze flickering to his lips and then back, and Harvey all but shivered at the wave of want that washed over him. He wanted to kiss Jim. Wanted to hold him tight and never ever let him go.

“I’m no good at this sort of thing,” Jim confessed, somewhat redundantly. “All my life I’ve gone straight from one relationship to another, and I’ve messed up every single one of them. I - I tried to do it properly because I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to mess _us_ up.”

“Oh, Jim,” he breathed, utterly charmed, and leaned forward to kiss him. Had to kiss him again and again because it was so good, so right, and when he finally did pull back it was only to rest their foreheads together. “I would never let that happen.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you on Monday,” was Jim’s response, like he didn’t quite trust that he hadn’t started messing things up already.

“I know,” Harvey promised, kissing him in reassurance. “I shouldn’t have been so paranoid.” Kissed him again, already knowing that he’d never get enough of it, and added, “If you feel like baking me more cookies though, you should know that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked, gaze straying to the dinner plates they had managed to almost clear, in spite of all the revelations and tension.

Harvey gave him his most winning smile.

“Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	45. Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Cuffed.' There is no plot here...

“If you don’t behave,” Jim said, batting a pair of wandering hands away, “I’m going to have to restrain you.”

He was only joking, smile quirking his lips as he spoke, but the look it put on Harvey’s face had him really thinking about it. Had him envisioning Harvey spread out before him, at his mercy, and suddenly it was a struggle just to draw breath, let alone keep the color out of his cheeks and the cut of his suit presentable.

He thought about it all through his morning paperwork, and he thought about it as he slapped the cuffs on some lowlife they picked up down in the East End, because Harvey met his eye as he was doing it. Pushed a hand through his hair, like he needed to take a moment to compose himself, and Jim had never wished harder for a shift to be over.

Had never been gladder when the day was finally done, and he pulled Harvey to him behind a pillar in the car park, fingers twisted tight in the other man’s tie, absolutely desperate to get his hands on him. To press their lips together, and Harvey kissed him back, hard and passionate, before breaking away to tell him, breathless,

“Come on, partner. Quicker we get home, the quicker you can show me your technique, yeah?”

Jim nodded, the movement awkward and clumsy, and he had to force himself to focus on the journey, on looking like a respectable law enforcement officer, because he wanted so badly it made him feel light headed. Had him aching, dripping, and he stumbled up the stairs of Harvey’s apartment building, the back of his neck already burning.

He didn’t waste any time once they were finally alone. Kissed him frantically as he tugged at knots and buttons and fastenings, throbbing at the way Harvey let him, the easy submission sending wave after wave of heat over him.

“On the bed,” he managed when he had succeeded in stripping Harvey to the waist. “Hold onto the headboard.”

“Yes Officer,” Harvey smirked, gaze heated, and Jim couldn’t help the shudder the words sent through him. It was all kinds of wrong - all kinds of inappropriate - but from Harvey’s mouth it was so hot he couldn’t think straight.

Couldn’t look away from the sight in front of him, because Harvey never failed to drive him out of his mind. Knew precisely where to touch and how to get him frantic. Used all his experience to have him begging and pleading before he had even begun plotting how to turn the tables.

Now he was going to get his chance, and he had to bite at his lip as he cuffed Harvey’s wrists to the bed frame, then concentrated on trailing his fingertips up the lengths of Harvey’s arms. He did it again and again, the touch barely there, until a stifled gasp fell from Harvey’s lips and he hardly recognized the sound of his own voice as he said,

“Maybe if you start talking, I won’t need to play bad cop.”

Harvey grinned at him, filthy and encouraging, and Jim didn’t know where it was coming from. He had never been the adventurous type, not behind closed doors, and whenever the topic had been broached before it only sounded awkward and embarrassing. Harvey had never pushed him though, never made him feel like anything he did was lacking, and it was such a heady mixture - lust and love and trust - that he had to kiss Harvey deeply.

Had to feel that connection, and when he moved on to Harvey’s jaw, to his throat, he could hear the smile in Harvey’s voice when he said,

“I bet they never taught you this at the academy.”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered, because he could do mysterious, and he was sure Harvey would have had another wisecrack at the ready if he hadn’t dropped his head and laved a tongue against his nipple, suitably distracting him. He worked at the other with his fingers, pinching and rubbing, because he knew Harvey was more sensitive there than he was, and he had spent plenty of boring stakeouts wondering how Harvey would react to overstimulation.

Vocally, was the answer, and Jim thrilled at every curse and moan he tore from Harvey. Only grew more enthusiastic, and Harvey was groaning, hips shifting, and all he did was switch his attentions between them, his mouth licking and sucking at one reddened nub, while his fingers never ceased their explorations of the other.

“Oh God,” Harvey near whined when he made as if to move on, only to roll both with his palms, and Jim shivered with the sudden rush of realization.

He was in control, could do whatever he wanted, and if he decided to tease Harvey all night, there was nothing Harvey could do about it. Harvey knew it too, could read him better than anyone - than himself, sometimes - and told him, voice rough,

“I’m in your hands, Jim. There is absolutely nowhere I would rather be.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. He was tugging at Harvey’s belt buckle, removing the rest of his clothing, and then he was charting every freckle on the pale skin before him. Was admiring the almost painful looking flush down his chest, and the way his thighs quivered, when he feathered his fingers closer and closer to his erection.

When the cuffs clanked against the headboard, Harvey’s arms straining, and when he raised his head to look at Jim, to see what he was doing, eyes hooded and bottom lip swollen where he kept biting at it. He did it again as Jim maintained eye contact and swiped his tongue over the head of Harvey’s dick, tasting precome.

“Jim, fuck,” Harvey swore, squirming at the brief touch, and Jim was so turned on he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Was hurriedly ridding himself of his own clothing, and then went back to breathing against Harvey’s dick. Watched in fascination as another drop of precome formed, and Harvey never could keep quiet, his words only serving to stoke Jim higher,

“I want to touch you so badly right now. You have no idea, Jim, no idea what you do to me. All day I’ve thought of nothing but you. The way you look at me, the way you roll your shoulders at your desk, groaning the same way you do when I’ve got my mouth on you. You’re so hot, you know that?”

Jim rewarded him with a sucking kiss to the base of his dick, then another, and another, working his way up the shaft and giving a solitary lick to the head before raising an eyebrow.

“You were telling me about how hot I am?”

“Jesus,” Harvey breathed, hips stuttering as Jim quit teasing and began sucking in earnest, “I always knew you’d have a filthy mouth on you. I seen you pouting, that first day, and I wanted to see your lips wrapped around my dick. Wanted to hear what you’d say when I had my mouth on yours. I fucking love your dick, Jim. Come here, let me suck you. Please, fuck, please. I need to taste you.”

It was kind of awkward, not the easiest arrangement, but he couldn’t deny a request like that. Pushed his forehead against the wall and watched as Harvey took him deep, his knees either side of Harvey’s shoulders and Harvey moaning around him like a porn star, pulling helplessly at the restraints and groaning encouragingly every time his own control slipped and his hips bucked forward.

He was so turned on, so achingly hard, and he had to pull back because it was too much. It was too good, and if he didn’t he was going to come in the wet heat of Harvey’s mouth. Harvey groaned in protest, and it was a tangle of limbs as he attempted not to knee Harvey anywhere too sensitive as he crushed their mouths together desperately. Chased the taste of Harvey underneath the taste of himself, and when he found it he couldn’t get enough.

Could never get enough because in spite of what the older man might say, Harvey was the one who was hot. He was the one with the gorgeous blue eyes, and the expanses of skin that never failed to get him worked up and panting. He was the one with the criminally perfect mouth, and all that hair Jim loved to run his hands through.

He had his fingers tangled in it now, petting and caressing, and he knew Harvey liked it. Had listened to his breathing grow unsteady as Jim played with it when they sat together on the sofa in the living room, and seen the flush on his cheeks when he scratched his fingertips through the scruff of his beard, eyelids growing heavy like he was drunk on the sensation.

Jim tried it now before mouthing at Harvey’s throat, scraping his teeth lightly over the hickey he was raising, and the desperation in Harvey’s cry made his mind up. Within moments he was scrabbling in the nightstand for the lube and, when he reached his slicked fingers behind him, he shuddered at the sound of Harvey’s drawn out,

“Fuuuck.”

The angle was off, his movements clumsy, but it didn’t matter. It was going to be so much better in a few moments. Was going to be absolutely mind blowing, and he gave Harvey a few slick tugs before rolling the condom down.

Sex with Harvey was always good, because Harvey knew exactly what he was doing. Could work him like he came with a manual, and Jim wanted to repay that a little. He wanted to watch Harvey’s face as he made him come and, when he explained his plan out loud, sliding down slowly until he was fully seated, Harvey near whimpered and said shakily,

“I really don’t think it’s going to take long, Jim.”

That was okay, that was more than okay, because he was so close he had no idea how he would ever last more than a few minutes. He rocked, squirmed a little, and the noises Harvey was making were pornographic. His own weren’t much better, especially when he found the perfect angle, Harvey hitting that perfect place within him.

He was moving without hesitation, desperate, and Harvey fucked up into him, pushing his feet into the mattress for leverage until Jim was gasping with every thrust. Was tightening his grip around himself and jerking harder, faster, sweat streaking his face as he kept up the frantic pace. Harvey didn’t let up either, and even cuffed and pinned he still gave as good as he got, turning his greatest weapon on him, panting as he said,

“That’s it, yes, fuck. You love it, don’t you? You love having my dick inside you; you love the feeling of me fucking you like this, don't you?”

“ _Yes_.”

He came, spasming and sobbing, and Harvey rolled his hips. Kept working him through it even as the sweat trickled down the sides of his own face. Jim panted for breath, shaking, overwhelmed, and then he ground down, groaning loudly. Did it again, Harvey’s hips stuttering, rhythm all over the place, and that was so insanely hot, knowing that he’d done that. Knowing that he was pushing Harvey closer and closer, and he reached for Harvey’s nipples with sticky fingers.

Pinched and tormented, and Harvey was losing it beneath him. Thrusting up wildly into the grinding movements of his own hips, and head arching back, eyes clenched tight shut against the raw pleasure.

“Harvey,” Jim managed, voice wrecked, “Oh, God, please Harvey, come for me.”

He did, mouth hanging open and a cry lingering in the air.

Jim drew it out as best he could with small movements, on and on, until Harvey begged him to stop. That he couldn’t take any more and then he finally shifted, wincing, and captured Harvey’s mouth, needing to kiss him. Groped blindly for his catch on the cuffs and then rubbed at Harvey’s abused arms and wrists, knowing that they had to be aching. The cuffs had dug deep into his wrists where he had been pulling against them, and Jim worked his thumbs in small circles on first one, then the other.

“Don’t apologize,” Harvey said, forestalling him, and moved to cup Jim’s face. “The damn things could have cut me to ribbons and I still wouldn’t have wanted you to stop. That was amazing.”

“But -” Jim started, all the same, and Harvey silenced him with a kiss, soft and slick and slow, and then said again,

“Amazing.”

“Just like you then,” Jim said, unable to help himself, and Harvey only laughed and kissed him again as they cleaned up, then pulled him in close. Held him and coddled him, and Jim returned it in equal measure. Squirmed in closer still and told Harvey that it was true and that he had better accept it.

Otherwise he'd be forced to take punitive action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	46. Jim's army boyfriend returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt I had on Tumblr: Harvey's been pining over Jim, finally about to work up the courage to court him, until Jim's secret lover from the army shows up in Gotham and Jim starts bringing him everywhere...

The realization crept up on him slowly, in total contrast to the initial recognition that he had fallen for his partner. That had hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath from his lungs and turning his life upside down. He had believed he could deal with it, all the same.

That he could work alongside Jim, day after day, and keep his feelings to himself.

He couldn’t.

It was driving him insane, proving absolute torture, because Jim was perfect. Was everything he had ever wanted, everything he could ever imagine wanting, and being so close to him and yet so far away was killing him. It was the not knowing that was the worst. The devastating sparks of hope that kept him continually on edge, taunting him with what could be, if only he had the courage to lay himself open to the very real risk of rejection.

Jim would say no, he was 99% certain. Why wouldn’t he? Harvey had nothing to offer him, not really, and Jim was the kind of guy who could walk into a club and leave with anyone he wanted. But at least he would know - at least he could stop torturing himself - and his heart hammered in his chest even as he asked Jim if he wanted to go for a drink that evening, just the same as he had a thousand times before.

It wasn’t the same though, far from it, and he spent an embarrassingly long time getting ready, as though his choice in shirt was all that stood between a neverending life of bachelordom and being completely, ridiculously, happy.

The bar was still quiet when he arrived, early for perhaps the first time ever, and he downed a double whiskey or three, in need of some Dutch courage. It took the edge off his nerves, softened the world at the corners, and when Jim walked through the door he didn’t try to hide the stupid grin the sight engendered.

Jim, if possible, was looking better than usual. He had changed too, his shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes, and Harvey thought the easy smile on his face made him look younger, freer somehow. It made his stomach clench, his heart twist, to think that he was the cause of that smile, and then -

Then it felt like he had been doused in cold water because Jim wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t smiling at him. He hadn’t even noticed him yet, too caught up in conversation with his companion, and Harvey hadn’t spent almost his entire adult life in the police force without learning how to put two and two together. He knew what the subtle touching meant, and the adoring look on Jim’s face.

It was the same look he had given Barbara, and later Lee Thompkins. It was the look he had so long dreamed of seeing directed at him and it hurt so much worse than he had prepared himself for, to be confronted with proof that it was never going to happen.

“This is Chris,” Jim introduced when the pair made their way over, “we served together in Afghanistan.”

Harvey was sure that wasn’t all they had done together, taking in Chris’ muscled frame and magazine cover good looks with a brittle smile. Chris held a hand out, all calm confidence, and said with the kind of politeness that made his own lack of manners that little more pathetic,

“Nice to meet you. Jim’s told me so much about you.”

“Shame I can’t say likewise,” he said in turn, meaning it equally for both statements, and the guy’s smile didn’t even falter. He just nudged Jim with his shoulder, tone fond, and sighed,

“Sounds like Jim.”

Harvey drank too much that night. Kept drinking long after Jim and Chris disappeared for the night, Jim pausing to thank him sincerely for being so understanding. So accepting, and that only made the outcome of the evening inevitable.

He was a complete mess by the time he got back to his apartment. He couldn’t see straight, couldn’t walk straight, and when he woke in the morning the pounding in his head was so bad he wished he hadn’t. Then the memories of the night before began to filter back to him and he really wished he had simply checked out without ever regaining consciousness.

It was all hyperbole, of course. Wasn’t so very bad when he’d had time to get accustomed to the idea.

That was what he told himself, at any rate, and Jim started bringing Chris everywhere. Invited him to join them for dinner, sometimes, and turned up on his doorstep with him for their regular schedule of pizza and beer. Didn’t seem to think it would be in any way awkward, and Chris appeared only too happy to humor Jim, as though Harvey’s presence was no threat to the bond between them.

It wasn’t, that was the reality, and one night he caught sight of their shared reflection, and cursed himself for a fool for ever considering that anyone might think differently. There was no contest, no comparison, and when he turned to look at the two of them together it was with the recognition that they made a handsome couple. That he had never had a chance, not outside of his misguided fantasies, and that he deserved all of the heartache he was now experiencing.

Because Jim beamed like his face was fit to split when Chris met him from work after a long shift, and out of hours updated all of his social media statuses while Chris flooded his timelines with cutesy couple photographs that made Harvey feel sick with jealousy.

“We had to keep it a secret in the army,” Jim explained to him one mercifully Chris free evening, sinking a few beers in front of his ancient television, “and it got too much in the end. It’s hard to live a lie all the time.”

Jim wasn’t wrong on that score, and he felt suddenly guilty for the way he had been behaving. If this was what Jim wanted, if Chris was what made Jim happy, he was just going to have to get used to it. Was going to have to suck it up and be supportive, and he forced himself to pull his hand away at the last moment, settling for saying,

“I know I’m not the best at showing it, but I’m happy for you, Jim. I’m glad things worked out for you.”

He would have said more, would have clarified further, but the words wouldn’t come. He could scarcely swallow around the lump of emotion in his throat, even, and Jim didn’t even bother with words, preferring to all but lunge at him, hugging him tight in gratitude.

It undid him, having Jim in his arms, and he had to excuse himself when Jim pulled away. Had to brace himself against the bathroom sink and attempt to regain some kind of control over himself. Jim was happy, Jim was taken, and, if he couldn’t handle it, the best thing he could do was put enough space between them that he didn’t ruin everything.

He tried, really he did. Went back to spending time in his old hangouts, the dive bars and the dingy back rooms, all the same old faces lined with the same old regrets, like he had never broken away in the first place. When that didn’t help he worked late. Put in hour after hour, until he could go home and fall asleep exhausted before starting over again.

Even then he got no respite. His dreams were full of Jim’s pretty face and the warmth of his body heat, and his days were beset with Jim’s concern, worry writ clear in his big blue eyes.

Jim tried to talk to him, and to ask if anything was wrong. Tried over and over again, but Harvey couldn’t bear it. Because one night he listened, careful and intent, as Jim rambled about the pros and cons of really committing to his relationship with Chris, nodding in the right places, and promising that no matter what happened he was always going to be there for him. The next he refused to meet Jim’s eyes, hating himself for his lack of control, encouraging him in his doubts and his second guessing until he finally succeeded in getting enough of a grip to tell him he ought to just go home and get on with things, pretending he couldn’t see the hurt Jim didn’t cover quickly enough.

One night he was perfectly civil to Chris, made strained small talk and even thanked him for making Jim so happy. The next the envy clawed at him, all encompassing, and he excused himself early with a bitter ‘three’s company’, and warned Chris when Jim was out of earshot that if he hurt him he knew every spot in the city where a body could lie for years without being discovered.

It was Chris who actually broached the subject. Accosted him at the annual public open day, and Harvey felt more of an outsider than ever. Stood on the bylines as his usually dour colleagues were transformed into proud parents and grateful children, devoted spouses and pillars of the community. Watched as Jim introduced Bruce and Alfred to one of the dog handlers, almost relaxed about the lumbering German Shepherd shedding hair all over his best suit jacket.

“He’s worried about you,” the man said, entirely uninvited, and Harvey schooled his expression into something approaching neutral. “He thinks you’re avoiding him.”

“I’ve been busy,” Harvey said defensively, gaze fixed on Jim’s encouraging smile directed at Bruce, his easy interaction with the two men who had become his friends, “the streets don’t police themselves.”

“I get that you don’t like me,” Chris responded, proving that he wasn’t even doing a good job in that department, “but this isn’t going to be like last time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harvey dug his blunt fingernails into his palms, fighting for composure, and gave it his best public relations smile,

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

He avoided Chris for the rest of the day. Avoided Jim too, but they still kept finding him, giving him a front seat view of half smiles and barely there touches. Gave him nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and he had no choice but to watch on, ice in his veins, as Chris dropped to one knee right there, in front of everyone, Jim flushing bright red and the sound of cell phone cameras snapping all over the place.

It was like the world slowed down, like he was watching frame by frame, the way Alvarez gaped, disbelieving, and the way one of the rookies who worked traffic clapped her hands together and squealed, swept away by the supposed romance of the thing. The way Chris pulled a ring from his back pocket and the way Jim’s eyes met his own, just for a moment.

He didn’t wait for Jim’s answer. Didn’t need the sight of happy kisses and love declarations etched into his memory, and pushed through the crowds without a backwards glance. Blinked back shameful tears and picked up as much drink on the way home as he could carry, slamming the door behind him and cranking up his sound system as loud as it would go.

Fished his stash of _medicinal_ cigarettes from their hiding place and set about getting wasted.

Played all the same records he had sobbed to when his first serious girlfriend he had walked out on him. When Jim would have been just a kid, and he was still young and dumb enough to believe that one day she would come to regret it.

She was married to some hotshot lawyer last he heard, with three kids and a swanky beach house for the weekends.

He was sprawled on his threadbare couch, nothing but a dead houseplant and the angry pounding of his next door neighbor’s fist for company. He wished he could turn the music up louder, just to annoy the guy, and when the banging moved from the wall to the door, accompanied by a threat to call the police, he only yelled back at him to carry on and do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Harvey didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit about what a noise nuisance call out might do for his career, and drained the whiskey bottle in his hand just so he could throw the bottle against the door in retaliation. It shattered, shards exploding all over the carpet, and he laughed, half hysterical. Sobbed, helpless, and when the banging started up again he lost his temper and hauled himself up to open it. Was ready to remind the idiot of all the nights he had blasted his own vastly inferior music choices, and instead found Jim staring back at him, jaw clenched and shoulders set with the familiar look of determination. “

We need to talk,” Jim said, and Harvey just waved him in, suddenly exhausted. Slumped back into his seat and didn’t protest when Jim twisted the dial down until the guitar riffs were barely audible.

“Congratulations,” he managed, wishing his head was clearer and that the world wouldn’t insist on spinning. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating? Or in celebrating, that’s probably the done thing -”

“I said no,” Jim cut in and moved to sit beside him. Sighed deeply and rested his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. “I just couldn’t do it.”

Harvey didn’t know what to do. Struggled to formulate an acceptable response when one half of him wanted to punch the air in triumph, and the other wanted to pull Jim close and kiss him senseless. Neither option was suitable, but his hand was on Jim’s shoulder before he could think better of it.

“It’s a big commitment,” he said, groping for the kind of thing someone who wasn’t so disgustingly pleased about the situation might say. “Maybe you just need time to think about it.”

Jim gave no indication he had heard a word of it, instead speaking quietly, almost to himself,

“Everyone was watching, everyone could see, and all I could think was that if he had really understood me - if we were really right for each other - he would have known that that was my worst nightmare.”

Jim hated workplace PDAs, Harvey knew, at least the kind that made people watch and gossip. He figured it was some hang up from the army, or else part of his boy scout ‘time on the clock is sacrosanct’ mentality. He certainly wouldn’t have done something like that in front of everyone, if he had been the one proposing, but he had the advantage of having seen Jim freak out over it with Lee and, besides, the only proposals he was making were in his lovesick daydreams.

“I tried to explain it to him,” Jim was saying, sounding so miserable that Harvey had to push closer. Wrapped his arm around Jim properly and swallowed thickly when Jim responded by leaning against him. His voice was small when he finished, “He was upset, lost his temper. He said that you would never have done it that way and that we both knew that was the real problem. He said that you hated him and that I couldn’t even hide how happy it made me.”

He couldn’t make sense of what Jim was telling him. Was too drunk, was too lost in the sensation of having him so close. What was clear was how upset Jim was, and he pressed a kiss to his temple without any consideration of what a terrible idea it was. Pressed another to his cheek, and then another to the corner of his lips. Kissed him properly and Jim responded, kissed him back, just for a moment, and it was everything he had ever dreamed it would be.

Then Jim was on his feet and he was stumbling over himself attempting to apologize. Was failing miserably and Jim was gone, and he was left alone. Twisted the dial right back up again and passed out in spite of it, waking up late in rumpled clothes with the hangover from Hell.

His inbox was bursting, missed messages galore, and he started checking some of them as he climbed the steps to the precinct. Frowned in sympathy at the number of links he had been sent to footage of Jim turning down a marriage proposal in front of everyone he knew. It was on the website of the local newspaper, even, and somebody whose identity he could take a guess at had festooned Jim’s desk in cheesy wedding decorations.

He swiped all of it into the waste paper basket, daring anyone to challenge him, and then went to lay his head against his own desk for a few moments and pray for death.

There was a rap at the door and he didn’t even look up as he called for them to come in. Took a few steadying breaths and braced himself for some new disaster, only to find Jim setting a cup of coffee and a bottle of water on his desk.

“I never got around to asking last night,” Jim said conversationally, dropping in to the nearest seat without being invited, “why were you drinking yourself into oblivion?”

“I thought you were getting married,” he answered bluntly, too ill to obfuscate. He distinctly remembered planting numerous unasked for kisses on Jim, it was too late for either of them to claim they didn’t know what he was talking about. Too late for him to take it back, and all he could do was pick up where they had left off the night before, with him grovelling for Jim’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry about, you know. I’d had a lot to drink.”

“Was that the only reason?”

He looked up sharply then wished he hadn’t. Had to rub at his temples and watched as Jim opened the water and handed it over, along with a painkiller. Took them gratefully and weighed up his options as he swallowed the pill. It had to be done, he realized finally.

It was way overdue.

“You know it wasn’t.”

Jim just nodded, seemingly satisfied, and said,

“Good. I'd say we should go for a drink to celebrate, but I think you're going to need to lay off the stuff for a few days.”

“You're going to have to help me out here, Jim,” he responded helplessly, the throbbing in his head warring with the fluttering in his stomach, “what are we celebrating?”

Jim clambered to his feet and put a hand on his shoulder, friendly, and glanced over his paperwork. Leaned in ever so slightly too close and said, like it was obvious,

“Us.”

Then he was gone, yelling for Alvarez to hurry up because they had a call out, and Harvey was left to sip at the coffee - fixed just the way he liked it - and smile as stupidly as his hangover would let him. 

Jim was going to be the death of him, no question, but as deaths went, it was going to be beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	47. Fluffy Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some really fluffy miscommunication fic.

The invite had been mocking him for almost three weeks now, complete with the dreaded question about his intended plus one. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go - he did, he loved his family, and there was going to be an open bar besides - but they still hadn’t forgiven him for messing things up with Scottie. Kept badgering him, endlessly, about how he needed somebody in his life. How he needed someone to devote himself to.

What they didn’t understand was that he had already found someone.

Someone drop dead gorgeous and unflinchingly generous. Caring and kind hearted, and braver than anyone he had ever known.

They also happened to be completely uninterested in being the subject of his devotion, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Jim was his friend, at least, and if it wasn’t everything he wanted, in some ways it was so close it was painful. Had only become closer in recent weeks, and Jim being comfortable enough to wrap an arm around him, or fall asleep pressed against him on the sofa was exquisite torture.

It had him struggling to remember that friends were all they were ever going to be, and when Kathleen rang and demanded to know whether or not he was going to be attending the wedding, because she was stressed enough without worrying about not having enough food to go around, he sucked it up and hammered the final nail into the coffin of his dreams of getting to introduce Jim as his significant other and simply asked if he would go with him as moral support.

“You want me to meet your family?” Jim asked, incredulous, and that stung more than it had any right to. His family were kind of nutty, it was true, but so was everyone’s if you dug deep enough.

“Well, yeah,” he answered, going for casual. “You don’t have to.”

Jim just beamed at him, suggesting maybe he had misinterpreted his response, and said eagerly,

“I’d love to.”

He puzzled over the reaction occasionally over the next few days, not least because Jim kept asking questions about what he should bring and what he should wear, until he was forced to point out that it wasn’t going to be the kind of fancy pants ceremony he had been planning to have with Barbara or Lee. Jim only nodded and shrugged, and moved straight on to asking how he was related to each and every person likely to be in attendance.

“There was just me and Roger growing up,” Jim explained over a few beers. “Uncle Frank didn’t have any kids and all my mom’s family were back in Chicago.”

Harvey couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, not really. He hadn’t had any siblings of his own but it had hardly mattered. His one aunt had lived three doors down, and the other three were all within walking distance. Everybody was in and out of everyone else’s business, constantly, and he had so many cousins even his mother had sometimes struggled to keep track of all of them.

He had never been alone as a kid, had never known how awful it could be until he was stuck staring at the walls of dive bars and his dive of an apartment night after night. Until he started throwing himself at anyone who would tolerate him, until he started paying for company, anything rather than having to admit how lonely he felt.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Jim asked after the drink had put some rather fetching color in his cheeks, pulling him from his maudlin thoughts, and Harvey’s heart kind of twisted in his chest at the earnestness.

“How couldn’t they?” Harvey asked in turn, drink loosening his own tongue, and Jim’s bashful little smile was completely worth it.

Putting a smile on Jim’s face was the kind of thing he lived for, but when he went to pick Jim up that Saturday all the wisecracks he had been working on deserted him because Jim was wearing a new suit and had been for a haircut. Looked like some kind of movie star, and the filter between his brain and his mouth failed, the words spilling between them,

“Hot damn, you hoping to get laid tonight, are you?”

Jim smirked, helpless, and Harvey swore silently that if anyone so much as looked in Jim’s direction he’d kill them, family or no. Couldn’t stop himself from touching Jim, laying claim to him, with a hand on the small of his back as he steered him into the church, and he sat too close during the nuptial Mass, Kathleen sniffling loudly into a wad of tissues the entire time at the sight of her youngest slowly becoming a married woman.

So slowly Jim was fidgeting all over the place by the halfway point, and more than one kid had taken to crawling between the pews, bored out of their tiny minds. His Great Auntie Pat whacked one over the head with the order of service, still sprightly - and vicious - at 97, and the resultant wailing really added a special something to Communion.

From there it was onwards and upwards, three blocks over to the reception venue, and frantic whispering about how much longer it was likely to be before the buffet opened. Kathleen was back in control of herself, just as fearlessly no nonsense as she had been during their childhood, and she pulled Jim into a crushing hug when he made the introductions, saying,

“It’s about time, I was beginning to think you were a product of his overactive imagination.”

Harvey glared at her, warningly, but Jim seemed oblivious. Laughed politely and Harvey managed to give him instructions about what to get him from the bar before he was beset by kids, damn kids everywhere, and he had no choice but to give up the pretence that he wasn’t thrilled to be so enthusiastically greeted by yet another generation of Bullocks. Had long accepted his role as drunken uncle, and it wasn’t until the bride came over to rescue him that he realized something had been lost in translation when he had sent back his RSVP slip.

“I’m so happy for you, Uncle Harvey,” Shannon told him after he’d congratulated her and hugged her, and praised the dress like all Godfathers who liked their face in its current arrangement knew how to, “look how cute he is!”

He followed her gaze to where Jim was struggling to balance drinks, answer his Uncle Eamon’s yelled questions _and_  seem interested in one of his cousin Patrick’s rambling tales of how much money he had been forced to spend on his own children’s weddings.

Jim looked adorable. And hot. Really really hot.

“We’re just work colleagues,” he pointed out, regretfully, and she winked.

“Of course you are.”

That was how it went all afternoon, with everybody from his cousin Sheila’s latest husband to the distant cousin he hadn’t seen his mother’s funeral congratulating him with winks and nudges, so that even Jim couldn’t be in any doubt as to what they thought their relationship was. He blushed and cringed, and tried to shield Jim from the worst of it, until the humiliation culminated in Father Declan telling him, three sheets to the wind already,

“Sure, it wouldn’t be my usual advice, but I could recommend a nice Minister who’d officiate for you. It’s what your Mammy would have wanted.”

His Mom would have been horrified that he was considering arguing with a priest but Jim got in before him. Slid an arm around his waist that left him shocked dumb and said,

“We’ll bear it in mind. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to play along, Jim,” Harvey told him quietly once they were out of earshot. “I can set everyone straight if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

He would too. Would do anything Jim asked him to, but there was the tapping of silverware against glass - and none too subtle groaning as silence was called for. They found their seats and Harvey watched Jim watch the speeches. Felt his heart clench tight in his chest at all the talk of love and forever, and thought of the last thing his mother had said to him on her deathbed, about how she’d be proud of him no matter what he did, and how all she wanted was for him to be happy.

It must have shown on his face, some part of it at least, because Jim met his eye then and his expression softened. Took on the same adoring aspect that Harvey usually took as a sign he was thinking of Lee Thompkins, and reached over to put a hand over his. He sucked in a surprised breath, the simple touch destroying his composure and, suddenly, he saw exactly what Jim was doing.

Jim had taken pity on him. Had decided to help him save face, and the mix of gratitude and despair stuck thickly in his throat. Had his eyes burning, helpless, and he was more than thankful that the Father of the Bride had gone the sentimental route, and plenty of people were blinking back tears and sniffles.

He needed to pull himself together. Needed to get a grip, because they were onto the Best Man and the scripted jokes now, and then that was done and the queue for the buffet was already forming, while he still couldn’t trust himself to speak properly. Couldn’t do anything even as yet more relatives made their way over, all wanting to know how he had met Jim, and why he hadn’t brought him to Caitlin’s wedding, or Adrian’s funeral.

“We’re just friends,” he protested again, withdrawing his hand from Jim’s grip and trying not to read disappointment into the look on Jim’s face, “we work together.”

“Did your Mother raise a liar?” Auntie Pat asked him, cataracted gaze shrewd, and his palms stung with the visceral memory of having her wooden spoon thwacked across them every time he decided against honesty as the best policy.

He would have said something he regretted. Would have reminded them all of a time when they would have been only too happy for him to spend his entire life lying about it. Would have done any number of things, but there were kids who wanted his attention, and one of the bridesmaids, one he wasn’t even related to, was fluttering her lashes at Jim and asking on Kathleen’s orders whether or not he was going to eat something.

Harvey settled for drinking. Ended up sat on the steps leading out onto the patio, _somebody’s_ baby in his dubious care and a seven year old attempting to explain to him all the reasons why a helicopter would win in a fight against an armed submarine. They were just getting to the crux of the thing when he felt somebody drop down to sit next to him, and he made to hand the baby back before he realized it was Jim.

He wasn’t empty handed either, a paper plate piled high with food resting against the knee nudging his own, their thighs pressed tight together.

“Thought you might be hungry,” Jim said easily. “I’d have brought it over earlier, but I didn’t know where you’d got to.”

Guilt sparked in his gut for abandoning Jim to fend for himself, but Jim didn’t sound accusing. Was pressing closer still, leaning in against his side, and Harvey didn’t think he could be that drunk, not yet at any rate.

“We were hashing out what would win in a fight - a submarine or a helicopter,” he said by way of explanation.

“A helicopter,” Jim said decisively. “No question.”

The kid grinned smugly, even as his parents called for him, and Jim just made a start on a mound of potato chips and confessed,

“We met earlier.”

“You have been busy,” Harvey said and snagged a sandwich. Jim raised an amused eyebrow at the sleeping baby.

“Not as busy as you’ve been.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and the two of them ate in silence for a few moments. Exchanged a few words when the baby’s father finally came over to retrieve it, and he stretched his arms out a little, cramped from keeping so long in the same position. It would be a dumb idea, he thought, then did it anyway. Curled his arm around Jim’s shoulders and shut his eyes for a moment, imagining that Jim really was his date and that he’d want nothing more than to share body heat and be clung to.

Except Jim really did snuggle in close, so close Harvey could smell the intoxicating scent of him, and said out of nowhere,

“It means a lot you invited me, I know you’re close to your family.”

If he turned his head his nose would be pressed into Jim’s hair. If he breathed in deeply he could smell Jim’s shampoo, overlaid by the pomade he was using. He did both.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I didn’t tell them we were an item, I swear. I don’t even know where they got the idea from.”

The sun was setting now, the sky streaked with red, and Jim reached for his hand again. Linked their fingers and shrugged,

“It doesn’t matter, does it? They seem fine with it.”

Harvey swallowed. What mattered was that maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but eventually he was going to have to come clean. He was going to have to explain that, actually, Jim had just been doing him a favor, and even then they wouldn’t believe him.

He was going to live the rest of his life pining for Jim, while his family asked at every single gathering until he dropped dead what it was he had done to drive Jim away. Would offer awful relationship advice, and dredge up every other time he had ruined things with somebody who could have learned to love him.

“They would have found out eventually,” Jim said, and it took a moment to realize that he wasn’t actually following Harvey’s train of thought.

“Found out what?” He asked, confused, and Jim twisted a little so he could look up at him. Smiled at him, the same adoring smile from earlier, and said,

“About us.”

“About us,” he echoed, dumbstruck, and Jim’s hand was pulling free. Was reaching up to cup his face instead, and indoors a slow song was starting. There’d be couples drunkenly swaying, he was sure, lost in each other, and then he was lost in Jim. Couldn’t think of anything but the fact Jim’s lips were pressed against his own, Jim’s tongue was pressing slickly into his mouth, and when they pulled apart, just enough to breathe, his heart was hammering.

He felt drunk, giddy, and Jim kissed him again. Rubbed their noses together and gave him a final kiss, soft and chaste, before approaching footsteps broke through the haze, and Kathleen was complaining at him that if people were going to sit outside, what was the point in hiring a hall and a DJ.

“When it’s your own wedding, you can scuttle off whenever you want. Right now I have children in need of supervising.”

He gave in, knew better than to argue, and offered Jim a hand up as he said, “See, I keep telling you I’m a responsible kind of guy.”

“I thought the kids were going to be supervising you?” Jim asked, all mock confusion, and he laughed in spite of himself. Jostled Jim’s shoulder as he followed him indoors, and inclined his head in recognition of the less than subtle thumbs up Kathleen sent him.

He had no idea what had just happened but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

If Jim wanted him, absolutely nothing else mattered.

* * *

 

_[From the opposite POV...]_

“You want me to meet your family?” Jim asked, and couldn’t help the thrill the idea sent through him. What they had was still so new, so delicate, and the thought that Harvey wanted to take him to meet everyone who meant anything to him made him want to give up on all his pledges to go slow and just lean in close and kiss him.

“Well, yeah,” Harvey said, a hint of color in his cheeks as he focused on his drink. “You don’t have to.”

Jim just beamed, wide and stupid, “I’d love to.”

He obsessed over it in the days that followed, determined to make a good impression. Barbara’s parents had hated him, thought him nothing but an uncouth money grabber, and Lee had never introduced him to any of her family.

It wasn’t a good track record.

So he asked questions. Slowly built up a picture in his head of who would be there, and loved Harvey all the more for the way he was happy to share stories of his childhood, turning people Jim had never met into recognisable characters.

He had only really had Roger for company, growing up, and he wondered sometimes how different his life might have been if he had spent less time living in his own head, and more realizing that the world wasn’t what it seemed in his favorite swashbucklers. If he had spent more time learning how to make friends and less convincing himself that a good man was measured by his enemies.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked eventually, drink making him too honest, and Harvey gave him a look that took his breath away.

“How couldn’t they?” Harvey asked in turn, and the sincerity had his heart aching and his stomach fluttering. Had him pledging that somehow, some day, he really would deserve Harvey’s unwavering faith in him.

He went a little overboard, maybe, but he wanted Harvey to be proud of him. Was terrified Harvey would come to regret taking a chance on him, so he went and got his hair cut. Bought a new suit too, and endured the awkward small talk and his own sense of discomfort as the shop assistant advised him on what kind of shirt he should choose, and which tie would bring the blue of his eyes out. It was worth it, he had no doubt of that at least, when Saturday rolled around and he considered the reflection staring back at him.

“Hot damn,” Harvey said when Jim answered the door to him, “you hoping to get laid tonight, are you?”

He couldn’t help the wave of heated want that washed over him, nor the smirk that settled across his features. They hadn’t done anything at all yet. Hadn’t kissed properly, even, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t dreamed of it, because Harvey was gorgeous. Smelled great and looked perfect, especially all scrubbed up, hair so neat his fingers were itching to mess it up and suit jacket highlighting his broad shoulders.

Later, he promised himself. Later he was going to taste that mouth. Was going to get his hands in that hair. In the present he would have to make do with standing as close as he dared, and at least he wasn’t the only one suffering, not if the possessive hand Harvey kept on the small of his back was anything to go by.

The way he steered him into the church and pressed close when they were shepherded into a pew, and Jim squirmed about in a mixture of boredom and frustration, because the press of Harvey’s thigh against his own was singularly distracting, and because he had never considered before how long a Mass might last.

There were a handful of hungover looking twenty-somethings in the row in front, yawning behind their hands, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked down to find a couple of kids crawling along the floor at his feet. He did his best to ignore it, to keep his eyes forward like everyone else around him, and then a wizened little old lady smacked one of them over the head with a pile of excess orders of service and nobody seemed even remotely disturbed by the tantrum that completely drowned out the sound of the altar bells.

“Lovely Mass,” the guy in front of them told the priest as they filed out, then laughed out loud when Harvey nudged his shoulder a few steps on, complaining,

“Lovely Mass, my ass. He’s drunk already.”

“Ten bucks says he’ll be passed out before the first dance.”

“You must think me a total idiot,” Harvey admonished, “I’ve not been to a wedding yet where he hasn’t!”

The other guy smirked, all freckles and a shock of red hair, and Harvey introduced them briefly before getting called away to help a woman in heels that would have put Fish Mooney to shame with a double stroller.

“How long you two been together then?” The cousin, Mark, asked and Jim suddenly felt awkward. He didn’t know what Harvey had told people, how much he wanted them to know, and he said vaguely,

“We’ve known each other a few years. We work together.”

“It’s all right,” Mark reassured, “everyone knows. Great Aunt Pat credits his coming out with her third heart attack - _people made their gosh darn minds up in my day_ ,” He quoted with a wink and Jim laughed in spite of himself. Was pleased in a way he couldn’t explain that nobody was going to give Harvey a hard time because of him.

Instead relative after relative came up to shake his hand and tell him how happy there were that Harvey was settling down. Explained how, over the years, he had only ever brought along a select few of his squeezes to family gatherings, and not one of them had put a smile on his face like the one he was currently sporting. It put a smile on his own face, wide and goofy, or maybe it was the whiskey chasers people kept pressing on him.

Either way, he ended up leaning contentedly against the bar watching as Harvey was beset by dozens of kids, all of them clambering for his attention, and it made him grin all the harder because Harvey tried to make out he was a jaded old cop. The truth was that he was more soft hearted than Jim had ever been. Was sweet and sentimental under that gruff exterior, and when a gaggle of kids cornered him on the outdoor balcony, he did his best to keep a straight face at a particularly forthright seven-year-old who warned him that if he did anything to upset his favorite uncle, he would have the kid’s entire under-11s judo class to answer to.

He found Harvey afterwards, to tell him about it, but he was stuck in the midst of some rambling conversation with the priest from the church about how there was no excuse now, not since the law had changed, even if they’d have to settle for a Protestant service. Harvey’s temper was slipping, he could tell, and Jim stepped in to diffuse the situation. Slid his arm around Harvey’s waist and steered him away, secretly kind of charmed that Harvey was so worried about him feeling pressured.

“You don’t have to play along, Jim,” Harvey told him quietly once they were out of earshot. “I can set everyone straight if it’s making you uncomfortable.”

He would have reassured Harvey at that. Would have cracked a joke, maybe, about how he wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily, but the speeches were starting and he had to settle for watching Harvey get emotional though Jim was sure that, if asked, he would claim it was all in Jim’s imagination. He reached a hand for his partner’s, all the same, and stroked his thumb over soft skin a few times, wondering if Harvey could tell all the stupidly sentimental thoughts running through his own head.

They started serving the food afterwards, and he got separated from Harvey in the rush of people. When he had been dating Barbara it would have been his worst nightmare, having no choice but to make small talk with her extended family, but this felt nothing like that. Everybody was welcoming, friendly, and he filed away all the embarrassing anecdotes Harvey’s relatives couldn’t wait to tell him, for the next time Harvey wanted to veto his suggested lunch venue.

He piled a paper plate high, going for everything he knew Harvey liked, and the Mother of the Bride - Harvey’s favorite cousin, he knew from all his questioning - told him he’d find the man in question outdoors, playing babysitter.

“He gets on well with kids,” she said, all fond smile, “on account of being an overgrown one.”

Jim grinned back and she put a hand on his arm, the sincere expression on her face making the family resemblance all the more striking.

“Don’t let him mess this up, Jim. He’s clearly crazy about you.”

“I’m going to do my best,” he said, determined, and went to go and make good on the promise. Dropped down to sit beside Harvey out on the steps, and nodded an acknowledgement to the burgeoning judo champion.

“We were hashing out what would win in a fight - a submarine or a helicopter,” Harvey explained, jiggling a snuffling baby in the crook of his arm, and Jim couldn’t help but press close. Had overheard the very same argument taking place earlier, and enjoyed the way the kid beamed in victory before running off, when he said,

“A helicopter, no question. We met earlier,” he clarified for Harvey’s benefit, and simply enjoyed the quiet and the closeness for a few minutes, clearing the plate and waving the baby back off to its parents.

Harvey pulled him close instead, and Jim didn’t hesitate to make the most of it.

It was how this had started, after all, with Harvey letting him press closer and closer. Letting him fall asleep all over him, and petting fingers through his hair when he woke up again. Letting him take things as slowly as he wanted, like he knew just how afraid he was of ruining everything, and Jim had to thank him. Had to say,

“It means a lot you invited me, I know you’re close to your family.”

Harvey buried his nose in his hair and breathed deeply, the sensation sending shivers through him. Said apologetically,

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I didn’t tell them we were an item, I swear. I don’t even know where they got the idea from.”

The sun was setting now, the sky streaked with red, and Jim reached for Harvey’s hand. Linked their fingers together and marvelled again at how invested his family were in each other’s lives, and how he hadn’t even had to explicitly tell them anything.

He hadn’t known Roger was going to be a father until it had already happened, and even then they hadn’t invited him to the christening.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?,” he questioned simply. “They seem fine with it. They would have found out eventually.”

“Found out what?” Harvey asked in turn, confused like he hadn’t quite been listening, but Jim wasn’t angry. Didn’t mind, not really. Not when Harvey was still wrapped around him, and he twisted a little so could smile up at him and say, tone only slightly chastising,

“About us.”

“About us?” Harvey echoed, like he was having to think about what he could possibly be referring to, and Jim was lost. Couldn’t wait any longer, because there was some sappy love song playing in the background, and because he could never get enough of Harvey teasing him.

Would never get enough of Harvey’s mouth on him, he decided, and pressed closer still. Kissed and kissed, head swimming with how good it felt, and Harvey kissed him right back. Anchored a hand in his hair and rubbed their noses together, letting him kiss him one last time even as footsteps approached behind them.

Gazed at him, eyes soft, even as his cousin complained that she had spent too much money for people to be sequestering themselves in corners this early in the evening, and that Harvey was clearly shirking the understood quid quo pro when it came to the bar tab and the number of rowdy kids who needed supervising.

“See, I keep telling you I’m a responsible kind of guy,” Harvey said as he helped him up and Jim frowned, because Harvey wasn’t the only one who could play dumb,

“I thought the kids were going to be supervising you?”

Harvey just jostled his shoulder. Slung an arm around his shoulders and split the rest of the evening between turning over-energetic children in circles around the dance floor, and talking close in his ear. 

“They'll want you to go to everything now, you know that?” Harvey told him later, when things were beginning to wind down a little. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Jim only leaned against him more heavily, the drink and the late night starting to get the better of him, and smiled stupidly. 

That was the kind of concession he didn't mind making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	48. High School AU (kind of...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by all the awesome high school AU stuff on Tumblr. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My maths sucks and I didn't focus on the dates too much anyway, but for reference - this fic starts in about 1995, when Jim's 13 and Harvey's 27 or so. Jim's 16 by the time there's any mention of sexual stuff between them and 17 before anything happens so, you know, warnings for underage depending on your jurisdiction.

Harvey wasn’t a hero.

He had just done his job, done what he was paid to do and, when his watch commander told him he had been put forward for a medal, he replied in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t accept it.

Stuck to his guns too, at least until the Captain himself demanded to see him, yelling loud enough for the entire precinct to hear exactly what the guy thought of officers who refused to do their bit for the glory of the department.

“There are two types of people under my command,” the Captain told him, “those who make my life difficult and those who have a future in the GCPD. You need to decide which of those you’re going to be. The kid would be dead if you hadn’t pulled him free, so get down off your damn high horse and accept the medal.”

He did, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. He felt like a fraud when the day arrived, uncomfortable in his starched shirt and shined shoes, and couldn’t wait for it all to be over. Couldn’t wait to get wasted and did his very best to drink away the memories of the way the poor kid had clung to him, sobbing and trembling as his old man’s blood soaked through Harvey’s patrol uniform.

It didn’t work, not the booze, and not the pills he took in the club afterwards. He knew all the risks, knew full well it was a stupid thing to do, and it served him right if he hooked up with a bad batch and found himself freaking out in the toilets, shaking and sweating, heart hammering just as hard as it had that night out on the freeway, blood and glass and the smell of leaking gasoline everywhere.

The car had blown afterwards, filled the air with the scent of burning flesh, and when he staggered out of the club straight into a hot dog stand, he heaved half a week’s pay into the gutter. Went home and collapsed into bed, his nightmares haunted by frightened blue eyes and the sight of the open tibia fracture.

Anderson laughed when Harvey let on something of what the problem was the next day, and told him bluntly,

“Your problem is you’re too soft hearted. Don’t get invested and don’t make promises, that’s the way it’s gotta be if you want to make it in this game.”

Harvey tried to take his partner’s words to heart. Used the hangover to help him walk away rather than get caught up in domestics he was never going to be able to solve anyway. To hand over cases to protective services and not spend all day worrying about their outcome. It had to be done, he understood that. He couldn’t carry on the way he had been, not if he wanted to make a real career of the police force. He would burn out, get chewed up, and be left with less than nothing to show for it.

“You’re learning,” Anderson said when they loitered long enough to miss a call out, and they both accepted hush money from the clubs along the dockside, though it made him feel like shit every time he thought about it.

He was thinking about it again the following Friday morning while he waited for Anderson to collect his equipment, and a few moments either way he would have completely missed it. As it was he watched with open interest as the boy approached the front desk, limping heavily, his mother waiting just outside the doorway. He exchanged a few words with Williams, and then his colleague was yelling over to him, voice like a foghorn,

“Bullock, visitor for you!”

People didn’t often recognize officers who were there in times of crisis. Didn’t recognize officers who arrested them, half the time, and even with the training the reverse was true way more of the time than the movies liked to make out. He’d know the kid anywhere though, and could tell the boy knew exactly who he was too. Saw it in the intent blue gaze, and in the unsteady step he took towards him, his jaw set with determination as he held out a card and said,

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I was just doing my job,” Harvey pointed out, but it lacked the usual bite. The kid just nodded, once, and said,

“Okay, then I want to thank you for joining the police force.”

Harvey smiled in spite of himself. He couldn’t really argue with that one.

“You’re welcome.”

The kid held out a hand, painfully formal, and Harvey pulled him into a hug instead, brief but tight, and said with mock seriousness,

“Now you’d better go and make my life choices worthwhile. I’ve got a double shift today.”

“Yes Sir, I mean, Officer.”

“My name’s Harvey,” he said, amused, and the kid smiled wide at him, the expression kind of adorable on his pale face. He’d be a looker when he was older, Harvey didn’t doubt it.

“Come on, Bullock!” Anderson yelled and he shrugged apologetically, excusing himself, and they were already out on the street when he realized he still had the card. Stuffed it in with his pocket notebook and finally opened it when he got back to his apartment.

He stuck it on his notice board and smiled to himself as actually made an attempt to clean the place up a bit. Got out of bed before his alarm went off the next morning, and conceded there was something to be said for starting the day without a hangover. He passed on an ‘anonymous’ tip to Narco about the dealer he had scored from after the awards ceremony, and told Anderson he wasn’t accepting any more backhanders.

He wasn’t a hero, but maybe he didn’t have to be.

All Jim Gordon wanted from him was to keep trying to be one of the good guys.

* * *

His low scale tip off had lead to bigger and better things, and there had been a big drugs bust down in the East End.

What it meant was scrabbling from all the usual lowlifes to fill the gap, and they had reports of teenagers selling in and around Gotham High, complete with pressure from the Captain to do something about it because it wasn’t the kind of thing that made the department look good in the newspapers. He and Anderson collared two likely candidates on an evening shift. The one capitulated easily, looked like he might piss his pants at the mere thought of his dad finding out, while the other shrugged, all false bravado, and said,

“You can tell my old man whatever you like. He’s too dead to care about it.”

The accent was all off, wasn’t street or tough, and when Harvey frowned and looked him over again he was sure he recognized him from somewhere.

“Name? Come on, don’t keep me waiting.”

The kid scowled but only dragged it out a couple of seconds before answering,

“Roger. Roger Gordon.”

It clicked into place then, and he thought of the card he had moved to his dresser, where he could see it in the mornings.

The damn medal was delegated to the back of a draw, out of sight and out of mind.

That had been months ago, six he calculated quickly, and he patted Roger down and demanded he turn out his pockets, eyeing up the pitiful amount of cash, a pager, and a couple of tabs of LSD that would only get written off as personal use. He and Anderson exchanged a look, silently agreeing that a suitable scare would probably do the job well enough.

They dropped the other kid - Jason - off first, his parents satisfyingly appalled and his own face remorseful. That done, it wasn’t long before they were pulling up outside the Gordon residence. It was a nice neighborhood, solidly middle class, but the front yard was looking unkempt and the nets needed washing. There was no answer when Harvey banged on the door, though there were lights on, and he tried again, Roger still sullen and uncooperative.

Finally there was movement, his posture unconsciously straightening, but it wasn’t the mother who pulled the door open, but Jim - his hair a couple of inches longer than the last time he’d seen him, and the headphones around his neck attached to an old cassette walkman. Harvey took in all the details as they pressed on in, his gaze cataloging the dust on the skirting boards and the empty space on the TV stand where the VCR should have been.

“Mom’s not well,” Jim explained nervously, and Roger only snorted,

“What he means is that she’s too drunk to talk to you right now, officers. I’d suggest coming back some other time but, chances are, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Jim tried to cover, rambling, and Harvey was glad to see that the leg was a lot better at least. The limp was scarcely noticeable. Anderson peered at the photos on the wall, and the badly concealed gaps in the contents of a decorative display cabinet, and Harvey would have moved things on. Would have spared the kid the indignity, at least, but Mrs Gordon chose that moment to put in an appearance, wrapped in a robe and her words more than a little slurred.

She ranted about robberies in the area, about the gangs and the violence on the evening news, and asked why they were wasting time harassing innocent teenagers on the streets when they could be solving real crimes. Anderson made a show of filling out a crime report, Jim’s face going paler and paler, and Harvey wasn’t surprised when Jim caught him up at the door.

Wasn’t shocked in the slightest when Jim confessed that he had taken the stuff to the pawnbrokers himself, because there were bills that needed paying and his Mom had so much to deal with that she had simply forgotten.

It was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Nothing he wouldn’t see again.

Anderson inclined his head, keen to get on, but Harvey hesitated. Dawdled, and pulled his card from his pocket, hand drawn to Jim’s shoulder like a magnet,

“If you need help, you call me, all right? Any time.”

* * *

Jim did call him, three months later when Harvey had been pretty much convinced it was never going to happen.

There were debt collectors at the door, and they weren’t taking no for an answer.

Anderson rolled his eyes when he said where he was going, telling him again not to get invested, and not to make promises. What Anderson didn’t understand was that he already had. The night of the crash he had told Jim that everything was going to be okay, that he had him and that he was safe, and he had rang the hospital afterwards to check on how he was doing.

Had gone to the father’s funeral, though the department was already being represented by some of the top brass, and following their visit to take Roger home, he had made calls to Jim’s school and the organiser of the local youth cadets program. Just in case Jim did want him to get involved, after all.

The problem, he determined, was that Jim was stubborn. Too proud and too private, and Harvey had to bite back the urge to tell him that he had his whole life to turn down any and all offers of assistance.

He knew from experience.

Because the house was that little bit shabbier compared to the last time he had seen it, that little bit barer. There were empty booze bottles piled up in the kitchen bin, and the air smelled stale, like it had been too long since the windows were opened.

The debt collectors had taken the TV and some jewellery in part payment, and Jim looked lost and shaken up, so bad Harvey kind of wished it wouldn’t be completely unprofessional to hug him again.

“How are things at school? You keeping your grades up?” He asked instead to fill the silence, because Jim seemed the type who had the smarts to do well if he put his mind to it.

Jim shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

It reminded him of his own school days. Absent Dad - though his own hadn’t had quite as good an excuse - and a Mom who needed looking after, for all that his Mom had been ill rather than attempting to drink herself to death. She was at work now, apparently, and Harvey didn’t push for more information on that. He could chase it up later.

“How’s your brother?” He tried, and only got another awkward shrug. Harvey had heard plenty more of Roger, even if he hadn’t seen him. Dealing, again, and hanging around with all kinds of unsavoury characters. He’d have been in deep shit if some friend of his father’s - some friend of _Carmine Falcone’s_ \- hadn’t come and bailed him out and pulled strings for him.

Shame they couldn’t do something for the brother keeping out of trouble.

“You know I’m going to have to file a report,” Harvey said then, carefully, and the look on the kid’s face made his heart ache. The panic and the despair, and the desperation in his big blue eyes as he begged,

“Please don’t. Please. I was being stupid, childish. We’re fine, really. Everything’s fine.”

“It’s for your own good. You gotta believe that, Jim.”

Jim only turned away, hand swiping harsh across his face as though Harvey hadn’t already seen the tears.

“I thought you wanted to help me.”

* * *

CPS paid them a visit but didn’t take things any further. That was their decision, Harvey told himself. It was nothing to do with the positive spin he had put on things, nor his advice to give the place a good clean and tidy.

It wasn’t his fault they were too lazy to investigate properly, or that they accepted Sandra Gordon at her word simply because she had been the wife of a DA and graduated college.

She was in a short stay bed at Arkham he learned a couple of months later, when he collared Roger for the third time, and the kid wouldn’t meet his eye when Harvey suggested that as the elder he had expected him to be doing more to keep things together. Finding himself in prison without even his high school diploma to fall back on wasn’t going to do him or anyone else any favors.

“I’ve got prospects,” Roger told him evasively. “And we’ve got an aunt out in Chicago who said Jim could go stay with her. It’s not my fault he’s too stupid to take her up on it.”

“What about your Mom?”

Roger shrugged, Harvey struck by how alike two kids could look yet be so far apart in attitude.

“It’s not her first time in the nuthouse, won’t be her last either.”

He pledged to keep an eye out for Jim himself. Endured Anderson’s eye rolling and ignored his own misgivings, choosing to count it as a victory when Jim gave up on his poor attempts at indifference to beam widely at the sight of him.

When Jim accepted a lift home one night after he saw him soaked through, shivering at a bus stop, and when Jim started turning up at his scheduled neighborhood engagement meetings, the youngest member of the public in attendance by at least a couple of decades. He always loitered afterwards, to exchange a few words, though he claimed he had nothing he actually needed to tell him.

“Don’t you got anything better to be doing?” Harvey asked eventually, because he couldn’t imagine any way he would have least rather spent his time when he had been rapidly approaching 15.

“I want to be a police officer when I’m old enough,” Jim told him, so intense Harvey didn’t even try to dissuade him. It wasn’t until later when he was drinking the stresses of the day into oblivion that it hit him what had been weird and jarring about the sentence.

He guessed some kids knew full well that their allocated time for growing up was already over.

Still, that confession meant he had done his duty. Meant he could finally hand Jim’s details to Kowalski and the youth cadet program.

“That kid you wanted me to get in touch with?” Kowalski asked him a few weeks later, as they wolfed down lunch in the same diner, “Said he wasn’t interested.”

Something settled low in his gut. Disappointment, maybe.

“He’s come to his senses, eh?” Anderson grinned around a mouthful of his own food. “I’ve been telling you for almost two fucking years now, not even some mess of a kid is going to look at you and see a role model!”

* * *

Fate wasn’t about to let his association with Jim Gordon end that easily.

Harvey saw him at the precinct, paying bail for his brother, and he saw him out on his beat, walking home from school on his own, shoulders hunched and headphones on. Jim didn’t make it easy for people to get on with him, that had been his principal’s verdict when he had made his initial enquiries, and it didn’t look like things had changed any.

He stopped and spoke when he could, and the smiles Jim gave him were always honest so far as he could tell.

Were open and eager, and he didn’t really understand what it was that Jim’s peers found so abrasive. Kids were just like that, he supposed. You were either worth knowing or you weren’t, there didn’t need to be a reason.

He was on a date with his latest girlfriend, a waitress at one of their favourite lunch venues who was always up for a good time, when he spotted Jim and a few other kids going at it. They had his backpack, his ancient walkman, and every time Jim made a grab for it, they passed it from one to another, laughing.

“Leave it,” Toni said, “you don’t need to impress me.”

“I’ve got other methods for that,” he promised with a wink and walked into the fray regardless. Used all of his increasingly imposing bulk to his advantage, and demanded they hand Jim his stuff over and apologize.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Jim told him quietly once it was done and they were moving off. “I was in control of the situation.”

“Yeah?” Harvey asked, eyebrow raised, and Jim flushed red when he risked a glance up at him. Swallowed awkwardly and said,

“Yeah. But thank you anyway.”

Harvey shook his head, amused as usual by Jim’s too formal manners, and did his best to untangle the mess that was Jim’s walkman.

“What you listening to? Anything decent?”

“Floyd, Styx, Rush.”

“Could be worse,” Harvey conceded and the smile Jim gave him was blinding. Almost had him missing the bruise blossoming along his jaw line, and Harvey touched two fingers to the other side of his jaw, holding his head still.

“Did they do that?”

He could hear the anger in his own voice. The outrage that people wouldn’t stick to beating on guys their own size, because Jim was small for his age and the kids tormenting him had all been well blessed by puberty.

“Gym class,” Jim said but Harvey wasn’t convinced. He had known Jim too long, and had all the training besides. Knew that it would do no good to push, but the anger lingered all the same, even after Jim thanked him again and said, like he wanted it to be true, that he had to get going or his Mom would worry.

Even when Toni slipped an arm around him and said, from nowhere,

“Do I need to be jealous or have you got a type I don’t know about?”

He frowned at her, confused, and she laughed as they made their way to get dinner. Said only,

“You’re too soft.”

Harvey smirked, hands wandering as he shoved all thoughts of Jim Gordon firmly from his mind,

“Now that’s one complaint I never hear.”

* * *

Toni didn’t last long. Nikki either. He had only had a one night stand with the guy whose name he couldn’t remember and Tracey had smacked him across the face the week before, with clear instructions to go fuck himself, so he didn’t have a clue who might be knocking at his door in the early hours of the evening.

It wasn’t a police knock, so he wouldn’t have to go back to the precinct, at least.

He peered through the peephole, curious, and the person stood on the other side of the door was just about the one he had least expected.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed when he succeeded in getting the door open and got a good look at him. “What happened?”

Jim just stared at his feet, fists clenched at his sides, voice wobbly as he said,

“If it had been a fair fight, I could have beat them.”

Harvey didn’t waste any more time with questions. Pulled him in and guided him to the sofa, going for water and something to mop the blood up with. Jim’s face was bruised and swollen, but it looked worse than it was, and Harvey’s initial fears that his nose was broken proved to be unfounded.

He tried to be gentle as he dabbed at the cuts, Jim struggling not to hiss at the sting of the antiseptic, and rather than risk losing his temper Harvey asked,

“How did you know where I live?”

Jim glanced away, seemed to flush a little. It was hardly surprising behavior, he supposed, when you were asked why you had turned up on a stranger’s doorstep.

“It was in the phone book,” Jim said quietly, and Harvey frowned because he was supposed to be ex-directory. He’d have to check the damn thing. “I didn’t want my Mom to see me like that. I don’t want to give her anything else to worry about.”

Jim pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, looked like he might cry, and the sight tugged at his heart strings.

Had him patting at Jim’s shoulder and, when Jim surged forward, sniffling, letting him cling to him until he regained control of himself.

“It’s okay,” he assured, one hand petting through soft blond hair, “It’s going to be okay.”

“When?” Jim asked, voice strained.

Harvey didn’t have an answer.

Somehow it became a semi-regular occurrence, Jim Gordon getting his face kicked in and turning up on his doorstep. Acting stoic and silent as Harvey cleaned him up, and then acting every bit the kid he really was when Harvey offered him cookies and soda and the chance to rifle through his record collection.

“Can I tape this?” Jim asked, too excited even to wince at the split lip, and Harvey would have offered to simply let him borrow it if he didn’t already have a fair idea what had likely happened to the Gordon’s sound system.

“Knock yourself out,” he offered instead, and Jim grinned at him so eagerly his lip started bleeding all over again. He went quiet and studious then as he went through the rest of the records and moved on to his cassette holders, and actually sounded impressed when Harvey told him which of the bands he had seen in concert.

It was an ego boost, he supposed. It was the first time he had seen Jim so genuinely happy, that was beyond question. Whatever the reason, he heard himself saying that Jim was welcome any time he liked, not just when he had been used as a punch bag. Said he could tape anything he wanted, and didn’t mention that normally he was so zealously protective of his music even Anderson wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.

Said nothing about the fact that Jim was in the middle of an obvious growth spurt, sprouting up and bulking out, nor his private belief that if this wasn’t the last time Jim came to him because of school bullies, it wouldn’t be far from it.

Perhaps it would have made a difference, perhaps it wouldn’t have, but Jim thanked him profusely and then seemed to remember he was supposed to be at an age where that was spectacularly uncool, and tried to play it casual instead.

He turned up the next week, all the same, and the week after. Started to become a regular fixture and it legitimately surprised Harvey what good company he was. He was clever and his wit was so dry it never failed to startle Harvey into laughter. He was too young to be completely jaded, unlike most of the guys Harvey worked with, yet too mature for his own good. So mature that Harvey forgot, sometimes, that Jim was barely 16 and just about everything concerning the situation was entirely inappropriate.

Jim was lonely, that was what Harvey told himself. Had a lot of burdens on his young shoulders, and could only benefit from spending time with a friendly face, and knowing that somebody cared enough to ask him how he was doing. Because they weren’t doing anything wrong, not really. No laws had been broken, and no harm had been done.

Except there was a major incident in the East End one night and Anderson didn’t bother ringing ahead before coming to pick him up. Looked from Harvey to Jim when he pulled the door open, his expression darkening, and suddenly Harvey was all too aware how it must look from the outside. Tuttle was skulking further down the corridor, bumming a ride, and Harvey said something too loud and too stilted about how he hoped their talk about Roger had helped, and how Jim really ought to be getting on home now.

Anderson shook his head once they made it out to the squad car,

“You told me he you hadn’t seen him in months. You told me he had stopped following you around like a goddamn puppy. Now I find out you’re inviting him in and giving him candy. What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

“You’ve got to be careful,” Tuttle agreed, the same monotonous drone he had had when he was back in uniform, “he could argue coercion.”

“I’m not a pervert,” Harvey spat, disgusted, and Tuttle only said in that miserably calm way he had about him,

“You know that, and I know that, but who is IA going to believe when an underage boy claims a police officer tried to touch him?”

“You’ve got it all fucking wrong,” Harvey swore. “It’s not like I make a regular fucking thing of it; he was upset, wanted to know if there was anything we could do to help his brother.”

Roger was going from bad to worse, it was true, and Jim had expressed concern about it. The rest of the statement was nothing but a pack of lies and, somehow, Harvey got the impression both Tuttle and Anderson knew it.

* * *

It might have gone further, might have made his life awkward, but Anderson was shot in the early hours of the morning, the life draining out of him even as Harvey applied pressure to the wound, telling the man over and over to hold on and that he had better not fucking die on him.

Anderson didn’t listen and when Harvey got home it was already light and he was still covered in his partner’s blood.

He peeled his uniform off, feeling numb, and stood in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to make sense of what had happened. Anderson hadn’t been a hero, hadn’t even been a good guy, not really. He still hadn’t deserved to get blown away just for trying to make Gotham a better place to live.

Eventually he forced himself to move. Pulled on a t-shirt and some underwear, and sat on his sofa with a bottle of whiskey, staring at the semi-circle of detritus that marked where Jim had been busily working on putting together a mix-tape before everything went to hell in a handcart.

He wouldn’t have moved all day. Wouldn’t have done anything beyond drinking until he couldn’t feel, but there was a frantic pounding at the door that wouldn’t let up, and even the burn of the whiskey wasn’t enough of a distraction for him to ignore it.

He didn’t even see who it was, just felt them launch themselves at him, clinging too tight and sobbing into his shirt front.

“Jim?” he managed finally, having manoeuvred them indoors and out of the view of his nosy neighbors. “Jim, what’s the matter?”

Jim couldn’t even speak. Scrubbed his sleeve across his face and tried at least three times before succeeding with,

“Th-they said, o-on the radio, that a police officer was killed last night. They said it was an officer from your division.”

He dissolved into tears again and Harvey couldn’t help himself. Was too strung out, his head all over the place, and he clung back. Held Jim close and felt a few tears slip down his own cheeks as he explained that it had been Anderson, not him, who had taken the bullet.

“I was so scared,” Jim whispered eventually, all but in his lap, and Harvey knew he had to put a stop to this. Knew that it was for both their sakes, because Jim was supposed to be at school and he was pushing 30. Jim was a minor and he was a police officer, and though he knew and Jim knew this wasn’t anything sinister, Harvey was no longer under any illusion about the kind of conclusions anyone else might jump to.

He just couldn’t do it today, he compromised, not with the memory of Anderson dying in his hands so fresh in his mind. He pressed a chaste kiss into Jim’s dishevelled hair instead and took a moment to simply enjoy being close to someone who cared what happened to him.

“I’m like a bad penny, me,” he pledged, “I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

He kept putting it off, the final severing of the ties between them. Attempted to pull away with one foot, even as he stepped closer with the other. Because although he had made up excuse after excuse as to why Jim wasn’t to come to his apartment, he was nowhere near breaking contact completely.

Was telling himself that it would come to a natural end, because Jim mentioned more people when he told him stories now. New friends, and new things that he was doing. Basketball and football and boxing which, combined with the few inches up and the few pounds out he’d packed on, served to ensure that his erstwhile bullies thought better of bothering him.

He was fighting on behalf of the weaker now, was winning too, and the calm confidence that was beginning to shine through only made it more important that he reminded himself constantly that Jim was a child, and that he should treat him as such, not like a friend whose company and opinions he valued.

Simmons, his new partner, raised an eyebrow when Jim came over to say hello when they were out on patrol, and he distracted her easily by revealing that the vision of polite elder-respecting youth was the brother of Roger ‘you can’t touch me, I know all the loopholes’ Gordon. The second time she wouldn’t drop it, and he told her briefly about the car crash and how he had tried to keep an eye on him.

“That makes sense,” she said, “erotic transference.”

“Exotic what now?”

Harvey liked Simmons well enough but sometimes he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

“I bet he’s got a picture of you taped to the inside of his locker, and two shoved under his mattress,” she explained bluntly, adding in response to his protests, “He’s got a crush on you. I thought you wanted to be a detective?”

He had been thinking about it more often lately, but it would mean plenty of studying and testing ahead, and he didn’t know if he was ready for it. Certainly wasn’t ready for yet more scrutiny of the time he was spending with Jim and, now the idea was in his head, Harvey found he couldn’t stop considering it.

Second guessed the pleased look on Jim’s face when they ran into each other, and how close he sat when they met up for him to hand over a bunch of new tapes he had for him.

“You made this one for me?” Jim asked of the mix-tape among them, breathless with emotion or something else entirely, after he had given him a quick run down of which albums he had taped. Harvey shrugged, and wondered if Jim’s cheeks were flushed because it meant a lot to him, or simply because it was a hot summer day.

He could feel his own skin burning, the curse of his Irish ancestry, and he was glad when Jim acquiesced easily to his suggestion that they go find some shade and buy ice pops. Jim pulled his shirt off as they walked, the tank top underneath providing visible proof of the good all that sport seemed to be doing him.

Harvey tried not to look, refused to believe Simmons hadn’t been yanking his chain, and then Jim was slurping at his popsicle and Harvey wished the day wasn’t so damn warm it was making him feel light headed.

“You should be more careful in the sun,” Jim said when he was done, and touched cool fingertips to the overheated skin of his cheek so that he shivered. “You’re burning up.”

“A doctor now as well as a smartass, huh?”

Jim just gave him a smug little smile. “Something like that.”

He was still thinking of that smile when he got home. Thought about it as he ate and as he showered. Thought about it as he crawled into bed and debated whether or not it was a sign Simmons had been right, and whether Jim really did have a misplaced crush on him.

Fell into restless sleep and woke panting, heart racing and dick aching. His dream was still half real, still all consuming, and he could remember every detail of the way Jim had been looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes, cheeks rosy and brow damp with sweat, lips stretched wide around his shaft instead of the damned ice pop.

Could remember the desperate sounds he had made when Harvey plundered his mouth, and the way his fingers had curled tight in his shirt, limbs quaking as Harvey pushed a hand into his pants and breathed into his ear that he wanted to see him come for him.

He felt too hot and yet too cold. Felt agonizingly close to release and physically sick to his stomach.

Simmons had been wrong. _He_ had been wrong. Jim wasn’t crushing on him, and Jim wasn’t the one who kept seeking out his company. It was him - it had always been him.

He cleaned his teeth until his gums bled. Scrubbed his skin until it was raw and the patches of sunburn were sore and tender. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough, and his fingers trembled as he pulled on his patrol uniform.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Simmons asked at the morning briefing, no sense of decorum, and Harvey just shook his head.

“I had a weird dream. I don’t feel so good.”

Simmons talked of nothing but dreams all day. About how they rarely meant what people thought they did, and how they weren’t supposed to be interpreted literally. Harvey wished he could believe her. Wanted so badly to believe her because there were only so many ways you could interpret getting a hard on at the thought of taking a schoolboy’s virginity.

Because he couldn’t help himself. Worried at the idea like a loose tooth, thinking about it over and over and coming to the horrifying conclusion that it wasn’t just some crazy dream he was going to be able to forget all about. He liked Jim, he really liked him, and it was all kinds of fucked up because the poor kid had enough problems without one of the few stable points in his life being a dirty old man who drank too much and stroked himself off thinking about how soft his skin would feel under his fingertips.

The answer was to avoid Jim. To pretend he hadn’t seen him out on patrol, and to sit in ridiculous silence so he wouldn’t have to open the door to him. The other part of the plan was less uncomfortable, simply involved screwing anybody who’d let him, proof to everyone that he could.

That he wasn’t fixated on jailbait.

He picked up women in bars and guys in clubs, and when the new transfer batted her eyelashes at him, they ended up back at his place, her fingernails clawing chunks out of his back as she told him exactly how and when to move, and ordered him to call her M’am and not to come until she decided he could.

Ginny was about as different to Jim as it was possible to get, and Harvey liked that about her. Liked it so much they had been dating three weeks by the time a Saturday morning and his 30th birthday rolled around, and her gift to him was to pull at fistfuls of his hair and tell him to keep his head where it was until she was satisfied, the knocking at the door be damned.

He staggered to his feet when she was done, light headed and desperately turned on, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth even as he went to see who it was and why they couldn’t take a hint. Except when he pulled the door open he wished he hadn’t, Jim’s observant gaze raking over him and taking in the sight of Ginny wandering about in nothing but her underwear in the background.

“I’m sorry - I didn’t think -” Jim stuttered, flushing to the tips of his ears, and it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right and wasn’t decent because, if anything, the sight only made his dick harder, and his heart clench along with it. “I just wanted to give you this,” Jim finished and held out a card and a gift wrapped cassette tape.

“You really shouldn’t have,” Harvey managed, voice thick with emotion, and Jim only stood his ground and said,

“You’re my friend and it’s your birthday.”

Jim left him to it after that, and Harvey watched him walk away, hitching his backpack further up his shoulder, the ruined hems of his jeans scuffing along the floor of the corridor. Ginny didn’t give him any time to dwell on it, at least, and had plenty of ideas to keep his attention occupied. It wasn’t until she had gone home for the evening that he finally read the card and stuck the cassette in the player.

That he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and prayed to God for the strength to do the right thing.

He needed all the help he could get.

* * *

He listened to the tape more often than was healthy - until his damn tape player chewed it up and even then he wound the reel back around as best as he could and put it in his dresser drawer along with his bravery medal and the thank you card. Tried not to think about the words written in Jim’s neat script, the heartfelt message about how much his friendship meant to him, and how the songs on the cassette all made Jim think of him.

Now they all made him think of Jim in turn, and he called things off with Ginny because he was in such a mess even the promise of mind blowing sex wasn’t enough to make up for the fact it wasn’t her face he saw when he closed his eyes.

He begged off his next community engagement meeting, claiming a stomach bug, and Simmons reported back that Jim had been there asking where he was, and how he was doing.

“You need to be careful there,” she warned, “people could get the wrong impression.”

Harvey only nodded glumly, all his usual wisecracks and banter deserting him.

The showdown came later than he had expected, knowing Jim’s stubbornness and the frequency with which their paths crossed. It was no less painful for all that, and his heart twisted up in his chest when Jim asked, _begged_ ,

“What have I done wrong?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

That was true. It wasn’t Jim’s fault he was a sicko. None of it was Jim’s fault, but he was the one who was going to suffer. The one who was struggling to keep it together because everyone who meant something to him had turned their back on him. Roger was rarely home, too busy with climbing the greasy ladder of criminality, and his Mother had attempted suicide again, Harvey reneging on all his silent pledges so he could sit with Jim at the hospital, and help him try to get the blood out of the carpet.

Now he was walking away too, and Jim couldn’t hide the tears streaking his cheeks as he demanded again to know why.

This was why Anderson had said not to get invested.

Not to make promises.

Harvey sucked in a fortifying breath. Reminded himself that it was for Jim’s own good.

“I don’t need a reason, Jim. I just don’t want you around any more, you understand that? I don’t need some stupid kid getting under my feet all the time.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m just some dumb kid who gets in your way?”

“How else am I supposed to think of you?” Harvey shot back and Jim shook his head, the tears drying up and his jaw clenching tight.

“I don’t think I’m the problem,” Jim said finally, voice calm and cold.

Harvey didn’t argue.

He went out instead and got wasted. Drank until he couldn’t stand, until he couldn’t see straight, and Simmons wrinkled her nose when they were assigned to a squad car the next day, holding out her hand for the keys and saying,

“Don’t think for one moment I’m letting you drive in that state.”

His head pounded all day, his stomach churning, and he sipped tentatively at a glass of water at lunch, Simmons digging into her lasagne and starting up with her usual psycho-babble.

“I didn’t think you and Ginny were serious?”

“We weren’t,” Harvey said warily and Simmons went on casually,

“Why are you acting like somebody broke your heart in two then?”

“You’re crediting me with actually having a heart, that’s your first mistake.”

“Don’t bother pulling that macho cop bullshit with me,” Simmons admonished, “you’ve been moping about for weeks.”

“Can’t a man be depressed?” Harvey asked, making no attempt to bite back the whining, and Simmons rolled her eyes.

“Fine, forget I mentioned it.”

That suited him just fine. He had fucked up, made a mistake, but it was over now. All he needed to do was move on and forget about it. Learn from the mess he had created and ensure that in future he maintained a proper level of professional distance.

It was harder than it sounded.

He missed Jim, that was the reality. He missed his dry humor and his conversation. He missed the way Jim smiled at him, his whole face lighting up, and he missed the way Jim made him feel, like he had somebody worth trying to be one of the good guys for.

Like he had somebody who appreciated his efforts, and who wanted to be impressed by him.

He missed it so much he got his hopes up when Williams called him over to the front desk when he got off shift a few weeks later, telling him somebody was asking for him. He stood up straighter without thinking about it, the tiredness draining away, and then Williams elaborated,

“Yeah, Roger Gordon. He’s in interview room three.”

Roger had been arrested again and, by all accounts, had fallen out with his usual crowd. Had been making enemies at a rate of knots, and Harvey didn’t waste time. Simply dropped into the seat on the other side of the desk and asked what he wanted.

“I know about you and my brother.”

“Know what?” Harvey scoffed even as ice settled in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know what he’s been saying, but I can tell you now you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

“He didn’t need to say anything. He’s 16. You’re a police officer. You don’t have to be a genius to see the problem.”

Harvey swallowed thickly, saw now that he had walked straight into it. Roger kept talking,

“I always thought it was kind of weird, you know, a grown man inviting a vulnerable kid around to his apartment. Buying him gifts, complimenting his appearance. Grooming, I think that’s what they call it?”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, his palms slick with sweat and his pulse racing.

“You just think you can trust the police. I mean, who would suspect it? Imagine the scandal it would cause. An upstanding officer of the GCPD whose idea of helping a messed up kid is to convince them they should put his dick in their mouth.”

“What do you want?” He managed, the words little more than a whisper, and Roger grinned smugly.

“I want off this charge. It’s bad for business, you know what I’m saying?”

He did it too. Leaned heavily against the wall out in the corridor and struggled to get his heart rate under control. Groped for some sense of composure, and blagged his way into the evidence lock-up. Tampered and misplaced, then went out and threatened a witness.

Collapsed into the nearest seat when he heard that Roger was being released without charge, and took a sick day because he couldn’t quit shaking.

Couldn’t believe he had ever been so stupid, and when he woke from a fractured nap it was to find a note pushed under his door with the simple message,

‘Thanks for today. Looking forward to working with you long term.’

* * *

Roger made the most of it, eked out every scrap of leverage, until Harvey felt constantly on edge. Was jumpy and nervous, and Simmons went to the watch commander to complain about his performance.

“Anything going on I should know about, Bullock?” The man asked, and Harvey shook his head and hoped his explanations of needing more sleep sounded convincing. Protested but didn’t have a leg to stand on when he found himself stuck on desk duties until he did just that, and Simmons gave him an apologetic look before heading out and said,

“It’s for your own good.”

Harvey decided he hated that phrase. Absolutely despised it, because it was what Roger had signed off his latest request with, and it was what he repeated over and over in his head when he saw Jim in the City Park, sitting in the same spot Jim had once taken him to, the place where his dad had used to take him and his brother to feed the ducks when they were little kids.

“How have you been?” He asked in spite of all the reasons why he shouldn’t, and Jim stood up to reveal that there was no longer much of a height difference between them. “How’s your Mom?”

“What do you care?” Jim asked, voice rough, then raked a hand through his hair and said, “She’s gone to stay with my aunt in Chicago for a few weeks. She forgot my birthday.”

He flushed up at that last part, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and Harvey knew in that moment that absence had done nothing but make the heart grow fonder. Jim had only grown more attractive, and he had only fallen harder.

Had lost all the sense he was born with because he took Jim for a burger and a milkshake to try and make up for it - to apologize for the card he had bought but never sent. Jim filled him in on what he had been doing at school. The books he had read and the films he had seen. The music he had listened to, and confessed that he had been to knock on his door more than once, in case he had changed his mind about how much of a stupid kid he was.

“I’m 17 now,” Jim told him before Harvey could try to explain. “I could join the army if I wanted. Get married. Become a father.”

“Not without your Mom’s permission,” Harvey pointed out, finishing off his fries. Tilted his head for a moment, considering, “Especially that last one.”

Jim glared at him, made him laugh so hard he drew disapproving glances from the people at surrounding tables, but Harvey couldn’t hide how much he was enjoying himself. Let Jim talk him into following up the food with a terrible horror movie because,

“The MPAA screwed me over. I wait 17 years to get to watch as much gore as I like, and they decide I still need to be accompanied by a responsible adult to get in for this masterpiece.”

“Masterpiece?” Harvey asked dubiously, eyeing up the poster, and Jim gave him the smile he had missed more than anything,

“I think the real take away from that sentence is that somehow you’re considered a responsible adult.”

Harvey laughed even as he shook his head. Leaned in close and talked all through the bad dialog and the bad cinematography, and walked Jim home afterwards, ignoring his protests that he was a big boy now. It was all so easy, so comfortable, and it wasn’t until he was stood on Jim’s doorstep, watching him search his pockets for his key, that it hit him full force just why he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

“So, did you have a good belated birthday?” He asked, to fill the sudden silence, and Jim turned to look at him. Gazed up at him, and Harvey swore it was like something out of one of the soppy romance films they had both vetoed.

“There’s only one thing that could make it any better.”

“Yeah?” His own voice was breathy, his focus pared down to nothing but Jim, and he really might have done something unspeakably stupid. Might have convinced himself that Jim really was interested, but the sound of footsteps approaching broke the spell, and a cold shudder went down his spine at the sound of a too familiar voice,

“Officer Bullock? What could possibly bring you here?”

* * *

He was heading for meltdown.

He was back on patrol, at least, but he knew deep down that he was in no fit state for it. He was drinking too much, surviving on little more than coffee and pep pills, and seeing Jim, apologizing to Jim, had supplied none of the closure he had thought it might do.

It had only made things worse, made him face up to uncomfortable truths like maybe it wasn’t even just sex that he wanted from Jim. He wanted everything from Jim. He wanted Jim to want him.

Wanted Jim to _love_ him, because he had never felt like this about anyone. Had never lay in bed and wondered what they were doing, what they were thinking. Had never been consumed by possessive jealousy, his mind straying to their conversation in the burger joint, in an attempt to decode whether or not Jim had already started practising when it came to the baby making.

It was none of his business, either way. Was something he obsessed over, all the same, because he had been nowhere near a virgin at 17. The idea alone would have been laughable. But Jim was nothing like the kid he had been. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke. Didn’t skip classes and not only did his homework, but actually handed it in on time.

Jim could be, that was what he was getting at, and the idea that Jim might let somebody else touch him - some dumbass kid who didn’t know what they were doing, who didn’t appreciate the gift they were been given - made him want to punch something.

Got him worked up and frustrated and he went back to picking up dodgy hook-ups in dodgy bars, all too aware that for the first time in his life he had a type he was actively looking for. That he was only interested in dark blond hair and blue eyes. That he was skewing hard towards young guys who fit the bill, and Simmons came to all kinds of conclusions he didn’t want to know about when one of them ended up being interviewed as a witness to a robbery. The guy - Ryan, Bryan, he couldn’t remember - approached him afterwards to ask if he was interested in meeting up again, and Simmons gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing.

He gave him his number anyway, and he and Ryan struck up a mutually agreeable arrangement whereby he fucked Ryan senseless on a regular basis, and Ryan disappeared before he hauled himself out of bed in the morning.

It wasn’t a bad life, not really, and Roger began backing off too, less to be gained maybe now that Jim was getting older. Or perhaps he had simply found some other poor chump to blackmail. Harvey didn’t know and told himself that he didn’t care.

He didn’t care that the radio silence could mean gearing up for something big, and he didn’t care that Jim wasn’t at his evening community engagement meeting, though he had changed into a fresh uniform and combed his hair, pathetically desperate to make a good impression on a guy he had seen wretched and snot covered on more than one occasion.

All through the meeting he kept glancing at the door, hoping Jim might walk through it, and when it ended he debated calling off his scheduled meet with Ryan so he could go home and mope about in privacy. The thought of some decent stress relief won out, and he was more insistent than he usually was. Didn’t want to talk and wasn’t interested in getting dinner.

Instead he kissed and touched him all the way to his apartment, and pressed his back against every wall they passed, grinding their dicks together, Ryan panting and his hands everywhere. They were finally on the right floor, and Harvey really hoped none of his neighbors were planning on wandering about. He didn’t need a note on his file about displays of public indecency.

Because he had Ryan hitched up against the wall, shirt undone so he could get his hands on him, Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist, rocking in a rhythm that even old Mrs Schmidt who lived at the end of the hall wouldn’t be able to mistake.

“Harvey,” Ryan whined when he moved from his mouth to his throat, sucking and nipping, and he was so into it, so lost, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when another voice entirely sounded up with,

“That you, Bullock?”

He pulled away from Ryan like he had been burned, then hated himself for it. This was legal, this was fine. If he liked it that Ryan was dressing younger, that it highlighted his painfully blatant resemblance to the owner of that voice’s little brother, it meant absolutely nothing.

Less than nothing.

Except before he could even begin to convey any of that Roger was on his feet and in his personal space. Was spaced out on something, sweat pouring down his face, and his voice wasn’t steady when he said,

“Thank fuck you’re here. You've got to help me.”

“I’m kind of busy,” Harvey said, waving a hand in Ryan’s general direction. He wasn’t going back to this. Wasn’t losing any more evidence or forgetting to interview any more witnesses.

Roger shook his head, seemed just a little hysterical.

“It’s Jim.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ryan said, incredulous, because he was still half undressed and aching, and it was beyond obvious that Harvey wasn’t going to be sparing him another thought all evening. “You do this and that’s it. It’s over.”

“He needs me,” Harvey countered, fear for Jim overriding any guilt or sorrow he might have otherwise felt about the ultimatum.

Ryan stared him down for one moment, two, and then he was turning and walking away, and Harvey had a grip on Roger’s shirt front, demanding to know where Jim was and what had happened.

“I didn’t think they really would,” Roger said and all the confidence was gone now, nothing but a scared kid underneath it all. “I thought it was just an idle threat. He’s 17, Bullock. He’s 17 and they’re going to kill him and it’s all my fault!”

“You’re fucking right it’s your fault!” Harvey agreed when he got more detail out of him. When Roger confessed how much money he owed and to who, and how if he didn’t cough up the goods, didn’t bring it to them within the hour, they were going to blow Jim’s brains out.

Harvey paced, frantic, because he ought to call it in but they had expressly said no cops. Might kill Jim anyway at one wrong move, and finally he made his mind up. Rooted through his drawer of miscellaneous weaponry and handed Roger a set of brass knuckles and a police issue Smith & Wesson.

“Don’t get trigger happy,” he warned even as he loaded his own firearms, “we only shoot if we have to.”

Roger nodded, pale and solemn, and Harvey sent up a silent prayer that, no matter what happened to him, Jim got out of this all right.

The house wasn’t hard to find which filled him with equal parts hope and dread. They weren’t professionals, might make mistakes - but, by the same reasoning, might freak out and shoot first, think later. He did his best to scout the place, pulse pounding in his ears, but the curtains were pulled closed and he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the television.

Time was ticking and he decided to simply go for it. Hoped that the element of surprise might give them some advantage, and shouldered through the door, sweat and fear and adrenaline flooding over him.

“I thought I told you no fucking cops,” a controlled voice said and Harvey swallowed as the cool metal of a gun barrel was pressed to his temple.

“Drop the gun,” another voice said, and he only hesitated for a moment before complying.

He wouldn’t be any help to Jim with a bullet in his head.

They were lead through to a back room, he and Roger, and his heart flipped right over when Jim looked up at him from where they had him knelt on the floor, blood from a busted lip smeared across his face and a bruise forming on his cheekbone.

“I take it you’re not here to give me my money,” the guy with a gun trained on Roger said, and up close he looked every bit the oily drug dealer. Roger shook his head, the movement clumsy and frightened, and the man sighed, tone tinged with disappointment, “You had real promise, Gordon. Real potential. You just couldn’t keep your nose out of the merchandise, could you?”

The other guy laughed, and Harvey couldn’t believe this was how he was going to go out, blown away by some third rate drug runner. Except the guy was still talking, still posturing, and suddenly there was a scuffle of movement, a blur of confusion, and Jim had a gun gripped in shaking hands, the guy who wasn’t still pressing a gun to Harvey’s own temple clutching at his forearm and yelling,

“He bit me. The crazy son of a bitch bit me!”

Jim really had, hard enough to draw blood, and now he was fumbling with the safety catch and threatening to shoot if they didn’t let all three of them go, right now.

This was bad, this was really bad, because kids who volunteered for extra credit weren’t the kind who knew their way around a handgun. He was near certain that this was the first time Jim had even held one, and his grip was so unsteady he had about as much chance of shooting himself in the foot as he did of hitting either of his captors.

“I’ll do it,” Jim threatened, swiping the sweat from his eyes with the sleeve of his upper arm. “I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

“Just put the gun down,” the guy with the bite said, recognizing the determination in Jim’s tone for what it was. “Put it down and we’ll come to some arrangement.”

It might have worked. Would have, Harvey thought later, if a third guy hadn’t chosen that moment to put in an appearance and Jim hadn’t fired wildly, dumb luck sending the bullet into the newcomer’s stomach. Jim’s face blanched, terrified, and the other two didn’t look much better, staring in shock at the blood welling through the guy’s white shirt before one of them hissed,

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Harvey took charge in their absence. Tugged the gun from Jim’s unresisting fingers and ordered Roger to go find a phone and call it in, anonymously. Cradled Jim’s trembling form to his chest, and repeated the same soothing nonsense he had spouted the night he had pulled him free of what was left of his father’s car. Told him that it was okay, that he had him. That he was safe now and, when Jim regained his composure enough to pull away and thank him, he managed a real smile and said, voice thick,

“What are you thanking me for? You saved my life this time.”

* * *

IA had their suspicions but they couldn’t prove anything. The two guys who had fled had gone to ground, and the dead man was not only one of Falcone’s close associates but a total scumbag with a record for everything from drugs to kiddy fiddling into the bargain.

Nobody was going to be shedding tears.

Roger had flown to Chicago to stay with his aunt and his mother, and when IA asked where he had found the money Harvey only shrugged and played stupid. Insisted that he had run into Roger in the street and a seemingly innocuous comment had made him suspicious. Repeated over and over that he had gone to the address alone and that, while Jim attempted to stage a distraction, he had been forced to discharge his firearm.

“They’ll probably give you another medal for this,” Danziger said eventually, distaste dripping from every syllable, “Harvey Bullock, the Righteous Crusader.”

“Protect and Serve,” Harvey said, deliberately neutral, and the other man sneered.

“You’ll trip up one day, Bullock, and when you do, I’ll be waiting for you.”

After the last few months, Harvey didn’t feel it was a threat he was going to be losing any sleep over.

Instead he took Jim to dinner to celebrate being cleared by Internal Affairs and Jim asked him for the thousandth time why they couldn’t have just told the truth. Jim was beautiful like that, trusting and a little naive, and Harvey pointed out the benefits. Highlighted how this way Roger had a chance to go back to school and make something of his life, and didn’t let on that he knew exactly the methods Roger had employed to avoid earning himself a real criminal record.

“And you have more important things to be worrying about than court cases and criminals. You’ve got exams to be focusing on. Prom dates to be finding.”

Jim ducked his head, went quiet. “I killed a man, Harvey. I should be made to pay for it.”

Harvey had to fight back the urge to reach for his hand. Settled for simply leaning forward a little.

“It was self-defence, Jim - that’s what IA said to me. He was a bad man, an awful man. Why should you be made to go over it five hundred times when I can do it for you?”

That was the real benefit of this arrangement: that Jim could move on. Jim was going to graduate with flying colors, would have his pick of colleges, and there was no way Harvey was going to allow his brother, his mother, even himself to fuck that up for him. It was why Jim hadn’t gone to Chicago to be with his family, why he was sleeping on a friend’s sofa now that the house had been foreclosed. He just needed to stick with it until the end of the school year and that would be it.

He’d be 18 and free to do whatever he wanted.

He’d have his whole future ahead of him.

“Do you need anything?” Harvey asked when they were done eating, trying not to push but needing Jim to know he could ask. Being a teenager never got any cheaper. “You all set for prom? You need new shoes or something?”

“I’m not going,” Jim said, like it ought to be obvious, and Harvey lead the way to the car and shook his head.

“You’ve gotta go to prom, Jimbo. You’ll regret it all your life. At least that’s what they tell me.”

He hadn’t seen much of his own - too busy with one of the chaperones in a darkened little corner - but that was besides the point. He wanted Jim to have some normality in his life. Wanted him to be able to look back on his school days and see something other than being scared or sad or hungry.

“Don’t you have a date yet, is that it?” He asked genuinely curious because Jim was a good looking guy, even if he looked at the thing objectively, and he couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be plenty of girls willing to go with him. “There’s still plenty of time.”

“There’s nobody I want to go with.”

“Nobody at all?” Harvey pushed, incredulous, and they were in the car now, Jim avoiding his gaze by staring out of the passenger side window. “You know I was a teenage boy myself once, right? I don’t remember having particularly high standards.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, still facing away, voice muffled but tone bitter. “So you've told me.”

The atmosphere changed at that, the light hearted teasing giving way to awkward tension, and Harvey gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Cursed himself for being such a fool. For being so obvious, so blatant, and for not seeing how it would make anyone uncomfortable, being forced to talk about your love life - or lack thereof - with some creeper almost old enough to be your father.

“If you change your mind, if you think of something - anything - you need, just call me, okay?” Harvey said when they reached the friend’s house and Jim hesitated. Fidgeted with the seatbelt and Harvey thought suddenly of the first real date he had ever gone on, and his awkward flustering as he tried to work up the courage to ask if she was interested in taking things further.

This was nothing like that at all, he told himself sternly, and he didn’t know why it had even come to mind. It had though, and by the time Jim met his eye he would have promised him anything, pledged him his very soul if he had asked for it, if only it meant wiping that miserable uncertainty from his face.

“Can I start coming to your place again? I know you don’t want me there all the time, and I won’t be, it’s just that Kieran’s Mom is getting sick of me and -”

He didn't even have to think about it. Blurted,

“Go and get your stuff.”

Jim tried to backtrack, startled, “I didn’t mean you had to take me in, I just wanted to see you sometimes, honest. I -”

This was a dumb idea, no doubt one of his dumbest, but it was too late now. He was jumping in with both feet.

“You don’t have to but if you want to stay with me, well,” he shrugged, the smile curling across his face without his permission, “I’d really like to have you there.”

Jim just stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity, and then he was grinning back, as genuinely happy as Harvey had ever seen him.

“Give me five minutes, I’ll be right back.”

* * *

Living with Jim was going to kill his inappropriate attraction to him, that was what Harvey told himself that first night. Jim was probably going to be annoying and childish, and he was going to have to play the bad guy, nagging at him to get up for school on time and to clean up after himself.

That wasn’t how it was going to pan out at all, that was the realization he quickly came to. Jim had spent years taking care of himself, and was up and dressed and making breakfast before Harvey had even succeeded in silencing his alarm clock. Had cleared off the table he never used and dished up the food onto plates, instead of eating toast over the sink and swigging it down with tap water from the least objectionable looking mug.

“Do you want me to cook anything in particular for dinner?”

Harvey scrubbed at his face, he didn’t normally start thinking about dinner until he was trudging up the stairs to his apartment and realizing he had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Again.

“Uhh,” he managed then reached for the coffee, Jim having taken note at some point of how he preferred to take it. “I’m not at my best at this time in the morning.”

“I’m sensing that,” Jim grinned and Harvey tried again. Tried to get his act together and said,

“I don’t expect you to cook me dinner. I’m not expecting you to do anything for me.”

“I want to,” Jim insisted. “I’m going to be cooking for myself anyway.”

“You sure your friend’s Mom wanted you to move out?” Harvey quizzed but let it go. Refused to give Simmons an answer when she asked what had put a smile on his face, and for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long he looked forward to the end of his shift for a reason other than the ability to down a stiff drink and pass out on the sofa.

Felt a sense of home like he hadn’t experienced since his mother had died when he stuck his key in the door, and opened it to have Jim look up and smile at him, dropping whatever it was he was doing - homework by the looks of it - to come and ask how his day had been.

Jim really had cooked, and tidied the place up a bit. Had put all his stuff away in the drawers Harvey had cleared for him, and they were eating in companionable silence when Jim couldn’t wait any longer to point out that he hadn’t made a thorough job of it.

“This was in the back of the top drawer,” he said, and Harvey knew his cheeks were coloring, there was just nothing he could do about it. “You really kept it all this time?”

He did his best to play it cool. To act casual.

“You don’t get many people who want to thank you in my line of work.”

Jim gave him that smile, all soft eyed, and he had to add,

“It meant a lot to me. It still does.”

“It kept me going, those first months in physical therapy. They said I could go and say thank you once I could walk the length of the ward corridor. You have no idea how many times I cried over the length of that stupid corridor.”

It was the first time Jim had talked about it, about the weeks and months immediately after the crash, and Harvey asked,

“Does it still hurt? Your leg, I mean.”

“Sometimes, a bit,” Jim admitted, reaching to rub at his shin like he was unaware of the action. “Only when it’s really cold or I overdo it at football practice, that kind of thing.”

“So you can dance just fine then?”

Jim frowned, bemused, and Harvey elaborated,

“That’s not the reason you’re bailing on prom.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Jim said, guarded again, and Harvey went back to eating. Praised the food and talked of other things, even if part of his mind remained stuck on the same topic.

He’d work it out, eventually.

* * *

The next few weeks were some of the best of his life. Living with Jim was so easy, so comfortable, and even if he had to lock himself in the bathroom every evening so he could frantically jerk off in the shower, turned on beyond reason at the thought of Jim’s smile and the definition of his biceps, it was worth every moment of discomfort.

Was worth Simmons’ disapproval when she found out, but Jim was almost 18 now, and there wasn’t much she could do about it. Wasn’t much she wanted to do about it, it turned out, because she watched them talking one evening, Jim on his way to see friends and the pair of them out on their regular beat.

“I still think you’re playing with fire but at least now I understand why,” she said once Jim was gone, and Harvey raised an eyebrow. Had a filthy comment on the tip of his tongue about her own roving eye, but she was too busy dropping bombshells, “You love him, and I’m a romantic. Just keep it to yourself and what I don’t know I can’t talk about when IA comes asking, that sound fair?”

“I don’t know how many times I need to say this, but nothing is happening. He’s probably gone to see some girl right now.”

The idea hurt. The truth always did.

“That’s exactly what I mean. Plausible deniability.”

Harvey opened his mouth to protest further but there was a scream, and they were both running, nothing but the job, and possibly the overtime, occupying either of their minds for the next few hours.

Jim had been home some time when he got in, and he had to take a moment to get a grip at the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. This wasn’t Jim’s home. This was somewhere he was staying until he moved on to the next stage of his life.

He had the blankets spread out over the sofa, ready for bed, and Harvey realized too late that he was staring at his bare arms. That his breathing was coming short at nothing more than the sight of Jim in his pajamas.

“Did you have a good time?” He asked, grasping for something neutral and normal to talk about.

“Yeah,” Jim said, fussing with positioning the cushions where he wanted them. “I was thinking about what you said. About prom. Maybe there is someone I would like to go with.”

“You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?” Harvey asked. It was two days away already. Jim clambered under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin so he looked about as young as he had been the first time Harvey met him.

“It’s still worth asking, don’t you think?”

Harvey forced a smile on to his face.

“Of course it is.”

He worked late again the next day, everyone on high alert after a random shooting in the shopping precinct, and Jim was in bed and out for the count by the time he was finally done for the evening. Harvey watched him sleep for a few minutes, totally overcome with just how much he could feel for another person. By how desperately he wanted Jim to be happy, even if it meant he was left to pine, painful and pathetic, for the rest of his life.

As the seconds ticked by the pain only grew more acute. The need to touch Jim, to be close to him. He let himself stroke the stray strands of hair back from his forehead. Hesitated and then pressed a careful kiss to his temple.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, stupidly, appalled by the almost crack in his voice.

He needed to pull himself together.

Went to bed and twisted and turned until he gave in to the urge to touch himself, closing his eyes and imagining it was Jim’s hand on him. Jim’s fingers, careful and tentative, unsure, so that Harvey would have to kiss him and pull him closer. Would tell him how perfect he was and how much he loved what he was doing, until the nerves gave way to confidence, and his grip would tighten.

Would grow exploratory, and he couldn’t bite back a breathy whimper when he trailed his own fingertips against the flesh of his inner thighs.

He wanted Jim so badly, loved him so desperately. He would push Jim back against the pillows. Would cover him in kisses, in touches, and show him what his body was capable of. He’d work him until Jim was in tears, until he couldn’t hold back, and he’d have Jim come in his mouth only to keep going until he was hard again. Until he was shaking and sobbing, and he’d press a finger into him. Would touch him _just so_ , and Jim would arch up off the bed, crying his name as he came just as hard a second time.

Harvey had to bite at his hand, had to try and stifle the sounds he was making. He had never been so worked up from his own touch, from nothing but his own imagination, and his every muscle clenched when he finally came, spilling hot and wet over his fingers.

He shuddered, sucking in breath after breath as he unwound from it, and hoped against hope that Jim hadn’t heard any of it.

Jim was nowhere to be seen when he got up in the morning, and fear settled heavily in his chest until he spotted a new note stuck to the fridge,

‘Got a few things I need to do. I’ll see you later. :)’

He didn’t bother with breakfast and didn’t bother with sitting at the table. There didn’t seem any point without Jim there to share it with. The thought loomed over him that Jim would be leaving in a couple of weeks. A couple of days, maybe, depending on what he decided to do, and the prospect seemed so bleak and crushing that even Simmons was content to leave him to fester in his bad mood.

It was prom night for Gotham High, and one of the guys who worked traffic was waxing lyrical about the prettiness of his daughter’s dress, and less lyrical about its price tag. Harvey fixated on thoughts of Jim, and who it was he had decided was worth the risk of rejection.

He was miserable by the time the day was done. Maudlin and angry, not sure if he wanted to drink himself to sleep or go and pick a fight and get himself knocked out. That was a lie he conceded as he climbed the staircase of his apartment building.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

Jim wasn’t an option though, and when he shut the door behind him it was to find that Jim was still out. Had returned and left again, maybe, because there was an envelope on the coffee table he didn’t remember seeing that morning. He tore it open and opened the card inside, recognizing Jim’s neat handwriting.

‘I wanted to say thank you. For saving my life, for being there for me, for telling me that things would get better. For doing what I couldn’t and giving me the space to make my own mind up. And I have. I’m old enough to choose what I want - who I want - and if you haven’t worked out what that is yet I’m going to make detective before you. (That’s not insolence. That’s fact.)’

Harvey read it through three times before he could make sense of it. Before he could believe it.

Before he could move on to the postscript.

‘PS. I saw the tape I made you got chewed up. I made you a new one.’

He saw it laying next to the hi-fi and shoved it in the tape deck even as he ran his eye over the carefully transcribed and annotated track listing. Grinned helplessly at the repeated mentions of prom, from _It's Raining On Prom Night (it probably will, this is Gotham)_ to _If You Leave - OMD (don't try to pretend you don't know why, I bet you saw yourself as Molly Ringwald)_. 

He heard Jim's footsteps behind him, and turned to see him chewing at his lip, nervous but determined. 

“I told you there was someone I'd want to go to prom with. And this way I didn't need to buy new shoes or anything.”

“You're always using your head, Jim, that's what I love about you.”

“Do you? Love me?”

Jim sounded so hopeful, looked so cautious, and Harvey couldn't bear it. Didn't care that ten minutes ago he had sworn he would never burden Jim with any of his feelings for him. Jim wanted him. Jim had done all of this for him.

“More than anything,” he said, honestly, and Jim smiled at him, relieved and happy.

“I love you too,” Jim said, bashful but sincere. “In case the last four years I've spent stalking you weren't enough of a giveaway.”

“You'd be surprised,” Harvey managed, and Jim took a step forward, and then another. Pressed close enough that Harvey could feel his body heat. Smell his aftershave.

“Are you going to kiss me?” 

Harvey nodded, seriously,

“I think it's the done thing in these situations.”

“You sure?” Jim asked, the playful smile on his face doing all kinds of things to him, and in answer Harvey leaned in and brushed their lips together. Touched Jim's face, tenderly, and kissed him slowly and carefully. Kept at it until Jim was the one to push closer - the one to deepen the kiss - and the heat, the slick slide of Jim's tongue against his own, was so perfect that he had to pull away before he lost himself in it completely. 

“Did it live up to expectations?” He asked, nose bumping against Jim's, and Jim just wrapped his arms around his neck and said, every bit the future police officer,

“I don't know. I think I'll need to gather more evidence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a sequel to this one [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/23502843).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	49. High School AU - Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little (smutty) sequel to the last chapter.

Harvey had never been known for his subtlety. Had never wasted any time getting from first base to naked and horizontal, but he had never been with somebody he cared so much about before - never been in love before - and it was enough to make him question everything he thought he knew about himself.

Because Jim deserved to be treated right, deserved to be made to feel special, and Harvey pledged to do both to the best of his ability.

“You should probably know that I haven’t,” Jim confessed stiltedly that very first night, when Harvey asked if he wanted to sleep in his bed instead of on the sofa. Flushed all down the back of his neck and said, “I don’t want you to be disappointed or anything.”

It clawed at his heart, knocked the breath from his lungs, and he had to pull Jim into his embrace. Had to press soft kisses to his face and say,

“We’re just going to sleep tonight, that’s all. You can’t rush these things.”

Jim looked dubious but, ultimately, let it slide because he didn’t know any better. Cuddled into him beneath the blankets and Harvey might have been so hard it hurt, might have been leaving a damp spot on his underwear, but all he did was hold him. Breathed in the scent of him, scarcely able to believe that Jim was actually in his arms, and swore that he would take his time.

That he’d take it slow, make it perfect, because, if he succeeded, maybe Jim would never need to go looking elsewhere.

Over the next few days all they did was kiss. Kissed and kissed until Jim’s pretty face was scratched up with stubble burn and Harvey had grown addicted to the taste of him. Dreamed about it at work and couldn’t get enough of it at home, only pulling away long enough to tell Jim how much of the day he’d wasted thinking about getting to kiss him again.

Jim was kind of shy at first, tentative, but by the end of the week he had his hands in Harvey’s hair, breathing ragged as his tongue pushed into his mouth with wanton enthusiasm. Made helpless little noises that went straight to Harvey’s dick, and he stroked his hands down Jim’s back. Slid them up and under his shirt, touching bare skin, and when he rubbed his thumb over one of his peaked nipples Jim gasped, fingers clutching at him as he tensed and shuddered.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, voice not quite steady, “oh, God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

It hit him in a rush that Jim had just come in his pants, had come completely untouched, and that kind of thing was supposed to be funny. Was supposed to be some sort of turn off, and all Harvey could do was pant for breath, so incredibly turned on he was afraid to move lest he follow Jim’s example.

“Don’t be sorry,” he managed, kissing Jim all over again, the slick heat of his mouth way too enticing, “don’t ever be sorry. That was so hot. You’re so fucking hot, Jim.”

The noise Jim made in response was pure sex, unintelligible and electrifying, and he could feel the heat pouring off him. Couldn’t calm himself down enough to do anything about it, and then Jim was latching on to the skin of his neck. Was licking and sucking, and pressing his palm against the bulge in his pants. Groped at him, awkward and without enough pressure, but it didn’t matter. Absolutely nothing mattered because Jim was touching him, Jim’s hand was on his dick, and his hips thrust up of their own accord once, twice, three times, and then he was whining out something incoherent, spilling in his shorts like he hadn’t since middle school.

Harvey kissed Jim again afterwards, and it felt so different to anything he had ever done before. Felt like he was handing his heart and his soul over on a platter, and Jim responded by nuzzling in against his cheek, pliant and content like all he had ever wanted from life was to be close to him.

“Is now a good time to tell you I scratched your Jailbreak album?” Jim said finally, when their heart rates were back under control, and all Harvey could do was press another kiss to his cheek and say, almost surprised by how little he cared,

“You’re lucky I love you.”

It terrified Harvey sometimes just how much he did love him. How just the thought of Jim was enough to bring a dopey smile to his face, and how willing he was to lie to himself rather than face up to any of the thousand and one reasons why Jim was going to come to his senses and leave once the summer was over.

He was going to go to college, was going to want to live the life of a college student, and somehow Harvey didn’t think all the love in the world would provide enough scope within that for a monogamous relationship with a middle aged beat cop.

“You’re not middle aged,” Simmons told him when he used the descriptor for himself. “You’re what, 38?”

“I’m 32!” Harvey protested and Simmons only smirked, so he couldn’t be sure if she had been serious or was deliberately trying to wind him up.

He should talk about it with Jim, he knew. Ought to find out for sure what Jim’s plans were, and whether or not he was worried about the fact he had left school before Jim had even started it. He was too much of a coward. Too afraid of what Jim might say and, besides, when he was with Jim he couldn’t think of anything so miserable and depressing, not when Jim was in his lap, mouth hanging open as he ground down against him.

“That feels so good,” he encouraged the night before Jim’s 18th birthday, lost in how unbearably hot it was, Jim knowing what he wanted and taking it. This was still as far as they had gone, increasingly desperate make out sessions, and he wasn’t prepared for Jim fumbling with his zipper, hand gingerly working its way into his underwear.

It shouldn’t have felt so mind blowing, shouldn’t have been enough to have him dripping over Jim’s fingers, but everything was different when it came to Jim - more intense, better. He had to tug at Jim’s wrist, had to twist their positions and push him back against the sofa, well aware that if he didn’t he was going to come embarrassingly quickly. Jim was close himself, eyes dark and cheeks burning, and Harvey could feel his good intentions slipping, breathing hot and heavy against Jim’s ear as he said,

“Can I touch you, Jim? Do you want me to?”

“Please,” Jim managed in response. “ _Please_ , Harvey.”

This was really going to happen. Was going to happen right now, and Harvey kissed Jim deeply as he got his jeans undone. As he got Jim to lift his hips enough to push them down, and Jim’s head tipped back into the sofa cushions when Harvey touched him through the fabric of his boxer shorts, a low groan escaping him.

He needed more, needed to touch him for real, and when he wrapped his hand around hard heat Jim arched up into it, like he couldn’t help himself.

Harvey watched the movement of his own hand, fascinated. Turned his attention to Jim’s face, swiping his thumb through the gathering wetness at the tip, and his own dick throbbed at the way Jim bit down hard at his lower lip.

“I can’t,” Jim whined, hips shifting and muscles straining. “Harvey, please, I need to.”

It really hit him then that this was the first time, the very first time, that Jim had had another’s hand on him. The first time anyone had seen him like this, exposed and aroused, and he was moving before he could think better of it. Had one hand in his own pants, frantic, and the other flat against Jim’s hip bone, helping to keep him steady as he tasted Jim the way he had spent so long dreaming about.

The noise Jim made tore through him, white hot, and the weight of his dick against his tongue, the precome flooding his mouth, was just too much. Had him taking Jim deep, had him moaning around him, and that was all it took, Jim not even able to warn him before he was coming, his strangled cry enough to push Harvey over the edge in sympathy.

They showered together before bed, pressed tight in the cramped space, and Jim seemed embarrassed about the renewed erection he was incapable of hiding. Didn’t understand what a welcome ego boost it was, and Harvey pulled Jim back against his chest, raising a possessive love bite on the side of his neck as he stroked Jim with sure, even movements.

Worked his way up to Jim’s ear, kissing and nibbling, and Jim couldn’t keep quiet. Couldn’t keep still, and they ended up face to face beneath the spray, Jim’s hand seeking out his growing hardness, tentative and uncertain.

Harvey had fantasised about it so many times, had jerked himself off to the idea again and again, convinced that it was as close as he would ever get to the reality. Now Jim was touching him, breathless and desperate, and it was even more incredible than he had imagined it would be. Because Jim was coming, hot and slick, over his fingers, and his grip was tightening reflexively, so painfully pleasurable that Harvey couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yes, Jim, like that. Don’t stop. Oh, Jesus, Jim, please don’t stop.”

Jim didn’t. Stroked him harder, faster, and Harvey anchored one hand in Jim’s hair, kissing him like his life depended on it. Like he was drowning and Jim was oxygen, and when he came it was with such force he had to brace his free hand against the tiled wall, his legs not quite steady.

“Was that okay?” Jim asked, and it took a moment for Harvey to realize that he wasn’t joking. Another to cup Jim’s face in his hands so he could kiss him sweetly.

“That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

“I think maybe you’re kind of biased,” Jim said, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, and Harvey only turned off the water and handed him a towel.

Dried himself off and clambered under the covers, Jim curling in close enough to lay his head on his chest. With anyone else it would have been suffocating. Would have had him pulling away, eager for his own space. With Jim he wouldn’t have it any other way and as he fell asleep he wondered, hoped, if it was a sign that, in spite of all the obstacles, they could really build a future together.

* * *

By late afternoon the next day, Harvey was all but convinced that it was over, his every stupid dream in tatters because Jim had packed everything he owned into his backpack and was looking at him with tear swollen eyes as he waited for him to take back his front door key.

The day had started so well.

He had begged and borrowed and pleaded, and finally succeeded in finding somebody who was willing to swap shifts with him so he could spend the entire day with Jim. Had chosen to ignore Jim’s assurances that it didn’t matter, that the day wasn’t a big deal, and he knew he had made the right decision when Jim beamed at his announcement and agreed to sleep in for an extra hour.

Not that they did much sleeping, not with Jim being so inescapably distracting. Harvey blew him again, losing himself in the taste and the feel, and Jim squirmed and moaned and tugged at his hair, just the way he liked best.

Called his name when he came, arching up and around him, his stomach muscles quivering.

Cried out, wordless and inarticulate, when Harvey didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, because he knew it wouldn’t take much, knew Jim would be hard again within minutes, and by the time they got there Jim was cursing and pleading, twisting and writhing, and Harvey had to hold him still. Swallowed past his gag reflex and ground his own dick into the mattress as Jim sobbed and howled, already close to the edge again.

Harvey pulled back to kiss his way up Jim’s shaft. Mouthed at his balls and sucked at the soft skin of his thighs. Took a moment to simply memorise the look of agonized pleasure on Jim’s face, and then he was swallowing him down again, the tip of one finger just pressed to his entrance, and that was it, Jim making so much noise Harvey was sure all of his neighbors could hear as he came for the second time.

“Oh, God,” Jim panted over and over, limbs trembling as he collapsed into the sheets, face rosy and sweat slick. “That _was_ amazing.”

“That’s nothing,” Harvey told him, hand pulling at himself in quick, fevered motions. Kissed him, slick and passionate, and went on, “One day I’m going to cuff you to the headboard and just make you come over and over again. I’ll kiss you and touch you and suck you, and you’ll be so sensitive. You’ll be crying and desperate and certain you can’t come again, but I’ll get you there, Jim. You’ll come for me and you’ll look so beautiful and I’ll - oh, fuck! _Jim_.”

He was coming himself, shaking, and Jim was staring at him wide eyed, like speech had just given up and deserted him.

“That’s if you want to do any of that,” Harvey clarified sheepishly, still struggling for breath, and Jim kissed him eagerly, hand curling around the back of his neck.

“So long as it’s with you, I want to do everything.”

They did manage a little more sleep then, limbs heavy and sated, and when he next opened his eyes it was to find Jim already up and out of bed, the radio playing quietly in the living room. Harvey forced himself to move. Washed and dressed and found Jim beaming fit to split his face, so ridiculously pleased over the cheap birthday card Roger had mailed him that Harvey reaffirmed his commitment to ensuring Jim never discovered it had taken three phone calls and a promise to wire the guy $50 to get it there.

That Jim never knew he had bought and wrapped the trinket ostensibly from his mother, or that when he had tried to speak to the woman herself all he had achieved was getting lectured by Jim’s aunt for 20 minutes on his lack of morality, and how it was his fault Jim’s soul was destined to burn for all eternity.

He got the feeling that Jim’s family would be be one of those topics on which he was going to be forever silent, on the basis that he would never have a good thing to say about them.

Jim seemed overjoyed with the wristwatch, all the same, and Harvey couldn’t help the way his heart flip flopped in his chest when Jim sniffed at the cuff of his shirt sleeve after he had finished fastening the catch. It was one of his old shirts, hanging too big on Jim’s frame, but that was the way they were supposed to be worn Jim had assured him numerous times in the short period they had been together, layering it up over clean white tank tops.

It couldn’t hurt for Jim to have some stuff that fit properly though. To have some more stuff in general, because Harvey wasn’t used to having to do such regular laundry, and he could swear Jim’s sneakers were actually falling apart. Still, Jim had to protest when he told him they were going to the mall, stubborn streak on full display,

“I can buy my own clothes, as soon as I find a job.”

“You can,” Harvey agreed, “but it doesn’t change the fact I’m going to go buy some decent outfits for my gorgeous boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t sound very fair,” Jim said, tone neutral, and when Harvey turned a quizzical eye on him Jim couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face, “what if I get jealous?”

Harvey jostled his shoulder in retaliation. Grabbed his keys and his wallet and got Jim moving, barely biting back the urge to kiss him senseless in the stairwell, because his neighbors seemed to make a special study of turning up at inopportune moments.

Instead he settled for picking out the most atrocious items of clothing he could find and making Jim try them on. Laughed himself stupid at a mixture of pleather and rhinestone detailing, then sobered up quick when the shop assistant asked if he and his son had been able to find everything they were looking for.

Had to play along before Jim could correct them because Jim was an idealist, but he had seen just how ugly things could get and how quickly.

Jim wasn’t impressed, acted sullen and standoffish, and Harvey was careful to stay out of his personal space. Wished he knew the right thing to say, the right thing to do, because by the time he had succeeded in getting Jim to pick out a couple of dress shirts and a carbon copy of the outfit he was already wearing, the atmosphere between them was decidedly frosty.

When he suggested they go get lunch things only went from bad to worse, because they had been there just long enough to order when he looked around to realize that Ryan was sat at the table next to them. Had little choice but to exchange a few words of awkward small talk and make even more awkward introductions.

“This is Ryan. We, er,” he hesitated, searching for a word that wasn’t ‘fucked’, “dated for a while.”

Ryan looked Jim up and down with undisguised curiosity, no doubt noting all the similarities. Quite obviously putting two and two together because he had cancelled on Ryan too many times, had mentioned Jim’s name more often than was reasonable, thoughts of Jim never particularly far from him.

“And this is?” Ryan asked anyway, playing the innocent, and Harvey hesitated again. Worried suddenly about the things Ryan knew, and the things Ryan had seen, and downplayed the link between them entirely with,

“Jim. Jim Gordon.”

Jim scarcely grunted in acknowledgement, feigning intense interest in the back of the menu, and Harvey didn’t know how to salvage the situation. Plastered a false smile on his face as Ryan introduced him to his new boyfriend, a trendily dressed guy who looked like he had plenty of money, and once their own food arrived scrabbled helplessly for a neutral topic that might get Jim talking to him again.

He asked him if he was planning to meet up with any of his school friends later, not wanting to presume that Jim would be content to spend all day and all night in his company.

“Maybe,” Jim answered, shoulders tense and tone non-committal.

“Oh,” Harvey managed, the disappointment sharper than he had expected. He tried for casual, for levity, “Just make sure you don’t get so drunk I need to bail you out in the morning, eh?”

“Yeah, because that’s the kind of thing a stupid kid like me would do, isn’t it?” Jim snapped, and before Harvey could say anything he was pushing away from the table. Stating in a clipped tone that he had better things to be doing and Harvey watched him go, lost and bewildered, trying to grasp what exactly had just happened.

“It’s the kind of thing you’ve got to expect when you’re going with a schoolkid,” Ryan said in a too loud whisper to the guy he was eating with and Harvey pledged he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Finished his dinner without tasting a bite of it and tried to convince himself that things were going to be okay. That Ryan was right and it was hormones, or something as equally benign, and he’d get home to find Jim listening to Alanis Morisette on repeat, worked up and wanting to apologize. He had been 18 himself once, after all, and Jim had never been the best at reigning in his emotions.

The sensible thing to do, he told himself, would be to give Jim some time to calm down and cool off, and perhaps it would do him good too.

Except underneath all the rational reasoning he felt sick with fear. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, wasn’t supposed to fall apart so quickly. He had been certain he would get the summer, at least, before Jim realized he deserved so very much better.

He trailed around the mall when he was done eating, aimless and nervous, and wished that he had someone to talk to about it. Wished, painfully, that his Mom was still around and could tell him to stop worrying about the things that might be, and go deal with the things that already were. He ended up in the fragrance section of one of the department stores, spraying a card with his Mom’s favorite perfume and thinking about how wonderful things had been just that morning, when Jim had wanted to wear one of his shirts just because it smelled like him.

It was enough to galvanize him into action.

Enough to have him silently promising his Mom that he was going to try, that he was going to fight, and he was out of breath by the time he was unlocking his apartment door, nerves and the speed with which he had climbed the stairs conspiring against him.

Jim was sat with his backpack at his feet, stuffed full of his meagre belongings, fidgeting with the front door key he had given him that very first night he had brought him home and made up the sofa. His stomach sank, ice flooding through him, because Jim was going to leave. Was going to walk away, and Harvey hadn’t known anything could hurt so badly.

“I didn’t want to leave before I’d said thank you,” Jim said and he had been crying. His eyes were rimmed red and his face was swollen. “And before I’d apologized.”

“Where are you going to go?” He asked, the panic audible. Gotham was a dangerous place. “At least stay until you have something sorted.”

Jim didn’t argue. Looked away as though it would hide the fact he was crying, and Harvey couldn’t take it. He had seen Jim cry before and it had hurt. It had tore at his heart and made him feel helpless. Now it was unbearable, felt as though it might kill him, and he pulled Jim to him.

Clung too tight and had to fight for control of his own emotions when Jim begged brokenly,

“I’m sorry. Please let me stay.”

He cupped Jim’s face in his hands. Swiped the moisture from his cheeks with his thumbs and heard his voice catch as he said,

“Jim, I _love_ you. I don’t want you to go anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

“I thought you were ashamed of me,” Jim blurted. “Embarrassed. I thought that was why you didn’t want anyone to know about us.”

It made sense, he supposed, in a twisted kind of a way. In the kind of way a highly strung guy he had never bothered to make clear his intentions to might interpret things.

“I spoke to Roger,” Jim went on and Harvey’s heart knotted, knowing without being told that Roger had told Jim everything. “You did all that for me. You put up with all that for me and I acted like an idiot. Like a stupid kid.”

Jim had really taken that line to heart. Had clearly been way less secure than he had ever realized, and Harvey kissed him, soft and sweet, before sucking it up and addressing all the elephants in the room,

“You’re not a stupid kid. You never were. I was afraid of what I felt for you - I still am. You’re so young, Jim. You could do so much better. You should be out getting drunk with your friends, not crying over some schmuck who can’t even work up the courage to ask you where you’ve decided to go to college.”

“Gotham,” Jim said without missing a beat. “You’re not a schmuck and I’ve had enough of drink to last me three lifetimes. I know I’m young - I can’t help being young - and I’m afraid all the time that you’ll decide I’m not worth the effort because I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Harvey assured because now they had started spilling secrets, it seemed impossible to put a stop to it. “All I’ll ever want is for you to be honest with me. If you don’t like something, if you want to try something, all you need to do is say. You can tell me anything, ask me anything.”

Jim kissed him in answer, frantic and unrelenting, and Harvey slowed it down. Turned it soft and gentle, until Jim was calm enough to question,

“Anything?”

“ _Anything_.”

Jim nodded to himself, coming to a decision, and they spent the evening on the sofa eating delivery pizza with Jim asking him about everything from his Mom to when was the first time he had thought of him as something more than an annoying kid who trailed around after him.

Harvey didn’t try to sugar coat it. Admitted how hard he had fought it, and how ashamed he had felt of himself. Confessed that he had never realized, never registered how Jim felt, not until it was too late to do anything about it.

“I don’t think you could have,” Jim said in turn. “I tried everything already. It didn’t make any difference.”

He told him stiltedly then of how he hadn’t understood what it meant, not at first, the desperate need to see him, to be close to him, and how painfully jealous he had been of his girlfriend the day he had stepped in and rescued his walkman from the school bullies.

“How many girlfriends have you had?” Jim asked next, and that wasn’t the kind of question Harvey had been expecting. But he had said anything. Jim kept talking, “What about boyfriends? How many people have you slept with?”

It was stupid, but he hesitated for a moment. Tried to fob Jim off with “it’s not something I’ve ever really kept tabs on” before accepting that he had said they were going to be honest with each other. He just didn’t want Jim to think less of him. He didn’t want Jim to see him as this loser who went out, got wasted, and couldn’t remember the name of the person he woke up to, then repeated the same process over and over again.

“Fifty,” he said finally, “Sixty, perhaps. Less than a hundred.”

That was a conservative estimate but Jim looked appalled. So horrified that Harvey wished he could take it back. That he could lie and laugh it off like he had been joking all along.

“I’ve been tested. I wouldn’t put you at risk.”

“I just - it’s not that.” Jim met his gaze, nothing but stubborn determination keeping his head up, embarrassment writ clear all over his expression. “How am I supposed to match up? That guy earlier - how can I compete with that?”

The thing was that he could see Jim’s point. Could understand, intellectually, that it was something Jim felt he needed to worry about. It was just so completely out of synch with how things actually were. Because, sure, he had screwed around. Had had good sex and bad sex, absolutely mind blowing sex and had even been half convinced he was in love a couple of times.

All of it paled in comparison to what he had now.

“Do you know how many people I’ve made love to?” Harvey asked finally, not able to find the words to explain exactly how different this was to his usual hook ups.

Jim frowned at him, confused, and Harvey could feel the heat in his own cheeks. The corny line and the picture Jim made like that, waiting for him to reveal where he was going with this.

“Just you, okay? You don’t need to compete with anyone.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” Jim managed, incredulous, and Harvey shrugged, glad nobody else was around to hear him say,

“I’ve got it bad for you, Jim. Really really bad.”

* * *

He wasn’t so great with words, with declarations, but now it was done the air felt clearer. Sweeter. Like the morning after a long awaited storm, when everything smelled fresh and anything seemed possible.

Jim was calmer, more centered, and when he landed a part time gig at one of the diner’s near the precinct Harvey dragged Simmons there almost every day for a month, just to catch glimpses of him in his cap and dickie bow.

“You’re a sick man, Bullock,” Simmons said one day after Jim had delivered their order and the judgement hit him hard, made him feel ill, but she was only glaring at the sandwich he was dousing in chilli sauce. “Don’t think I’m covering for you when you’re doubled over with indigestion.”

“I’ve got the constitution of an ox,” Harvey protested, grinning widely, and when her prediction came to pass she watched on smugly as he struggled to chase a perp through the City Park.

He complained about it later, seeking sympathy, and Jim let him lay across his lap, fingers stroking at his brow even as he shook his head and said,

“You brought it on yourself.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Jim soothed, smile playing about his lips. “That’s why I’m going to make sure you get served nothing but salads from now on.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Harvey warned and Jim just grinned and asked him what he’d do to convince him otherwise.

Jim was coming out of his shell like that, and wasn’t at all the good little boy scout he liked to make himself out to be. He watched the entire stash of shoddy blue movies he had liberated from the precinct before pronouncing them too terrible to be effective, and looked at him with unconcealed interest when he got home late one night without bothering to change out of his patrol uniform.

Backed him up against the door before kissing away any suggestion of exhaustion, then slid deliberately to his knees, expression only slightly nervous.

“You don’t have to, Jim,” he managed, but Jim just mouthed over his rapidly hardening erection, hot and wet even through two layers of fabric.

“I want to,” Jim breathed, and Harvey could only tip his head back against the wall, eyes falling closed as Jim made quick work of his button and zipper. He had to look then, had to see, and Jim gazed up at him, eyes impossibly blue and cheeks flushed as he lapped at the head of his dick, like a scene out of one of his wet dreams.

Like a scene out of the very first wet dream he had had about Jim and he had to tug Jim to his feet, had to plunder his mouth, feeling like he simply couldn’t get close enough. Like he would never be able to get enough, and the kiss was ratcheting up from eager to filthy, Jim all but trying to climb him, clinging and clutching.

Harvey moved it to the bedroom. Pushed Jim back against the sheets and kicked his own shoes off before joining him, taking things slower, letting his hands wander. Stroking his fingers over Jim’s skin and enjoying the breathy sounds he made in response, and the helpless gasps when he rubbed at his nipples and sucked at the sensitive spots on his neck.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do,” he confessed, too into it to care how syrupy or sentimental he sounded. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. You’re so beautiful, Jim.”

It took his breath away sometimes, tied his heart up in knots, and Jim was tangling his hands in his hair, pulling him closer, panting in his ear,

“I don’t want you to stop tonight. I want to go all the way.”

He didn’t ask if Jim was sure - didn’t need to. He had pledged to wait until Jim was ready, until Jim told him outright that he wanted it, and now the moment was finally here all Harvey could do was kiss him. Lick into his mouth and push his hands through his hair. Bite at his bottom lip and strip him out of his clothing.

Jim kissed him back, over and over, his gasps and whimpers filling the air as Harvey refamiliarised himself with his body. Trailed kisses everywhere, touched him everywhere and kept eye contact as he pressed a slick finger into him. As he crooked it, firmly, and Jim clenched his eyes tight shut, losing himself in it. Was loud and frantic and so unbearably hot, pushing back against his fingers and wrapping a hand around himself, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He scrabbled at Harvey’s shirt buttons when he pulled his fingers free, eyes dark and wild, and Harvey kissed him into submission, hands tender against his face and neck, even as he worked on getting the condom on and moving Jim into position.

It would be easier on hands and knees, probably more comfortable, but he had to see Jim, had to kiss him, and Jim wound one hand into his hair, the other finding his thigh, alternately pulling him closer or signalling for him to stay still, his body adjusting.

“Are you okay?” He asked when they started to move together and Jim just keened. Couldn’t keep still and couldn’t keep quiet, and Harvey couldn’t keep his own mouth shut, the feel of being inside Jim, of being so close to him, making it impossible.

“Please,” Jim begged when he shifted the angle, when he hooked one arm under the back of Jim’s knee and found what he was looking for, and from there it couldn’t last long. Not with the way Jim was reacting, whimpering into his mouth and crying that he loved him.

“I love you too,” he promised, so close it hurt. So close he couldn’t help himself, and he kissed Jim deeply as he wrapped a hand around his dick, following Jim’s increasingly vocal cues to stroke him up and over the edge. It didn’t take much more than seeing Jim’s face, than feeling him clench around him, and he was coming too, reduced to a shaking mess as he did his best to collapse to Jim’s side and not on top of him.

“Am I going to have to worry about you at the academy?” Harvey asked later, Jim spooned against his chest, loose limbed and comfortable. “You seem to have a thing for uniforms.”

Jim just kissed absently at the arm holding him, too tired to move.

“Only when you’re wearing them.”

* * *

[a couple years later…]

“You do what Evans tells you, right? Exactly what he tells you. Unless he tells you to do something stupid or dangerous, then you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

“ _Harvey_ ,” Jim chastised, “I’m going to be fine, okay? You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Jim, it kind of comes with the territory.”

Jim’s gaze softened, made Harvey’s insides squirm about, and he glanced around to ensure they were alone before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Just be careful out there, all right?”

“I promise,” Jim said and Harvey made the final adjustments to his own uniform before leading the way out of the locker room.

It would have to do.

He spent the entire morning worrying, all the same, a thousand and one scenarios playing out in his head, each one more horrific than the last. Jim getting beat up. Jim getting stabbed. Jim getting shot, and gasping out his last breaths in Evans’ arms while he was stuck across town dealing with accusations of dognapping and neighbors who couldn’t agree to disagree over the height of their boundary fence.

“He’s going to be fine,” Simmons said, too observant as usual. “He graduated top of his class, he’s a clever kid.”

“He’s book smart,” Harvey corrected. “When it comes to common sense, he hasn’t got any. He jumps before looking. He’s got no sense of self-preservation.”

“He looks kind of dishy in blues,” Simmons added, mischievous, and Harvey just flipped her the bird in response.

The truth was that Jim looked spectacular in his blues. Harvey had never been much interested in service uniforms, spent too much time wearing one, but the sight of Jim in his shirt and tie, duty belt slung around his hips… It did things to him. Got him hot and bothered, and he had to take a moment simply to compose himself when they met up with Jim and Evans for lunch.

He was so proud of Jim, still so ridiculously in love with him, and it was all he could do to keep the adoration off his face as he dropped into the seat opposite him, snagging a handful of his fries.

“He doing as he’s told?” He asked Evans, knowing how it wound Jim up to be talked about as though he wasn’t there, and Evans said without preamble,

“At least he hasn’t picked up any of your bad habits. Jesus Christ, Bullock, when was the last time you shaved? Got a haircut?”

Harvey glanced at his reflection in the window. Scrubbed a hand across his chin. He was lazy, what could he say? Scruffy, slovenly. Suddenly all too aware that he ought to be trying harder, especially if he wanted to keep the vision in front of him.

“It suits him though,” Jim said, tone casual but gaze intense. “He’s got a reputation to maintain.”

Evans sniggered, reading sarcasm, but Harvey could see the hint of color in Jim’s cheeks. Could feel where his foot was jostling him, ever so slightly, under the table, and he swore his heart could burst he was so damn happy.

It wasn't going to be all plain sailing perhaps - living together, working together - but they'd make it work, that he had no doubt of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	50. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Harvey teaches Jim to dance. :)

“Listen up! Deputy Commissioner Saunders here has requested a volunteer. Which of you is it gonna be?”

It was amazing, Jim thought, how quickly the department switched from open procrastination to intense concentration. If they could bottle that kind of power, make it work consistently, they’d have their entire backlog of unsolved cases cleared before the week was out.

“Come on,” Harvey wheedled, attempting and failing to make eye contact with someone. “It’s for a good cause.”

“Not such a good cause he’s willing to do it,” Alvarez complained under his breath and Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Nobody else was going to offer, he knew.

All he was doing was delaying the inevitable.

“It will look good on your file,” Saunders tried and Jim sighed.

Gave in and stuck his hand up.

“I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Gordon,” Saunders said, clipped and professional, and Harvey beamed at him so widely it almost made the imposition worth it.

* * *

“You’re a soft touch,” Alvarez told him later as they stood at the records desk, snapping his gum and generally being irritating.

Jim was proud of Harvey for stepping up to the plate as Acting Captain, really he was, but sometimes he wished that he hadn’t. Wished that they were still spending the entire working day together, and that he had Harvey’s playful teasing to deal with instead of Alvarez’ impatient idiocy.

“Here you go,” Evans wheezed, dumping a cardboard box onto the counter. “Back copies of Police News and the GCPD Gazette.”

It wasn’t so bad, Jim thought. It would take him a few hours to get through the whole box and find the relevant material. A couple more to write it up into something usable, and then he could hand it over to Saunders for her ‘GCPD and the Community: Bridging the Divide’ masterpiece.

With any luck she would be so pleased he would be exempt from actually having to attend the exhibition.

Except when he heaved the box into his own arms, Alvarez having offered to give him a ride to his apartment, Evans called out,

“Wait up. There’s another eight boxes where that came from!”

* * *

Jim hardly knew where to start. There was material dating back to the 1910s, creased and falling apart, dumped right in alongside Xeroxed circulars from the AAPL and GOAL.

In the end he decided to go through the national literature first, on the basis that if there was no direct mention of Gotham or its environs it could go back in a box and be forgotten about.

That still left boxes and boxes of ephemera to be read, and Alvarez laughed himself sick every time he remembered the fact it was something Jim had willingly signed himself up for.

Roughly every 20 minutes or so.

“It was a rookie mistake,” Tuttle told him when they ended up eating lunch at the same diner.

McKenna nodded. “Never volunteer for anything, Gordon. That’s how they get you.”

Jim just pushed his food around his plate listlessly and wondered what Harvey was doing.

Because a week in and his apartment looked like an extension of the records room, piles of paper everywhere, and he had been through four packs of color coded post-it notes already.

Most of it was total rubbish. Reactionary articles about what was wrong with the latest proposed piece of police related legislation, and adverts for equipment and insurance from providers across the country.

There were a few gems though.

An interview with the first female Captain in the state, and a day in the life of a long dead GCPD patrol officer from 1919. A picture of Tuttle - looking just as ancient as he had the day before - receiving a commendation for his quick thinking in 1993 and a double page spread on how the short sleeved uniform was revolutionizing inner city Gotham policing back in the 1970s.

Jim barely skimmed over the mentions of himself. The unfolding saga of Pinkney and his wrongful conviction. It wasn’t a time he ever wanted to be reminded of.

Mentions of Harvey, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Something he was eagerly searching for, and he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when he found an early one, complete with a picture of Harvey in patrol uniform and crash helmet, posing alongside a police issue bicycle.

_Officer Bullock of the GCPD deems LEBA training day a wheely great success!_

He stuck a few copies of it up on the station notice board, ensuring the original caption got due prominence.

Feigned total innocence when Harvey slapped one of them onto his desk, and flushed, helpless, when Alvarez smirked at Harvey’s retreating back and commented,

“He’s just pissed that a bike’s about the only thing he can ride these days.”

* * *

Jim thought about it a lot over the next few days. Couldn’t really do otherwise, not with all the bike jokes doing the rounds, and the extra energy he put into watching Harvey through his office window.

Alvarez, for all his linguistic charm, had a point maybe, because Harvey hadn’t mentioned any of his dates - paid or otherwise - for weeks now. Months, even, and Jim couldn’t pretend not to understand why the fact made him so happy.

It wasn’t that he wanted Harvey to be lonely. He knew better than most what it was to be single and miserable. It was just that it gave him hope that what he actually wanted wasn’t completely impossible.

He trawled through the boxes again that night, making good headway, and simply stared for long moments when he came across another picture of Harvey, not quite sure what to make of it.

Except that was a lie because he knew exactly why he was staring. Why he was already dreaming up ways of how he might get Harvey to recreate it, because he had often wondered if Harvey even owned an iron and yet here was photographic evidence of him in a full tuxedo.

The caption claimed that he and his dance partner had been runners up in the thirteenth annual Gotham Amateur International Ballroom Championships, under a banner exploring the weird and wonderful ways GCPD officers were involved in their local community, and it seemed so fantastical Jim went back and forth over whether or not he believed it.

It was an inside joke, perhaps, or else some kind of mix up. Harvey wasn’t the kind of guy to go in for ballroom dancing.

He wasn’t the kind of guy Jim would have pegged to deem a Law Enforcement Bicycle Association training day ‘wheely great’ either, and maybe it was proof that people changed, or just that Harvey had hidden depths he didn’t know about.

He wanted to know though. Wanted nothing more, and he didn’t make copies of this latest discovery. Took it to Harvey directly instead, and watched the color flood Harvey’s cheeks even as he said,

“Bruce Lee was a Cha-Cha champion. There’s nothing wrong with knowing how to dance, Jimbo.”

“I never said there was,” Jim pointed out and added, before he could think better of it, “I bet you couldn’t do it now though.”

Harvey definitely was the kind of guy who couldn’t resist a wager, and Jim fought to keep his expression neutral. Not to squirm or fidget under the other man’s scrutiny and, by the time he went back to reading through his witness statements, somehow he had succeeded in getting Harvey to agree to giving him a private demonstration.

* * *

This wasn’t the stupidest thing he had ever done, but it was up there. Top three, even, Jim thought as he finished packing up the records boxes and pushing them against the wall.

They were going to need the space, after all.

Harvey turned up right on time - at least by his standards - and Jim couldn’t help the way his stomach fluttered at the sight of him, for all that he was wearing exactly the same outfit he had been when Jim left the precinct.

“You really want to do this?” Harvey questioned, dubious, and Jim wondered how obvious, on a scale of one to ten, he was being.

If Harvey could tell how nervous he was, and how fast his heart was racing.

“I’m leading,” Harvey said, leaving no room for argument, and when Jim failed to protest he asked, “Do you even know any dance steps?”

“Do I need to?”

The look Harvey gave him suggested the answer was yes, don’t be such a dumb-ass, and he wished he had made it to one of the dance classes Barbara was always nagging him to accompany her to.

“Can’t you just show me?” He asked finally, and he didn’t know what Harvey could see in his expression, hear in his tone, but his face softened a little as he sighed and said,

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

There was some fussing then. Setting up the music, and Harvey showing him how to stand, and where to put his hands. Correcting him every 20 seconds and walking him through the slowest waltz in history.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, is it?” Harvey asked smugly at one point, and Jim trod on his foot in retaliation. Acted even more of a klutz than he actually was, and laughed along with Harvey when the older man huffed in exasperation, and made him start all over again.

Felt kind of proud of himself when he finally mastered it, and as soon as he wasn’t concentrating so hard on what his feet were doing, there was nothing to stop him focusing on how close Harvey was, and how good his cologne smelled.

Harvey met his gaze, seemed lost in it, and it wasn't long before they were both simply standing there, the air feeling charged around them.

“You didn’t want to learn to dance, did you?” Harvey murmured, and Jim only pushed closer and pressed their lips together, chaste and tentative. Smiled, relieved, when Harvey kissed him back, held him tighter, and when they eventually pulled back enough to look at each other he confessed, Harvey smiling right back at him,

“No, but it was an added bonus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	51. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 'What about Jim and Harvey's first date? Would it be all awkward posturing, dressing up and going to a too expensive restaurant, or ordering pizza and watching old movies?'

It was only a little illegal. Moderately unethical.

Absolutely necessary.

Because Harvey had pulled all kinds of strings to get this dinner reservation, was shelling out a frankly obscene amount of money, and if Jim was only going to sit there sullen and unresponsive, refusing to eat anything for fear of making his toothache worse.

Well.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Anyone else would have just taken a damn painkiller, but not Jim Gordon. Jim had to be stubborn and stupid. Had to play the martyr and, okay, maybe it wasn’t just the money and the effort, it was the way Jim kept wincing in pain, hand coming up to shield the side of his jaw protectively.

He hated seeing Jim hurt. Would do anything to spare him a single moment of it, and if that meant surreptitiously spooning soluble acetaminophen into his coffee, so be it.

Jim pulled a face when he took a sip, obviously detecting something off with it, but Harvey only challenged,

“Drink up, Jim. That’s the proper stuff, none of your latte-ccino bullshit. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

It worked, Jim way too predictable, and Harvey went back to his paperwork with a satisfied smile. Let himself daydream about how perfect the evening was going to be, because three years after they had started working together, two and a half years after he first acknowledged that he had fallen like a ton of bricks for his boy scout of a partner, and they were going on a date.

An actual honest to God first date, the kind they showed on TV and in all the cheesy movies.

Harvey couldn’t remember the last time he had been on one. Wasn’t sure he had ever been this worked up over the mere idea, his heart racing and his palms sweating whenever he thought about it.

Jim was worth it though. Was worth everything he had to give and so much more, and Harvey was pleased to see that he was in a better mood by the time they wrapped it up for the day.

In fact, Jim was in a ridiculously good mood. Was a little nervous maybe, because when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder and handed him his jacket, Jim started laughing. Was gesturing in the direction of the front desk and giggling helplessly.

Laughed until there were tears on his cheeks and, though Harvey squinted and frowned, he couldn’t work out what it was that Jim found so hysterically funny.

Jim couldn’t seem to get enough of a grip to explain either. Started laughing all over again as Harvey lead the way to the car, and had to clutch at his sides as he tried and failed to get his seatbelt on.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Harvey groused, only half joking, and subtly pushed his thumb into Jim’s cheek when he reached up to wipe the moisture from it.

Last time Jim had been acting this weird he had been someone else entirely.

There was no real give, no malleability, but Jim was still acting strange all the way to the restaurant. Put the radio on and drummed his fingers against the dashboard. Hummed under his breath and even sang a few lines, turning to beam at him and say, tone incredulous,

“I like this one!”

If his own nerves hadn’t been so strained perhaps he would have realized sooner. Perhaps he would have recognized how out of character it was for Jim to press so close as they waited to be seated. To all but lean against him as they followed the waitress, and then simply stare up at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

As it was the pale column of his throat proved way too distracting.

Then his cell rang, the caller ID showing he had better take it, and he heaved a sigh and told Jim to look at the menu. Found a quiet corner in which to take the call, and felt cold fear settle in his gut at the sound of McKenna’s panic. Listened dumbly to explanations of how a sample of Gotham’s latest recreational drug of choice had been left on his desk, but now the lab were saying it was nothing but over the counter acetaminophen.

“Never mind what happened to it,” Harvey snapped in response to McKenna’s hesitant query. “It shouldn’t have been left lying around in the first place.”

Sometimes he felt like he was running a kindergarten, not a police department.

He would have lost his temper big time, but his mind was full of remembered images of what Viper could do, and he had cold sweat trickling down his neck at the knowledge it was his fault. He who had potentially signed Jim’s death warrant.

“It’s not dangerous exactly,” McKenna hurried to clarify, “it’s just strong. Really strong. You gotta stay hydrated, have someone make sure you don’t wander into traffic, and all it’s going to do is leave you with one hell of a hangover.”

Harvey would have said more. Would have questioned further but it really hit him then that Jim was off his face, was more adept at getting into trouble than anyone he had ever known, and he pushed past customers and staff alike, relief flooding through him when he saw Jim hadn’t moved from where he had left him.

Not far, at least, because a waiter was attempting, unsuccessfully, to convince Jim that he really didn’t want to be taking his shoes off in the middle of one of Gotham’s swankiest establishments.

That he didn’t want to be pulling his tie free either, or trying to get out of his shirt, complaining loudly that it was too hot and the material was itching.

“Harvey!” Jim whined when he joined the fray. “Tell him.”

“It’s all right, we’re going,” Harvey appeased, giving it up as a bad job and simply collecting Jim’s shoes in one hand and steering him out the door with the other.

Forced himself to keep his eyes on the road all the way back to his apartment, and not the way Jim was methodically stripping himself out of his clothing. Managed to get him back into his shirt and pants once they pulled up, and plastered a false smile on for old Mr Schmidt who rode the elevator up with them, the man shaking his head and tutting as Jim fought his way back out of his undershirt.

Harvey put Jim to bed when they got in. Made him drink a glass of water and finally laid down beside him, one arm anchoring him in place as Jim waggled his fingers in front of his own face, pupils blown as he watched the movement, fascinated.

“Just hear me out,” Harvey begged in the morning when Jim rejoined the land of the living, groaning and burying his face in the pillow. “I was only trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Jim countered after listening to his explanations, teeth gritting tight together, and apparently the toothache was back too because then he was wincing and touching tentative fingers to his jaw.

Curling tighter in the blankets and murmuring pathetically when Harvey made to leave,

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn it down.”

Harvey felt some of the tension ease. Coddled Jim to the best of his ability, laying a damp cloth across his forehead and making him tea to sip at, knowing better than to suggest he try taking a painkiller.

“I’m sorry I ruined our date,” Harvey managed later, when Jim was looking a little less pitiful.

When he wasn’t quite so certain Jim was never going to give him a second chance.

Jim just gave him a half smile and nudged at his shoulder, forgiving.

“I'm not always this easy, you know. You'll have to work harder to get me into bed next time.”

“Really?” He asked, voice lowering without any conscious effort, and Jim swallowed in response and tried to look unaffected.

“Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	52. Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - 'Jim accidentally adopts a stray cat and for some reason (jealousy, obviously) it *hates* Harvey's guts and does everything it can to sabotage his relationship with/to Jim. The feeling is pretty mutual. Harvey has never liked cats, if only for the simple fact that he's allergic as all hell. Jim, of course, is oblivious to it all. Eventually Harvey and the little one realise that neither of them is going anywhere and they make peace and resolve to share Jim. :D'

“Bless you,” Jim said for the fifth time in a row, the response automatic, and Harvey would have had to say something about it if he couldn’t feel it building all over again.

He concentrated instead on rifling through the junk on the dashboard for a napkin, finding one just in time to sneeze again, eyes streaming with the force of it.

“You coming down with something?” Jim asked, distracted, gaze fixed on the guy they were meant to be watching, and Harvey just gasped for breath, certain he could feel the damn skin rash spreading.

Because Jim had wanted to call in at his apartment during lunch. Had told him, breathless and excited, that he had something to show him, and Harvey knew he had been living in cloud cuckoo land when he hoped it was going to be something sexual, but he still hadn’t expected to see Jim go to pieces over a ball of fluff, cooing and smiling.

“She followed me home,” Jim said, big blue eyes lighting up like that was a sign of devotion and not that he had still stunk of the food stand they had gone to for lunch. “Isn’t she lovely?”

Harvey forced a smile for Jim’s gaze then glared at the animal once his back was turned. He hated cats. Not so much that he was going to shoot one - Tuttle had that covered - but enough that he went out of his way to avoid them.

Didn’t have a lot of choice, really, because he only had to get within spitting distance and his skin started itching. His eyes watering. Then came the coughing and the sneezing, and the general sensation that his throat was going to close up if he was forced to spend much longer in feline company.

Jim, true to form, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Put some food and water down for the cat and then insisted they not be late going back on duty, though Harvey had a perfectly good pack of antihistamines at home in his bathroom cabinet.

Now he was suffering for his inability to say no to Jim, and Jim’s lack of sympathy was even more painful than usual. Was enough to have him feeling sorry for himself, angry at Jim for being so oblivious, and furious with their suspect for refusing to do something other than just stand there, leaving him stuck sniffling and sneezing.

But when they finally got back to the precinct he had been sat at his desk less than fifteen minutes when Jim knocked at his office door, expression concerned as he handed him a mug of TheraFlu and suggested he should come to his for dinner so he could recuperate.

He could feel the lovesick grin spreading across his face. Could tell that he was going to regret it.

He said yes, all the same.

No damn cat was going to deprive him of an evening in Jim’s company.

* * *

The problem was that the cat was smart. It was well aware it had a good thing going with Jim, and curled up lovingly on his lap even as it hissed and clawed every time Harvey went near it.

It knew, Harvey could tell. Just knew that he was attempting to plant the seeds of discontent in Jim’s mind, suggesting that the cat would be happier in a home with people around all day.

“Do you think it’s cruel?” Jim asked, genuinely worried. “I don’t want Boots to be lonely.”

He’d give Boots lonely. Was tempted to just give it a damn boot most days, and it preened as Jim scratched behind its ears, looking at him smugly as if to rub it in that Jim was never going to work his fingers into Harvey’s skin like that.

“It’s nice to have someone who cares if I come home or not,” Jim told him a few days later, Harvey sniffling into a tissue again. “I was starting to forget what it felt like.”

He started to protest. Wanted to demand how Jim could be so wilfully blind - how he continually failed to notice that Harvey would crawl across hot coals for him. Would fall apart if anything happened to Jim, and had never done a particularly good job of hiding it.

Sanity prevailed though, and he settled for swiping at his eyes and sneezing, Boots scratching scags into one of his few decent pairs of trousers. The cat seemed to revel in it. All but clawed his favorite jacket to rags and, while he tried to reign in his temper, Jim baby talked the thing and told Harvey that it was a sign it liked him.

Harvey knew better. Knew the truth and jabbed a finger at it when Jim was in the kitchen getting them a couple of beers.

“Don’t get too comfortable. This isn’t over.”

* * *

Three weeks in and Harvey felt like he was dying. He had bought a spray and a cream and finally been prescribed something stronger by his doctor that actually seemed to be working.

The damage was already done though, because he hadn’t been able to stop scratching at the allergy rash and now the irritation was driving him out of his mind. Had him squirming in his seat, desperate for relief, and the cat had won.

Had got Jim all to itself because he turned down an invite from Jim for possibly the first time ever, the need to be close to Jim just edged out by the need to sit in a cool bath and smear himself head to toe in Benadryl.

For a moment he could swear Jim looked disappointed. That was wishful thinking though, and the glances Jim kept sending his way were doubtlessly because he couldn’t keep still. Because he was worried, probably, that it was something catching because he just couldn’t stop scratching.

Had to get up in the end and seek solace in the locker room, filling one of the sinks with cold water and sticking his forearms in it, wishing he could simply give up on being responsible and go and stand under one of the shower heads.

“What happened?” A voice said then and he turned to see Jim taking the scene in, eyes wide.

He got it, really he did. His skin was in a state, raw and blotchy, and he had scratched hard enough to draw blood in places. It was just hard to deal with, because Jim was so flawless, perfect, and nothing served as a better reminder as to how impossible it was that Jim could ever want something more than friendship from him than Jim staring at him in horror.

“It’s only an allergy rash,” he said, not up to meeting Jim’s eye. “It’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Jim asked, so sincere it made his heart clench in his chest.

He could tell Jim the truth. Tell him to get rid of the stupid cat and, maybe, if he laid it on thick enough Jim would actually do it.

Jim loved it though. Legitimately lit up every time he talked about it, and Harvey couldn’t take that from him. Sucked it up and squared his shoulders instead and said, clearly joking,

“You’re more than welcome to rub anti-itch cream in all the places I can’t reach.”

* * *

Jim had always had something of a strange sense of humor so Harvey didn’t think anything of his eager agreement. Not beyond his usual idle fantasizing. Except when he pulled up outside Jim’s apartment building after shift, Jim just told him to wait and that he would be right back.

Scarcely gave him time to check his cell phone, teeth sinking hard into the side of his cheek as he struggled not to give in to the urge to scratch again, and then he was clipping his seat belt back into place, stubborn streak on full display as he explained their plans for the evening.

Harvey didn’t argue. Was too busy feeling lost and bewildered, and then Jim was taking charge completely, every bit the former Army Sergeant. Ran him a bath with half the contents of his kitchen cupboards and, when that proved surprisingly effective, used his most no nonsense tone to get him to lay down on the bed and did wonders with the allergy cream.

It had him shivering, helpless, because it felt so good to not be itching, and because it was Jim applying it.

Jim touching him, careful and tender, and it was probably a good job he was in such a mess. Else he’d have been displaying all kinds of inappropriate reactions.

“Has it helped any?” Jim asked eventually, and it took Harvey a moment to find his voice. To not read more into the softness of Jim’s tone, the intensity in his gaze, than the act of friendship Jim had intended.

“Lots,” he managed finally. “Thank you.”

Jim smiled back at him, pleased, and Harvey froze when Jim reached over and stroked his hair away from his forehead. Wondered if he had fallen asleep already, or had some kind of hallucinogenic reaction, and then Jim was pressing dry lips to his cheek and saying, equal parts nervous and hopeful,

“We should try this again when you’re feeling better.”

* * *

“Did you ever find out what you were allergic to?” Jim asked him a couple of weeks later, petting at the cat on his lap, and Harvey marvelled once again at Jim’s powers of selective observation.

The new medication was doing its job though, and Jim was pressed close against him on the sofa besides. Was giving him the soft adoring look that never failed to overwhelm him, and Harvey found he didn't have the heart to draw attention to it.

“It’s a mystery,” he said, the white lie coming easily, and the cat raised its head to give him a calculating look.

Set the little jangly bell on its collar off with the movement, and Harvey smirked back at it. That had been his suggestion. Had ruined the cat’s love of messing up Jim’s spotless apartment with dead animal carcasses, and they stared each other down until Jim’s voice recaptured both their attention.

He still hated the cat, and the cat still hated him.

But for Jim, they were both willing to compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	53. Jim heads a PR campaign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - 'Imagine Jim does something (i dunno, gets a haircut or ends up in the news for something dorky) and he thinks it's great and Harvey tries his damn best to make sure he doesn't find out everyone in the precinct is mocking him, cause he loves his Boy Scout so much.'

It was a slow news day.

It had to be, because Jim had made the front page of the newspaper. Had been captured giving a double thumbs up to the photographer, grinning like an idiot, standing in front of a backdrop proclaiming the Gotham Police Union’s latest social media friendly strapline.

“Detective Gordon of the GCPD calls for all police officers to be a _Force_ for good, in and out of uniform. ‘Whether it’s volunteering at your local school or taking the time to check on elderly neighbors, off duty GCPD officers have the power to make a real difference in our communities,’ said Gordon yesterday.”

“I bet he fucking did,” Alvarez said, snapping out of the mocking tone he had been using to read aloud the article. “He’ll have us all pulling double time as unpaid social workers if he has his way.”

“If he thinks I’m wearing one of those,” McKenna sneered, pointing to the pile of ‘I’m happy to help :)’ badges that had been delivered that morning, “he’s got another thing coming.”

“He’s lost what was left of his mind,” Tuttle complained, shaking his head, “the department’s going to be a laughing stock.”

“His heart’s in the right place,” Harvey defended even as he cast a disbelieving eye over the rest of the news piece. Over the posters the Union had had printed, and the ‘Help Us Be Your Helping Hand’ checklists intended for the notice boards and the outreach training programs.

It was like Jim _wanted_ to be made fun of.

* * *

By the time Jim got back from his latest crime scene, all fired up and determined, some of the checklists had already been defaced. Jim’s picture in the paper at the front desk had been given a mustache and glasses, and somebody had attached Jim’s cell number to half a dozen happy to help badges and stuck them in the toilets of the men’s locker room.

Harvey collected them all together during a post coffee break and pledged to make whoever the culprit was regret it.

Because at least Jim was trying. He cared, genuinely, about the city and wanted it be a safer, better place to live.

He just went about it entirely the wrong way because by the end of the week kids were out giving patrol officers the thumbs up to their face and the middle finger to their backs, and the holding cell was full of comedians who wanted to know exactly what kind of helping hand the GCPD was going to offer them.

“It’s really taking off, isn’t it?” Jim asked pleased when they passed a graffiti covered GCPD recruitment poster asking passers by if they wanted to _feel the force_ , apparently unaware the spot was a favorite with prostitutes of all persuasions.

“Yeah,” he managed, carefully non-committal, and Jim just beamed at him,

“It was all my idea, you know.”

* * *

Harvey didn’t share that information with their colleagues. Did his best instead to shield Jim from what people really thought of his foray into public relations, and lied through his back teeth to claim that he didn’t know enough Spanish to translate Alvarez’ increasingly bitter mutterings.

Played dumb and pretended he didn’t know what had happened to the copies of Law Enforcement Quarterly with the double page spread on the GPU initiative, and stuck them all through the shredder when he had a spare moment, certain Jim wouldn’t appreciate his fellow officers’ commentary.

It was pathetic, really, because if the situation were reversed Jim wouldn’t sugar coat anything. Would tell him straight, he had no doubt, and wouldn’t feel even a twinge of guilt about it.

Harvey had it bad though. So bad he couldn’t bear the thought of Jim being mildly disappointed, let alone publicly humiliated, and when Jim was scheduled to do a school visit to promote the scheme, Harvey spent a small fortune bribing some of his younger relations into convincing their friends to act as though it wasn’t the stupidest idea they had ever heard.

Jim was so happy when he got back to the precinct. So earnest and so sincere, and when McKenna slipped through the net, mocking the campaign to Jim’s face, Harvey put a hand on his shoulder afterwards and told him that McKenna was just jealous of his out of the box thinking.

“I know,” Jim said, like it was obvious, and Harvey’s mind was still boggling at that statement when he went on, “but thank you for supporting me with this. It couldn’t have been successful without you.”

That was kind of what other people were saying, albeit not quite as nicely, but Harvey had never known he was so desperate for Jim’s praise.

So starved for any hint of affection.

“You’ve been keeping everyone in line,” Jim said gratefully, and it was a statement not a question. “I’ve seen the posters. And somebody made up another batch of these.”

He pulled a doctored 'happy to help' badge from his pocket and Harvey’s heart sank. His frequent sweeps of the place obviously hadn’t been frequent enough. Jim just shrugged though, and looked up at him through his lashes. Pressed the badge into his palm and said, all nervous smile,

“If it was you asking, I’d be more than happy to help with _anything_.”

Harvey gaped back at him, speechless. Jim Gordon really was full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	54. Everyone assumes they're a couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - 'Jim and Harvey have moved in together and everyone assumes they're doin' the dirty, but it's not like that. (Maybe they just like platonic cuddles, romantic relationship optional?)'

“Call me.”

Harvey watched her go with an appreciative leer, sliding the number into his wallet.

He just might do.

Except Tuttle raised an eyebrow when he dropped back into the car seat, disapproval writ clear over his haggard features.

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“What?” Harvey demanded. Okay, so Cindy over there wasn’t exactly the type you took home to Mother, but his Mom was long dead and he wasn’t the kind of guy to judge someone for how they made their living.

He was no saint, and everyone knew it.

Tuttle just shook his head.

“I never knew you had a death wish.”

It wasn’t the done thing, not officially, but he looked up her file when they got back to the precinct. Tried to read between the lines when it came to her previous convictions and her known associates, coming up with a total blank.

There was no reason, so far as he could see, why a roll in the hay with an interested party was likely to end with him in a body bag. Still, perhaps Tuttle knew something he didn’t, and he made the decision to steer clear.

He wasn’t _that_ desperate.

It had been a while though. A long while, and he slumped onto the sofa after work, glad for Jim’s comforting presence next to him. Jim had been the one to suggest their current living arrangement, pointing out that they already spent almost their free time in a single apartment, and Harvey’s bank balance was already thanking him for it.

His stomach too, because Jim could be surprisingly domestic when he wanted to, ensuring the kitchen cupboards were well stocked and even making dinner occasionally.

Sometimes, like tonight, went all out with dessert too, and as Harvey scraped the dish clean he figured he deserved some kind of recompense for turning down a legitimate offer to get laid that evening.

The next time it happened he went back for seconds and started on the good whiskey into the bargain.

Because there had been a boutique owner who hadn’t seen the shooter they were tracking, but most definitely had been giving him the come on. Harvey knew he hadn’t simply been imagining it. She had had her hand on his arm, had been batting her lashes right at him, and then Alvarez - of all people - had stood there tapping his foot and glaring daggers.

Told him as soon as they were out in the street that it was for his own good, and that he would be thanking him later.

“Trust me,” Alvarez said, as intense as Harvey had ever seen him, “I know his type. You’ll think everything is fine, you’ll think he doesn’t know, then you’re gonna wake up one morning and he’ll have taken all your stuff to Goodwill. All of it. Your signed baseball cards, your games consoles. Your motorbike. _Everything_.”

“You speaking from experience?” Harvey asked, unnecessarily, and Alvarez only shoved another piece of gum in his mouth - a sure sign of stress - and said simply,

“Don’t do it.”

What he needed was to find someone who wasn’t attached. Someone who didn’t have a crazy ex lurking in the background - who the fuck donated something they could sell, after all?

Someone with money, probably, and he supposed it was better than Cindy and her potential cop killer.

Luck, for once, was on his side, because there had been a shooting down in the dock district and IA were sniffing about, looking for blood. Were looking for a good time too, or at least Ginny was, and it wasn’t the most romantic of locations but he gave it his best shot, all the same.

Flirted with her over the morgue table, and Lucius flashed him a dubious look, pulling him aside in a quiet moment and saying,

“It’s a bit close to home, isn’t it? What you do in your own time, that’s your own business, but,” he shook his head, looked almost disappointed, “I see it going on under my nose and I’m not going to keep quiet about it.”

That was sobering. Embarrassing even, and Harvey spent the rest of the day playing the consummate professional. Asked Jim when he got home if he thought he needed to clean his act up, and Jim just wound an arm around him and planted an encouraging kiss on his cheek.

“You’re doing a great job. I’m proud of you.”

Harvey hugged him back for that, and slung an arm around his shoulders at the precinct. Ruffled his hair, just to be annoying, and Jim retaliated by making a show of straightening his tie for him, commenting that a man of his advanced age really ought to be capable of dressing himself.

He would have had something to say about it, a suitably cutting comeback, but a cough sounded behind him and it was the new secondment from Vice, looking every inch the kind of woman who lead unsuspecting men astray.

Jim made himself obligingly scarce, went back to his desk, and Harvey wasn’t a total sleazebag. Didn’t set out to stare at the movement of her hips nor the tight pull of her jacket. It was just difficult not to, and McKenna hissed at him after he had finished giving her a tour of the department, complaining,

“You trying to have your cake and eat it, Bullock? What’s Gordon going to say about it?”

“It’s none of his business,” he responded automatically, because he was a big boy now and he didn’t need to ask Jim’s permission if he wanted to bring girls home. Jim didn’t ask his, that was certain, and if that was only because Jim was still keeping himself pure for the day Lee decided to take him back, well, that wasn’t his problem.

McKenna didn’t look impressed.

“He’s the most irritating son of a bitch I’ve ever had to work with and, personally, I’d love to see him taken down a peg or two. But, you know, I’m not the one with the swanky office. I’m going to be stuck out here with him. Why would you want to do that to me?”

Harvey glanced over to where Jim was busy with his paperwork, a frown settling over his features. He wasn’t treading on Jim’s toes. Jim would have told him if he was seeing someone. If he was thinking of seeing someone. Surely.

“You don’t like it,” McKenna went on, oblivious to his confusion, “tough. You made your bed, now you gotta lie in it.”

He tried to make sense of the outburst all week. Brought it up awkwardly with Jim, trying not to rock the boat and suggest that perhaps it really was time he start moving on. Jim wasn’t listening though, instead jumping to his feet and babbling excitedly about a potential connection he had just made, and there went his early evening.

There went his early morning too, and he couldn’t hold back the yawning during his scheduled meeting with HR. His attempts to look interested, to sound invested, were really not up to scratch, and the head of HR let him know it. Put her hands on her hips and gave him a dressing down in the middle of the hallway before finally turning on her heel and storming off.

He raked a hand through his hair, tried to shake off the exhaustion, and when he looked up it was to find Lee Thompkins glaring at him. She wasn’t his biggest fan, never had been, and though the feeling was kind of mutual he dredged up a smile for her.

It didn’t work because she only folded her arms across her chest and said,

“I don’t hate him. He’s not a bad man.”

“Why don’t you try telling him that?” He asked, because it was his shoulder Jim always ended up crying on. His beer stash that always took a hammering.

“He deserves better than the way you treat him. Lucius told me what he saw.”

He opened his mouth to protest - what passed between a police captain and his assistant ME should be confidential, dammit - but Lee was having none of it. Looked him up and down with a sneer and finished with,

“At first I thought he was trying to make a statement. Now I just feel sorry for him.”

He was really going to protest then. Was going to do all kinds of things but the realization hit him so hard it almost knocked his legs out from under him. Had him hurrying back into the main part of the building and pulling Jim towards the locker room for some degree of privacy,

“Did you know people think we’re - that you and me,” he lowered his voice, the walls weren’t soundproofed, “People think we’re fucking.”

“I know,” Jim told him in turn, tone calm and brow only slightly furrowed. “Didn’t you?” He broke into a smile then, bright and happy. “Alvarez told me he was ‘cool with it’ three months ago.”

The world had gone mad. It was the only explanation.

“Why didn’t you tell him the truth? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought you knew and I didn’t care. It’s not like you’re a bad catch.”

“You didn’t care,” Harvey echoed, incredulous. “So it doesn’t matter to you that the entire precinct thinks we’re screwing? You don’t mind that your former fiancée thinks I’m some scumbag who’s out to cheat on you?”

“Really?” Jim asked and Harvey thought he had cracked it. Had finally succeeded in making Jim see the reality of the situation. “Maybe we should have a fake argument so you can make it up to me.”

“It’s not funny,” Harvey admonished. “I’m not a cheater. I’ve never cheated on anyone.”

Not unless he was so drunk he couldn’t remember it, but that was a can of worms he had no intention of opening.

Jim was still smiling, for all that it was a little softer at the edges.

“It’s probably your loyalty that hooked me in the first place. I like that in a guy.”

“You don’t even like guys,” Harvey pointed out and Jim shrugged,

“Your words, not mine.”

“So, what? You’re saying if I came on to you for real you wouldn’t run a mile?”

He raised an eyebrow, challenging, and Jim just responded with,

“I don’t know. You’d have to come on to me first.”

And that was how he ended up kissing Jim senseless against his own locker, Jim’s hands coming up to tangle in his hair and his tongue stroking into his mouth.

How he ended up with Tuttle flashing him a thumbs up when he walked in on the scene, and Alvarez clapping him on the shoulder later that afternoon and congratulating him on making the right decision. Lucius seemed a whole lot more comfortable with him, and even Lee was a little less frosty when their paths crossed for the second time that day.

McKenna nodded at him at the end of shift, and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to make sense of the look Jim was giving him.

He’d made his bed, now he was going to get to lie in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	55. Glasses Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this prompt on the Gotham kink meme - Jim has a kink for Harvey with his glasses on. Maybe he tries to find ways to make Harvey wear them, like writing his reports in a really tiny scrawl, handing Bullock things to read, borrowing them (cue episode 17 'Red Hood'), whatever you can come up with. Extra kudos if you throw in Harvey's beard and how Jim would love to rub his face all over it... maybe I should make this an extra prompt... :-))

Jim knew exactly what he was doing, and how pathetic it was. He just couldn’t help himself.

Because Harvey looked good in his glasses, really good, and if Jim liked to encourage Harvey to wear them, well. There was no harm in it. Harvey wasn’t quite as convinced, perhaps, and preferred to squint at the computer screen and the faded type on the files from the records store. Gave himself a headache trying to decipher Jim’s tiny scrawl, complaining,

“I know we’re tight on funds, but I’m sure we could have stretched to another sheet of paper. How am I supposed to read this?”

“Those aren’t just for decorative purposes,” Jim replied, gesturing to where Harvey’s glasses were laying on his desk and it had to be his over active imagination, but Jim could have sworn there was a hint of color in Harvey’s cheeks. He had it confirmed a few days later when Harvey whined about the license plate he was trying to distinguish in a grainy CCTV image. He huffed a sigh eventually, slid the frames on, then glared when he caught Jim staring and snapped,

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting old. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re not old,” Jim protested, instantly, and Harvey turned his attention back to the print outs, muttering,

“I know. I said I’m getting there.”

Now Jim was looking for it, he noticed it again and again. The disparaging way Harvey spoke about himself, and his reluctance to let on to Jim when he was feeling the strain of a long day. When his back was aching or he needed his glasses. Jim didn’t draw attention to it, or at least he didn’t mean to. He hated to hear it though, couldn’t bear the idea that Harvey believed Jim was going to think any less of him, and he got himself too drunk one night and started to ramble on about types and whether or not Harvey might have one.

“Willing,” was Harvey’s deadpan answer, and Jim could feel the flush in his own cheeks because he knew he was being ridiculous.

Harvey was hardly likely to start describing an idiot cop who couldn’t go a full week without inciting someone to attempted murder. An idiot cop who couldn’t keep his own mouth shut, gazing too intently into Harvey’s eyes as he said,

“I’ve always liked people older. With experience.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed,” Harvey told him, and Jim supposed it was a fair enough comment based on the evidence Harvey had to go on. He hadn’t known Jim before Barbara, and had no idea what a huge departure that relationship had been. All he actually succeeded on saying on the subject was,

“Trust me.”

In the morning the memory made him want the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Had him shame faced and awkward because he had been so obvious, had gone so far as to put his hand on Harvey’s knee at one point, and Harvey hadn’t been interested. He had brushed it off, gentle and discreet, and said goodnight as though Jim hadn’t all but begged Harvey to bed him.

He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the day, the hangover making his head pound and the humiliation churning his stomach over.

Harvey didn’t mention it though. Didn’t even allude to the night before, no matter how many times Jim glanced nervously at him. No matter how much of a lovesick idiot he acted, staring stupidly at Harvey when he put his glasses on to read the newspaper, and sitting too at lunch close in spite of everything, silently hoping that Harvey would put an arm around him.

It surprised him when Harvey actually did. It made his heart race when Harvey leaned into his back the following day, one hand on his shoulder for balance as he looked at the case file Jim was working on.

It had him fighting for composure when Harvey didn’t let up.

Shivering when Harvey’s thumb strayed to the nape of his neck, and staring up at Harvey, helpless, when the other man pressed in close to whisper in his ear,

“I figured you might appreciate my input. The benefit of my experience.”

Harvey smirked back at him, too knowing, and Jim was nodding along helplessly with Harvey’s suggestion that they finish up for the evening. Was following him out to the car and then up the stairs to his apartment. Was standing there, dumbstruck, as Harvey poured them both a generous measure of whiskey and said,

“Before I give you this, I want to be 100% certain the other night wasn’t just the booze talking.”

His tone was light, expression neutral, but Jim could see the tension in his body language. Understood, instinctively, that Harvey wasn’t just giving him an out - he was afraid that Jim was going to take it. That, even now, he might start laughing and confess to playing a cruel practical joke on him.

“Are you saying I can’t hold my drink?” Jim managed, and the smile Harvey gave him in response made his stomach flutter.

He took the glass from Harvey’s hand, downed it in a single swallow, then pushed forward into Harvey’s personal space. Felt the warmth of the alcohol flood through his system, even as being so close to Harvey sent heat of a different kind washing over him.

“I might be old, but I’m no fool,” Harvey said, forgetting about his own drink in favor of cupping a hand around the back of Jim’s neck and bringing their foreheads together. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Really?”

“I got better things to dream about.”

“Tell me about them,” Jim breathed, lost in Harvey’s gaze. In his scent and his touch, and the prospect of them becoming even more than partners.

“I can do better than that,” Harvey promised, lips finally finding his own, “I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	56. Jim loses his memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had this prompt on Tumblr - Harvey thought Jim was married to his job. Turns out he's actually (accidentally?) married to someone. 
> 
> This only fills it in a really vague kind of way, but it was what came to mind when I read it!

The US military was supposed to be the best in the world. Its recruits trained to be elite fighting machines, equipped with physical strength and mental fortitude.

All Harvey could say was that he was glad there wasn’t any imminent threat of homeland invasion.

Jim’s only claim to stealth was the ability to spell it, if the noise he was making was anything to go by. Harvey buried his head in the pillow and did his best to ignore it. Grimaced as he heard Jim stumble over something, hand patting along the wall as he searched for a light switch to guide this latest visit to the bathroom, every step seemingly as loud as he could possibly make it.

Harvey was about to give in. About to sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. Then he was scrabbling to do it, desperate, because there was an almighty crash from the far side of the room that could only spell disaster.

It was worse than he had thought, and his skin went cold and clammy as his eyes adjusted to the light. Jim had tripped over a basket of laundry he had totally meant to do something about, hitting his head against the corner of the dresser. Was out cold on the floor, blood trickling ominously, and Harvey had seen people finished by less.

He was out of bed and on his knees in a moment, panic gripping him completely as he searched for a pulse. The relief when he felt it, when Jim groaned and blinked his eyes open, had him feeling unsteady, sick and light headed.

“Thank God,” Harvey murmured, reaching a hand out to touch Jim’s face, to assure himself that he really was okay, but Jim flinched away from it. Jerked back so violently he almost hit the back of his head, blood flowing freely down the side of his face as he scrambled into a sitting position.

“What happened?” Jim demanded, his gaze wary as he took in his surroundings. “Where am I?”

The fear flooded back full force.

“You fell over and hit your head,” he said as calmly as he could. “You’re safe. You’re at my place.”

Jim put a hand to the gash on his head, pulled it away streaked with blood, and his face went pale. His gaze went from his own state of undress to Harvey’s, then back again, and Harvey had to swallow back the burgeoning hysteria when Jim told him, like it was the most obvious reaction to his current predicament,

“I want to see Barbara.”

* * *

“He’ll probably be okay,” that was the verdict of Gotham General’s great and good. “Confusion is common following a head injury.”

“Confusion!” Harvey snapped, stressed and more than a little frantic. “He thinks he’s married to a psycho killer.”

“Could be worse,” the doctor responded, “at least he’s in for a nice surprise when he gets his memory back.”

Harvey would have really lost it. Would have had the guy arrested on whatever spurious charge he could come up with between there and the precinct, but Jim was making for the exit and there was nothing Harvey could do but follow him.

Because the cut had needed stitches, and Jim was still adamant that it was some kind of trick Harvey was playing on him. Told him in no uncertain terms that there was no way the two of them would ever have been friends, let alone anything more intimate, and even as the doctors were explaining what had happened, Harvey could see him plotting how he was going to get free of the watchful eye being kept on him.

“Leave me alone, Bullock,” Jim said, clipped and cold, and Harvey just fell into step beside him.

At least Jim knew who he was, that was what he tried to tell himself. He was going to remember the rest within hours, days at the most, and everything was going to be fine. It had to be.

“That’s not going to happen,” he pointed out, as reasonably as he was able. “You might be concussed. You don’t even know what day it is.”

Jim glared at him but gave up on attempting to give him the slip. Agreed to his suggestion that he take him to see Barbara, and only set his jaw, tight and determined, when Harvey said that Barbara would confirm all the things he had told him.

Except news travelled fast in Gotham, unnaturally fast, and when his finger found the buzzer for the apartment Barbara was occupying above her nightclub, the pressure unrelenting, Barbara pulled the door open and flung her arms around Jim. Acted every inch the trembling waif to Jim’s face, and smirked at Harvey behind his back, so very obviously pleased with herself.

“What do you stand to gain from this?” He asked, numb and disbelieving after Jim demanded he leave, and Barbara only shrugged easily.

“Who knows? You’ve got to speculate to accumulate.”

* * *

Three days in and Jim was just as convinced that he and Barbara had gone ahead and tied the knot. That their love would have survived anything and everything Gotham had to throw at it, and even the sight of Lee Thompkins hadn’t inspired so much as a glimmer of recognition from him.

Harvey tried being rational, tried being reasoned. Got angry, frustrated, and finally pleaded with Jim to trust him. To look him in the eye and say that he felt nothing. That there was no spark, no connection.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Jim said, pity etched across his face. “I’m not interested.”

It really began to sink in then. This could be real, this might be forever. Jim wasn’t even comfortable in his company, seemed to dislike him more than he had right at the beginning, or perhaps he just wasn’t as good at hiding it.

Perhaps Harvey was just watching more closely, and the pain was so bad he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He assigned two detectives to tail Jim’s every movement, to keep him out of trouble, and he spent every spare second he had begging Jim to just let him try and jog his memory.

Barbara didn’t help matters. She wanted petty revenge for all the wrongs she believed Jim had done her, and had him updating all his insurance premiums to name her his primary beneficiary. Was spinning him so many lies Harvey didn’t know how she was keeping track of them all.

She wasn’t, he decided eventually, because her chief interest seemed to be in Jim humiliating himself. In Jim allowing her to visit him at the precinct - securely desk bound - and messing with his head until he handed over the keys to his apartment and by the time he was done for the day she had systematically slashed every one of his suits to pieces.

Tore pages from what she knew were his favorite books, and smashed his crockery all across the kitchen floor.

Took a hammer to the face of his father’s wristwatch and Harvey wanted nothing more than to pull Jim into his arms when he saw the wretched look on his face. He had to give in when Jim swiped a hand across his eyes, the tell tale moisture clinging to his lashes, and Jim only hesitated a couple of seconds before hugging him back, fingers clutching tight in the fabric of his suit jacket.

“We’ve done this before,” Jim said, a statement rather than a question, and Harvey could scarcely swallow past the lump in his throat. Couldn’t put into words what an absolute state he was in - so ridiculously happy to be this close to Jim, so utterly terrified that it might be the last time.

That Jim might push him away at any moment and decide he wanted nothing more to do with him. That even if his memories returned Jim might confess that this was how he really felt, and everything they had, everything he had thought they had, was based on pity or loneliness.

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered before he pulled away and Harvey had to take a long moment to compose himself.

* * *

Three weeks in and, physically, Jim had made a full recovery. The stitches were out and the headaches had gone. He wasn’t doing so bad mentally either. Remembered why he and Barbara hadn’t worked out, and all about Lee, and the baby, and Blackgate.

Even remembered the details of his recent cases, and was well enough to give evidence at a trial on Tuesday morning while Harvey sat at his desk with his head in his hands, wondering how he was supposed to keep it together.

Because Jim still claimed to remember nothing about _them_. He knew that they were partners, accepted that they were friends, but anything further and Jim tensed up and changed the subject. Acted almost as though the very idea frightened him and it hurt worse than anything Harvey had ever known, the way Jim avoided his touch and making eye contact.

Jim was everything to him. Had been for a long time before he worked up the courage to confess it to him, and when Jim had kissed him and touched him, and told him that he loved him back, Harvey was so happy he was certain he would never stop grinning.

Couldn’t imagine ever being miserable again, and to think that it was all gone, all because he had been too lazy to tidy the place up… it was killing him.

He did everything the doctors recommended. Got second, third and fourth opinions, and scoured the internet for information. Broke down, finally, at the six week mark because it would have been their second anniversary and he presented Jim with his father’s watch, the repairs worth every penny for the smile it was responsible for.

Willed Jim, silently, to realize what the significance was, even as he took him to dinner at the little restaurant which had served as the venue of their first proper date, and insisted they walk the long way back afterwards, pausing to lean against the railings overlooking the city park, where less than two months ago he had asked Jim to move in with him.

“It’s cold,” was all Jim said in the present, sounding maudlin and exhausted. “It’s always cold lately.”

He cried that night for the first time since it had happened, bitter frustrated tears, and clung to one of the shirts Jim had left at his place, imagining he could still detect Jim’s scent lingering on it.

* * *

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Jim complained the following day, when they met up for lunch at one of the diners near the precinct. “I kept thinking I had forgotten something.”

Any other day and Harvey would have had a wisecrack at the ready. Would have teased and bantered and made one big joke of it. But he hadn’t slept himself, couldn’t shake the despair that had settled over him, and Jim watched him too intently. Asked suddenly,

“Do you hate me? For not remembering?”

The question startled him. Knocked him off kilter so badly he was answering honestly before he had chance to think better of it,

“Of course not. I could never hate you, Jim.”

It was true. Jim could have literally ripped his heart from his chest and he’d still forgive him with his dying breath.

“It’s not your fault,” he added, struggling to keep his tone even, and Jim just tilted his head to the side, considering, and said,

“You know, there’s one thing we haven’t tried to jog my memory.”

It was a bad idea, Harvey knew. A really bad idea. Because just being close to Jim was enough to overwhelm his senses, but Jim was simply curious.

He rubbed at his jaw after they kissed, like the sensation of Harvey’s beard against his skin was something to catalog, and frowned when Harvey couldn’t keep his mouth shut, murmuring over and over that he loved him, his mouth and fingers worshipping the expanses of skin he had begun to accept he would never touch again.

Harvey pledged to make the most of it. Dragged it out as long as he dared, lavishing attention on all the spots exploration had taught him got Jim frantic, until Jim was babbling nonsense, begging and pleading and then pushing him back against the bed covers, nipping at his bottom lip and unerringly seeking out the answering places on his own body.

Pressed slick fingers into him and they had never really done that, Jim had never shown any inclination to, but Harvey didn’t stop him. Lost himself to it, and Jim kissed him again before latching on to the skin of his throat. Licked and nibbled his way up the side of his neck to his ear and confessed brokenly,

“I don’t know what I remember, and what I only want to be a memory; it’s all mixed up in my head.”

“It’s okay,” Harvey promised, clutching Jim tighter, and Jim’s fingers had him seeing stars. Had him desperate, and Jim was fumbling between them, gaze never leaving his own as he panted out,

“You make me feel things, things I never thought I’d feel, and I don’t know if that’s the way it was before.”

It was intense, as emotionally charged as it was physically, and Jim kept kissing him. Moved with him, slow and tender, and spilled secret after secret, lips against his mouth as though it wouldn’t count that way.

“I lied when I said I wasn’t interested. I was scared. I was scared the first time too. Scared you’d get sick of me. Scared I’d ruin everything.”

For once in his life Harvey couldn’t form words. Couldn’t do anything but thread his hands into Jim’s hair and kiss him harder. Push back into Jim’s thrusts and gasp and groan, panting for air as Jim worked him closer and closer to the edge, blue eyes looking at him just the way Harvey remembered, so perfect that he couldn’t hold out any longer.

The noises Jim made in response were so hot. Had him shivering through it, and Jim followed his example. Collapsed next to him in a sweaty heap and Harvey held him close. Hid a couple of treacherous tears in Jim’s already damp hair, and that night Jim stayed, Harvey watching him sleep until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, afraid to ever take it for granted again.

* * *

Jim was still there when he woke up. Was watching him, brow furrowed, and Harvey tried not to get his hopes up.

To brace himself for the worst case scenario.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever remember all of it,” Jim said, steady and determined. “I don’t know if I’ll ever remember the first time you told me you loved me, or how I felt the first time we kissed each other.”

Harvey nodded, the movement awkward, but Jim reached over and linked their fingers together.

“I hope I do. I hope I remember everything. But even if I don’t,” Jim kissed his knuckles, the action making Harvey’s heart twist, and finished, “I want to make new memories with you.”

He could feel the grin on his face, knew he must look like an idiot, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but rubbing the thumb of his free hand - carefully - over the healed cut on Jim’s head and pledging,

“I'm going to do my best to make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Jim's expression softened, the smile on his lips reaching his eyes for the first time in weeks as he admitted,

“I have a feeling you won't need to try very hard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	57. Harvey asks Jim out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - gordlock prompt: leading up to the chap 50 date, which one asked the other out? how did that go down?

“Wisdom teeth, eh? I wouldn’t have thought they’d be something you’d ever need to worry about.”

Jim spared Harvey a glare and went back to staring out of the car window, the fingers of one hand pressed to the side of his jaw. He had hoped he’d escaped the problems of cutting teeth as a damn adult too, and the dull throbbing spreading towards his temple was doing nothing to endear him to the situation.

“Have you taken anything for the pain?” Harvey went on. “I got some great pills from that lab Narco busted a few weeks back.”

Jim glared harder. It was toothache, he could handle it. He was a Gordon.

And, okay, maybe being a Gordon didn’t count for as much as he had once thought. Maybe what his dad said didn’t tally so good with what his dad did, but if Jim let go of it everything he was, everything he had built his world view on, might start unravelling.

“Suit yourself,” Harvey sighed, slouching back in his seat and flipping through a magazine. Tossed it back on the dash and squirmed about like he couldn’t get comfortable. Crunched noisily through half a pack of potato chips until Jim couldn’t think of anything but how hungry he was, and how much he wished his stupid tooth would stop hurting long enough for him to eat something.

Sucked his fingers clean until Jim had to shift in his own seat, his dick not caring how awful the timing was, nor how much he was already suffering.

“Do you have to do that?” He snapped finally, instantly regretting it, because not only was the rush of cold air seriously bad for his tooth, Harvey was now giving him his full attention.

He was raking his gaze over Jim’s flushed cheeks and the awkward way he was sitting, eyebrow raising at the sight of his hands clutching the bottom of his jacket over his lap, and drawing all kinds of conclusions Jim fervently wished he wouldn’t.

Because he had kept it to himself for months now. Had pined in silence, cursing the day he had come to the realization that Harvey Bullock was the kind of guy he was destined to fall for. Harvey was irreverent where he was serious, cautious where he was reckless. Loyal no matter how much of an idiot he was, and the harder Jim tried not to look, the more aware he became of exactly how much he liked everything about Harvey.

The hair, the beard, the pull of his shirt across expanses of skin Jim had taken to dreaming about catching a glimpse of.

“I could help you with that,” Harvey said and Jim swallowed thickly. Could scarcely believe what he was hearing and then Harvey was continuing, “You must be starving. There’s a cafe around the corner that sells take out soup. You could manage that, right?”

He nodded, dumbly, and then pinched the bridge of his nose when Harvey sifted through the junk in the bottom of the cup holder for some change and then left him to it.

It was worse, somehow, than outright rejection. Worse even than a sneer of disgust or a fist to the face. Because this was going to change things between them, subtle and insidious, coloring their every interaction.

Jim was still stuck on the same miserable thoughts when Harvey returned, hardly daring to look as he dropped into his seat and dumped another pack of chips in among all the other clutter. He accepted the soup silently, his frozen fingers appreciating the warmth even if his swollen gums wouldn’t, and Harvey started speaking as he sipped at it tentatively.

“I could help you with your other problem too,” Harvey said casually, “not here though. At least not the first time. I got standards.”

Jim choked on his soup, the shock of it all too much, and Harvey shrugged, crunching again,

“Okay, you win, I would totally go down on you on the department’s dime, but I know it’s not your style.”

“What is my style?” Jim managed, bewildered, and Harvey gave him a smile that made his stomach flutter. Made other parts of him take notice and Harvey only smiled harder in response.

“I was thinking dinner - somewhere fancy, naturally - and then back to mine for a nightcap.”

Jim could feel his cheeks growing hotter, torn between imagined scenes of Harvey wining and dining him, and Harvey sucking a brand into the skin of his neck as they moved against each other.

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He commented, breathless, and Harvey only pointed out movement on the steps of the club they were watching. Grabbed for the camera and spared him a sly glance, smile still curled across his features.

“Not really, but sometimes you just gotta listen to your gut instinct.”

Jim grinned to himself and readied himself to go catch a couple of criminals red handed.

Even his tooth was feeling a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	58. Mind-reading AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was to write something based around that line where Harvey tells Jim he's screaming with his inside voice. :)

His mother told him it was a gift. That he was lucky, blessed, and that it meant he was destined to help people.

Harvey was less convinced. Learned to keep his mouth shut about the details and to ignore it to the best of his ability. Lost his temper sometimes when it became too much, when he couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep, for the noise in his head because he could see his mom fading. Could sense it, _feel_ it, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

All he could do was watch on as she slipped away, the promises he had made to live well and to be happy echoing in his ears.

They sounded hollow, empty, because he did his best, tried hard, but months later, years later, and he still couldn’t truthfully say that he was managing either.

He drank too much, smoked too much, screwed around too much. Anything to blot out the constant chatter. The infernal buzz of indecipherable thoughts and feelings.

The problem was that they weren’t indecipherable, not all of them. By rights it should have been helpful. He could tell when people were lying, sometimes, and see when there was something weighing on their conscience. But in a city like Gotham the truth was rarer than a sunny day, and everyone was guilty of something.

The auras he saw were dark and murky, even the children he interviewed shrouded in misery. The closer he got to people, the worse it felt. The more it hurt to see how he brought them down. To know that something was wrong, to know that someone was in pain, and not to be able to do anything about it.

Then Jim Gordon turned up, stubborn and self-righteous, and the haze around him was so pretty it made Harvey want to reach out and touch.

His damn face had the same effect, and Harvey couldn’t bear to see Gotham break Jim the way it broke everyone. He pledged to push Jim far away - out of his life and out of the city - before the sickness spread too far and there would be nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Except maybe Gotham had already burrowed its way beneath Jim’s skin. The guy had grown up there, after all, and for all the good qualities he had there was a darkness that still followed him. Flared up and threatened to consume him, and it made Harvey’s head pound painfully because outwardly Jim was calm and collected, while in his head he was screaming, desperate for somebody to notice.

Harvey was powerless in the face of it. He wanted to be the one to make it better. He wanted to be the one to soothe away the hurt, and have Jim curl into his arms, so close that neither of them would ever need to feel alone again.

That wasn’t what Jim wanted though, couldn’t be, and all Harvey actually did was put a hand on Jim’s shoulder and tell him to stop worrying.

“I’m not worrying,” Jim said, uptight as usual, and Harvey only looked at him for a long moment before withdrawing.

It didn’t get any better. Jim was conflicted, losing himself, and Harvey only fell harder. Fell so hard that it didn’t matter what he did, how he tried, nothing and nobody could compare to Jim. He gave up on something that was for the fantasy of what could be, and swallowed down the bitterness that Jim was never going to reciprocate his feelings.

That Jim was going to play happy families with someone else and when it fell apart, when Jim was arrested for Pinkney’s murder, it didn’t matter any longer that it wasn’t his place to respond to his silent cries for help.

Jim needed someone.

“I didn’t do it, I swear,” Jim said, pleaded, and Harvey would have believed him even if he couldn’t see the truth of the statement.

It didn’t help though, his support didn’t make any difference, and when Lee came to him he knew before she said a single word. He could see the grief well enough and, when she asked him to tell Jim, he agreed though he knew exactly how much it would hurt.

How much it would hurt him to do, and how it would completely devastate Jim to hear.

Because Jim needed to get out of Blackgate. He was fading away just as surely as he had seen his mother do all those years previously, was losing the will to fight it, slowly but surely, and if Harvey had to stain his own soul with more darkness to get him free, then so be it.

He did what he could. Sold himself to first Falcone, and later to Ginny. Gave everything he had to give until finally he couldn’t take it any more. He could hear Jim screaming out in his living room, feel his suffering, and he didn’t care that it was three in the morning, he simply crossed his darkened apartment and pulled Jim to him.

Jim resisted for a moment, tense and startled, and then he gave himself over to it, clinging to Harvey and burying his face in the fabric of the older man’s t-shirt.

“I know,” Harvey told him, clutching him still closer. “It’s all right, I know.”

He thought of lying. Wondered if perhaps Jim might not even ask about it. He did though, kept digging, and for the first time in his entire adult life Harvey found himself stiltedly confessing all. Explained to Jim about the things he saw, the things he heard, and instead of freaking out, instead of hating him for it, Jim put a hand on his arm and asked,

“What do you see when you look at me?”

“A fighter. A survivor.” He met Jim’s gaze. “A man I’m proud to call a friend.”

“Does it hurt?” Jim asked then, “How do you deal with it?”

It took him by surprise, was so out of kilter with what he had always imagined somebody’s reaction might be, and all he could do was shrug.

“It’s just one of those things,” he managed eventually and, for once, Jim was quiet inside and out, content just to sit beside him.

They didn’t talk about it much, not really, but Jim gave him grateful looks when Harvey put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Thanked him quietly when it got too much and Harvey stepped in, when he reminded him that he wasn’t facing his demons single handed, and it meant so much more than Harvey could ever say.

Made him stop attempting to blank it all out quite so completely, and Jim frowned at him when he pushed and pushed a perp with the murky grays of a guilty conscience. Trusted him to keep at it, even when the pain in his head had his hands shaking, his words jumbling, and when the missing child was reunited with their parents Jim beamed at him so brightly it was almost blinding.

“You did that. You really did that.”

Harvey tried for a smile of his own. Faltered and had to collapse in to the nearest chair, exhausted, and this time Jim took care of him. Petted careful fingers through his hair and everything about Jim was so sweet, so honest, that Harvey wished he could bottle this moment forever.

Wished he could return to it whenever he wanted, a perfect moment when it was so very easy to believe that Jim could actually love him.

Jim was his friend at least, his partner and his whole damn world, and when he didn’t turn up for work one morning he couldn’t ignore the uneasy roll of his stomach. He rang Jim’s cell, pounded on the door of his apartment, and checked out every one of his regular haunts, including the sterile corridors of Gotham General.

There was no sign of him, nothing at all, and Harvey threw the net wider. Had the entire department on the case, and spent a sleepless night knocking up pond scum and lowlifes, demanding to know where they had been, and whether they had heard anything.

By day three he was a wreck, a total mess, and he slept for a fitful hour at his desk, surrounded by case files and half empty cups of coffee. Woke with a start, heart racing, and didn’t question why or how, simply went back to one of the very first scumbags he had thought to call upon.

Kicked in the door when no answer proved forthcoming and tightened his grip around his gun, the buzzing in his head almost overwhelming.

He could be wrong. Might find absolutely nothing, but somehow he knew that wouldn’t be the case. Thought of his mother telling him that he wouldn’t be able to do it if there wasn’t some greater reason, some purpose he was destined to fulfil, and as far as he was concerned this was it.

It had to be.

Jim wasn’t conscious when he found him. Was scarcely breathing, even, and Harvey couldn’t help but touch him. Couldn’t be parted from him, not even as they loaded him into the back of an ambulance, and kept a silent vigil over his bedside, Jim’s hand heavy and limp in his own.

“I knew you’d find me,” Jim told him when he finally came around, voice little more than a dry croak. “I knew you’d hear me.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Harvey rasped in turn, tears blurring the sight of Jim’s bruised face, and the misplaced faith in his big blue eyes. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I know,” Jim managed and Harvey helped him sip at a glass of water. Stroked his hair back from his forehead just to have an excuse to prolong the contact, and when he moved to step back Jim reached for him. Linked their fingers back together and said carefully, “If you were I wouldn’t need to say it.”

“Say what?”

Jim gazed back at him, the warmth, the sincerity, still there even after everything Gotham had put him through. The goodness still surrounded him, the desire to help people, to do the right thing, still strong enough for Harvey to feel it.

It was more than that though. It was something bright and genuine. Clean and soft and so beautiful it took his breath away.

“I love you,” Jim whispered, like he was afraid to say it any louder. Like he was afraid of what Harvey’s response might be. “I just. I swore I’d tell you, if I got out of there. I wanted you to know. You deserve to know.”

He had to look away. Had to clench his eyes shut against the burn of emotion, sucking in air until he was back in control of himself. Until he could press both of his hands around one of Jim’s and press a kiss to it.

“You know this means you got to start trying harder not to die on me, don't you?” He said in turn, a little gruff but otherwise steady, and Jim smiled back at him, all giddy relief as he played along eagerly,

“You gonna give me an incentive?” 

Harvey just shook his head, so stupidly happy for the first time in he couldn't remember how long, and pressed a chaste kiss to Jim's cheek before settling in for some storytelling.

If Jim wanted a frustrating hospital stay, he had _years_ worth of idle fantasies to occupy his imagination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deawrites wrote a longer fic inspired by this chapter - check it out [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10741563/chapters/23810418).
> 
>  
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	59. Lucius plays matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - What about Jim and Harvey being so obviously in love with each other to everyone around them, but completely oblivious to the others feelings so much they don't even try to take the first step, so someone has to do it for them?

Bullock was so obvious it was painful. Trailed around after Jim Gordon like a lovesick puppy, and took every opportunity to press close or wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“He’s got it bad,” was Alvarez’ verdict. “And I bet that Gordon knows it.”

“Nah,” McKenna disagreed. “Gordon’s clueless. Look at him.”

Lucius did. He had spent a lot of time watching the pair of them since joining the payroll of the GCPD, and as the weeks turned to months he was inclined to agree with the latter verdict.

Everyone else could see it, that was beyond question. Bullock’s infatuation with Gordon was legendary both within and without the department. It was the subject of gossip and rumor among the city’s criminal fraternity, and the topic of intense speculation and unregulated betting throughout the precinct.

“My money’s on him keeping shtum forever,” the records’ clerk told him, matter of factly, and the sergeant from the front desk had no scruples about explaining why it couldn’t be much longer before Bullock broke down and confessed all.

“Even Gordon can’t be that blind. He’s going to work it out before long, he has to.”

Lucius liked to study human behavior, psychology, in what spare time he had, but he couldn’t claim to be an expert on the subject. He was fairly certain, all the same, that Bullock wasn’t the only one pining away.

Because Gordon wasn’t as blatant about it, not in comparison, but he was hardly subtle either. He smiled at Bullock when he had nothing but a frown for anyone else, and he didn’t even seem to realize how often he touched the older man, arm winding around his waist or hands straightening his tie.

He walked in on Gordon tidying Bullock’s hair up once, stroking it back behind his ears before admiring his handiwork, and Lucius wondered silently how any crime was solved in Gotham, not when the two of them remained so totally oblivious.

Not when they missed each other’s lovelorn gaze, over and over again, and when Gordon pledged to never go away on leave again, his fingers clutched tight in the lapels of Bullock’s jacket as Bullock all but melted at the touch, grinning stupidly as he complained unconvincingly about the damage Gordon was doing to his nice suit.

The problem was that people could be given all the evidence, given enough proof to secure any conviction, but they still came to the wrong conclusion.

Still came up with the wrong answer, that was what his ongoing enmity with Edward Nygma was teaching him, because sometimes the only way to be sure something was done right was to do it yourself.

It was the work of a few moments to deliver a message to Bullock via Tuttle that Gordon required urgent assistance, and to Gordon via Marten that Bullock was requesting back up.

Bullock gathered up half a dozen uniformed officers and, while Cathedral Square was renowned as Gotham’s most romantic location, it really lost something of its charm when Gordon burst onto the scene, brandishing his gun like a madman.

The camera crew of the local evening news certainly thought so, ditching their original story about the dangers of uneven flagstones for the entirely unGordon-like display of emotion they managed to catch on film.

“I thought you were…” Gordon was heard to say all too clearly, and the hand he had on Bullock’s cheek was simply the clincher that made the way Bullock clutched him close, eyes sliding shut in a silent prayer of thanks before releasing him, the icing on the cake.

Deputy Commissioner Saunders told reporters she had faith in her officers not to let their personal relationships get in the way of their duties, and stormed through the precinct to give Bullock a vocal dressing down for not exercising more caution.

“There’s nothing going on between Jim and me,” Bullock protested, loud enough for everyone listening in to hear, and Jim looked so wistfully miserable at his desk that the undeniable truth of the statement was almost beyond comprehension. “We’re just good friends.”

“Well, tough,” was Saunders’ response, “the only way out of this public relations nightmare was to make the two of you our diversity poster boys. Act convincing for the cameras, never cause me this kind of headache again, and we’ll let that be an end to it.”

It took longer than he had envisioned, even with the forceful push. The two of them blushed furiously when a photographer turned up to provide some pictorial interest to a piece on the number of police departments still lacking codified fraternization regulations. Got predictably antagonistic when the published article claimed it impacted on their ability to do the job they were paid for, and Bullock lost his temper with a journalist at an unrelated press conference for implying that his appointing Gordon as lead officer on the case was an obvious act of favoritism.

“He’s the most capable detective this city has. I’m saying that because it’s true, not because I want to stick my tongue down his throat.”

“You do though?” She pushed, all smug smile, and Bullock was never the greatest at reigning it in, snapping viciously,

“Of course I do, just look at him.”

Things settled down after that, got back on track, but that was the soundbite that went viral, and that was the soundbite that got Gordon knocking on the Captain’s door after his shift was over, body language anxious but hopeful as they talked about something more than the suspect’s last known whereabouts.

The smile on his face when he went back to his desk said it all, so much so that even at that late hour there was a huddled frenzy in the corner of the rec room, with arguments over how much particular pay outs from the betting pool were going to be.

“Have you heard about our respected police captain and his blue eyed boy? I thought I detected a third party’s fingerprints all over it,” Nygma said when they next clashed, eyes bright with admiration for a job well done, and Lucius had to fight to keep his expression innocent and his tone entirely beyond reproach, as he said in turn,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	60. Jim uses Harvey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Harvey is utterly and completely in love with Jim. Jim knows. Harvey knows Jim knows. They don't talk about it.

Jim Gordon had once been a good man, a moral man, and the mere thought of what he was about to do would have sickened him.

Gotham had changed him though. Life had changed him, and for all that he understood he ought to feel ashamed of himself, the reality was that he didn’t feel much of anything. He felt distanced from the situation, indifferent to the damage he was doing, and, when Harvey attempted to look away and hide the emotion on his face, Jim only pushed closer.

Harvey wanted him, that much had been obvious almost from the very beginning. He stared too openly, let his touch linger too blatantly, and it only took a few beers for the older man to start asking him whether or not he was strictly a ladies man, under cover of his typical banter.

Jim had been - still was, really - and he wouldn’t have needed to be a detective to decipher the disappointment on Harvey’s face.

Back then he had pledged not to use it against him. Stayed true to his word even as the lustful looks gave way to something more pitiful. It wasn’t right to rub it in the man’s face, and was downright cruel to taunt him with something Jim was never going to be able to give him.

Because Harvey loved him. Truly, devotedly loved him, and in spite of all his self-righteous moralising, Jim liked knowing it. It was an ego boost, priceless validation, and the brutal truth was that he enjoyed seeing the flash of hurt in Harvey’s eyes when he caught him making out with his beautiful new girlfriend.

He had to know that his jealousy was pointless, had to be well aware that in Jim’s eyes there was never going to be any comparison, but it was there regardless, Harvey scarcely able to swallow down his bitterness when it came to Lee Thompkins.

“You really think it’s a good idea?” Harvey asked when the news of their engagement went public. “You sure you’re going to make each other happy?”

“I love her,” Jim said, bluntly, and he felt an ugly thrill at the way his partner’s shoulders tensed, the misery etched clear in his features.

When things fell apart with Lee, when Harvey was the one to get him free of the hell hole that was Blackgate, Jim almost wished that he could return the man’s feelings. Harvey would be so good to him, he knew. If he said the word Harvey would do whatever he asked of him. Would debase himself in any way Jim wanted, and even without the word he didn’t care who saw that he already worshipped the ground he walked on.

It made Jim angry sometimes, confused and frustrated. He hadn’t asked for Harvey’s devotion. He had never done a thing to encourage it. Yet no matter what he did, how petty his spite or how viciously he kicked, Harvey stood by him. Refused to be driven away, and Jim broke down once, drunk and over emotional, and asked Harvey what it was he saw that was so worth salvaging, sobbing messily into his shoulder.

Harvey only clutched him tighter. Pressed fervent kisses into his hair and told him that things were going to get better. That he was strong and that he was destined for greatness.

“If you could see what I see, if you knew the Jim Gordon I know.” Harvey trailed off, sucked in a shaky breath. “You’re going to get through this, Jim. I won’t let Gotham break you.”

Other than that they never spoke of it, and rarely even alluded to it. It was always there, regardless, the understanding that Jim knew, and that Harvey was well aware of it.

It festered between them, Harvey unable to let go of his desperate hope that some day, somehow, Jim would come to feel something for him, and Jim straying further and further from the man he had once believed he was.

The man Harvey was so pathetically in love with.

Finally he lost sight of that man completely. Went willingly to the dark side, blinded by his uncle’s promises, and Harvey tried to make him see sense. Begged him to reconsider what he was doing, and Jim simply touched his hand to Harvey’s knee. Slid it up the length of his thigh and said, voice dropping,

“We both know what you really want from me, Harv. Why don’t you just admit it?”

Harvey looked away, cheeks flushed and gaze lowered, and part of Jim told him to stop now. Warned him not to take this any further, not to ruin the one good thing he had left to cling to, but it wasn’t loud enough. Was drowned out easily enough, and he moved his hand still further.

Let his thumb just graze along the heated crease of Harvey’s thigh and went on,

“I’m not saying I feel the same way. I’m not saying that I ever will. But we’re both adults. We don’t need to pretend not to know what the score is.”

“You don’t want to do this,” Harvey whispered, but Jim could already see that he’d won. Already knew that Harvey couldn’t say no to him, and when he inched his hand up that little bit higher, when he squeezed ever so slightly over the fabric of Harvey’s trousers, Harvey surged forward suddenly, like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

It surprised him, legitimately, how good it felt. He had known that Harvey would be eager, passionate, but he hadn’t realized that he would react in kind. Had never guessed that the rasp of Harvey’s beard would be anything other than a necessary evil, and he groaned, low and helpless, when Harvey sucked at the skin of his throat, his dick hardening in his pants as Harvey pushed his hands up under his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harvey told him as he set about exploring every inch of him, the floodgates opened. “I want you so badly. I’ve wanted you for so long, Jim, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Jim panted, swept away by the way Harvey looked at him. The way he touched him, tender and reverent, and the heat of his mouth as it followed the path of his fingers, pushing aside his clothing and kissing each patch of newly revealed skin like it was something precious.

“I love you,” Harvey told him finally, voice choked up with emotion, “I’m always going to love you.”

It was enough to make his stomach turn. To clench his eyes tight shut against the honest emotion in Harvey’s eyes. The misplaced hope on his face.

“I want you,” was the best Jim could manage in response. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Harvey didn’t make him wait. Blew him like he had been waiting his entire life for the opportunity, lips and tongue doing things to him that he had never even thought were possible.

It was too much, too good, and he tangled his fingers tight in Harvey’s unruly hair. Bucked his hips forward, powerless against the tide of overwhelming sensation, and Harvey simply took it. Encouraged it, even, and groaned around him when he lost control, his own hand moving feverishly in the confines of his pants as he willed Jim to come for him.

He felt ill in the aftermath. Cold and dirty, because he didn’t deserve the lovesick adoration on Harvey’s face, and he didn’t want the swirling emotion in his own chest, simmering just beneath the ever present numbness.

“It’s okay,” Harvey soothed, reading him like a book. “It’s not your fault. You never promised me anything.”

Jim let himself be coddled and petted. Wished that he was the man he had once been, or even a shadow of him. He wasn’t though, and he was too far gone to find his way back to him, because he would do it again.

He would use Harvey again, over and over, until he had taken everything he had to give and still more, and only then would he move on to his next victim.

“Don’t be sorry,” Harvey whispered, finally, and Jim wondered if he would come to regret those words one day. If he would end up wishing their paths had never crossed, and that he had never allowed himself to be duped by a man who claimed he wanted to do the right thing.

“I’m not,” was all the answer he gave, and the worst thing wasn’t even that it was true. That he wasn’t at all sorry, not really.

It was that he never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	61. Phone Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - PLEASE write a gordlock based off that "how do I look" interaction between Lucius and Harvey in the new episode. (3x15)

“What are you wearing?”

“Jim Gordon! I always knew you had a kinky side.”

He could practically hear the eye roll.

“Tomorrow, I mean. What are you wearing tomorrow?”

Harvey sighed, flopping back against his pillows and pressing the line of the cell phone more comfortably to his ear.

“I dunno. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

That was a lie. A big stinking lie because he had been stressing about having to speak at the graduation ceremony from the moment he received the invitation. The cadets needed somebody who was going to inspire them - somebody who would put the fire of justice in their bellies and convince them they had made the right decision.

They didn’t need a walking talking example of what not to do.

Jim wasn’t about to give up that easily, “You should wear your nice suit.”

“That don’t narrow it down any. _All_ my suits are nice.”

There was the sound of rustling over the line, like Jim was shifting about, trying to get comfortable too.

“Haha, yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I’m talking about the one you wore to court last week. With the blue shirt.”

Harvey grinned stupidly, kind of glad that Jim wasn’t there to see it. Jim didn’t need more proof of how ridiculously bad he had it for the department’s star detective.

Then again, it was a little late to worry about being too obvious.

“Why have you got to be so far away? How is it anyway?”

“Rustic,” Jim answered and Harvey didn’t even have chance to comment on the obviousness of that before Jim was elaborating, “I don’t know. He seems okay. I - I don’t know.”

“You said that already,” Harvey pointed out, but the words were soft. The truth was that he wished he were there, or Jim was here, or they were both some place else. Just so long as they were together. Just so long as he was free to give so-called Uncle Frank the warning talk about what happened to flaky relatives who turned up out of the blue and upset his favorite person.

If he had some long lost uncle they’d have done a normal thing. Drank a lot of cheap whiskey, possibly had a punch up in the middle of some dive bar, then sang a few tearful choruses of The Fields of Athenry and been the best of friends again.

Gordons always had to go the extra mile. Didn’t speak for decades then organised some weird bonding session out in some shack in the middle of nowhere, the itinerary consisting of shooting defenceless animals and trading stories about their near death experiences.

Probably.

“And don’t try to change the subject,” Jim chided, apparently oblivious to his own eagerness to switch topic. “You write your speech yet?”

“ _Yes_.”

“That’s a no then.”

He couldn’t even think up a snappy comeback, let alone settle on an order of words that would ready an auditorium of graduating cadets for the realities of street policing. What was he supposed to say - get out while you still can? Don’t fall behind with your insurance premiums and try not to piss your pants the first time some scumbag pulls a gun on you?

“Don’t over think it,” Jim advised, his voice sounding absurdly intimate up close in his ear, “tell them that it’ll be hard sometimes, really hard, but that they just gotta keep going.”

It was too perfect an opening.

“It’s really hard, huh? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Harvey!”

“Yeah, just like that,” Harvey breathed, wishing all over again that Jim was with him. He hated letting Jim out of his sight at the best of times, and now that they were more than friends, more than partners, he’d cuff Jim to the headboard and blow off work for a week to do nothing but commit every inch of him to memory if he thought he could get away with it. “Maybe I should ask you what you’re wearing?”

Jim huffed a laugh, more rustling over the line.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve got two sweaters on top of my pajamas. It’s freezing here.”

“I can think of something to warm you up.”

“You’re not serious.”

He hadn’t been, not particularly, but Jim had hesitated a moment as though he were considering. Sounded just a touch breathless, and maybe that was just the cold air in his lungs, but it was certainly doing the trick as far as he was concerned.

“If there’s anything I don’t joke about, it’s my commitment to getting you off.”

“My uncle is sleeping next door.”

It wasn’t a no.

“You’ll have to be quiet then, won’t you?”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Jim said in response but the accompaniment of blankets shifting, the sound of his cell being switched to the other hand, was enough to get Harvey’s heart rate up. This was really happening. “Maybe I just want to get some sleep.”

“Maybe you do,” Harvey agreed. “Or maybe you’re just dreaming about all the filthy things you want me to do to you. I bet you are. I bet you’ve got a hand under the blankets already, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” Jim conceded and the mental image had his own dick taking interest. Had his own fingers stroking lightly, teasingly, through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Fuck how he wished Jim were there with him.

“I wish I was watching you,” he admitted. “You don’t know what you do to me, Jim. You’ve only got to look at me and I can’t think straight. You’re so hot, so fucking hot. It’s all I can do to keep it together sometimes, when you’re sitting close to me, looking at me, and I’m fucking _aching_ just thinking about how badly I want to feel your dick in my mouth. I love the way you lose control when I’ve got my mouth on you. The way you tug at my hair and the sounds that you make, and please tell me you’re touching yourself right now because I don’t think I can keep my hand out of my pants.”

He couldn’t, there was no way, because Jim’s breathing was harsh and heavy in his ear, and he could picture exactly what Jim would look like. Could practically see the pretty flush in his cheeks and the way he was periodically biting down at his lip, determined to keep silent. Jim always got worked up so easily. Was always so eager and so very willing, and Harvey had to push his hand into his underwear, his dick hardening under the touch even as Jim moaned quietly and said,

“How should I touch myself? If you were here, if you were watching me, how would you tell me to do it?”

That was new, that wasn’t at all what he had expected, and he shuddered on the upstroke, precome gathering, because Jim was such a good little boy scout and yet here he was asking Harvey for instructions. He had to concentrate on breathing in and out for a moment, had to collect his thoughts, and then he was focusing on the task in hand, so to speak.

“I want you to take it slow. I want you to push your pants down off your hips and put your hand on your thigh. Can you do that for me?”

There was the sound of movement, shifting and squirming, and then Jim was whispering ‘okay’ and Harvey feathered his fingertips up the length of his own dick before directing Jim to do likewise.

“How does that feel? Do you like that?” He asked, voice breathy, and Jim was a little unsteady as he answered with,

“Y-yeah. I want - I need. I’m so hard for you, Harvey.”

It was lines like that which were going to be the death of him. That were going to give him a heart attack and send him off on a high note because Jim claimed he didn’t do dirty talk, but he was getting by just fine from where Harvey was standing.

Lying.

Whatever.

“Are you wet, Jim? Do you want to stroke yourself? Wrap your hand around your dick and push up into your fist, so wet and slick just from knowing that I’m listening to what you’re doing?”

“Fuck,” Jim cursed, rough with just a hint of frantic, and Harvey had to make good on his own suggestion, heat flaring across his face at how good it felt, and how hot Jim sounded, panting into the handset.

“Please, Harvey,” Jim tried again after a moment because apparently now was the time he decided to follow orders. “Please say I can stroke myself.”

It was probably a good job Jim usually disregarded everything he told him to do, what with the way the obedience had him thrusting into his own touch, ridiculously turned on at the idea that Jim was waiting for his permission.

“Oh God,” he managed and Jim all but whined in response,

“ _Please_.”

“Do it,” Harvey breathed, the movement of his own hand slick and easy. “Go on, Jim, I want to hear you come for me.”

He could hear Jim trying. The feverish motion of his hand, and the rustling of the bed covers. The hitching in his rapid breathing, and finally the bit off whimpers as he pushed closer and closer.

“That’s it,” Harvey encouraged. “Don’t stop, you’re so close, I can tell. Come on, Jim. Don’t stop now.”

It didn’t seem a particularly likely occurrence, but then it was hard to think particularly clearly, knowing that Jim was about to come all over himself. Listening to Jim gasp and pant and stifle back a groan of his name, the quality of his breathing telling Harvey exactly what was happening.

He had no choice but to follow Jim’s example. Gasped and grunted and spilled over his fingers, heart pounding so hard he was half convinced Jim would be able to hear it.

“Fuck, that was hot,” he panted as he struggled to get his breath back, and he could hear Jim squirming back into his pants and fussing about to get cleaned up.

“I can’t believe you talked me into that,” Jim told him after a few moments, the words accusing but his tone sated and happy. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“That was all your doing,” Harvey countered, grinning. “You were the one talking about hardness and how good I look in my nice suit.”

“You look nice out of it too,” Jim offered, yawning through the end of the sentence, and Harvey didn’t try to excuse away the pleasurable fluttering in his gut at the statement.

“Don’t get into any trouble tomorrow, all right? I want you back in one piece.”

“Same goes for you,” Jim mumbled, fast approaching sleep already, and Harvey swiped his hand clean and burrowed into his own blankets, rounding off the call with,

“When do I ever get into trouble?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	62. Non-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this prompt on the Gotham kink meme - Harvey and Jim are kidnapped by some bad guys. Jim provoked them. The bad guys decides to make him pay, threatening him to kill nastily him after. Harvey asks them to take himself instead. (Maybe he can't bear to watch Jim suffer, he's feeling guilty for something...) Bonus if Harvey keeps his wit during the torture/rape and beating and even sends a smile to a scared Jim.
> 
> Trigger warnings for non-con.

Jim was afraid, terrified even, and Harvey had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he was squaring up against the reanimated dead, and not when Harvey was forced to walk away and leave him in Blackgate.

It was there now though and for the first time Harvey began to doubt that they were ever going to get out of here. Began to question the ability of the department to piece the clues together, and the sincerity of their captors’ promises not to put a bullet through their skulls if they played along and co-operated.

“I asked you a simple fucking question,” the ringleader spat again, fingers bunched tight in Jim’s shirt front, slamming him back against the wall. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how much I hate to be kept waiting?”

Jim winced, that flash of fear back again, and Harvey realized suddenly that they hadn’t been targeted because he was acting captain. They had been targeted because the scumbag who had bound his hands so tight behind his back he was losing feeling knew Jim.

Had _history_ with him, and if Harvey could just get free of the damn chains around his ankles he’d kill the fucker. Would bite his damn jugular out if that was the only option open to him, would do anything, because he recognized the meaning of the tattoo visible on the back of the guy’s neck all too well.

A long stay in Blackgate, and Jim’s body language gave the rest away. The desperate attempt to act unmoved - to keep his head up and his shoulders straight - just the way he had been when Harvey was sat opposite him in the prison visiting room, wishing he could find the words to tell Jim he ought to report what was being done to him.

They had never spoken of it. Not then, when he was writing a blank check for Falcone, nothing but getting Jim free of the godforsaken place mattering, and not afterwards, though the words stuck in his throat often enough.

It was one thing to encourage a stranger to talk about the assaults they had been a victim of. One thing to get them to submit a report, and to stand up in court and point the finger at the animal who had wanted to see them broken and humiliated. It was another entirely to even broach the subject with Jim, the one person in the world he most wanted to keep safe and protected.

He hadn’t been able to then. Had had to watch Jim fade in front of his eyes, nobody else caring a damn because, as far as they were concerned, he was a convicted cop killer who deserved everything he had coming to him.

He could do it now though, and he had often been told that it was his big mouth that landed him in trouble. He put it to good use now, insulting and wheedling, until the filth quit beating Jim bloody and announced that if he didn’t shut up he’d be taking Jim’s punishment for him.

“You think I’m scared?” Harvey scoffed, Jim’s breath rattling as he slumped to the floor, his legs giving out without someone else’s fist to hold him up. “You think I’ve never had a few busted bones before?”

“I’m planning to do worse than break a bone or two,” the guy said, and his sidekicks, two gormless looking goons who Harvey was sure he had collared once or twice before, laughed darkly. “Do I need to draw you a diagram?”

“Just keep quiet,” Jim warned him, voice muffled with the blood still pouring from his nose and his busted lip, and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Fought against the cuffs all over again and only stirred things further.

Cast aspersions on the guy’s mother, and his sister, and his ability to deliver on his promise when what he was packing was so visibly inadequate.

Tried to force a smile on his face even with the pain in his gut when the kicks started landing, wanting Jim to understand that he knew what he was doing. That it would be worth it, all of it, if it meant Jim was left the fuck alone.

Jim didn’t get the message.

He strained and struggled instead. Refused to keep still, seemed incapable of keeping quiet, at least until the bundle of cloth they had used when transporting them was stuffed back in his mouth, and the sight of the tears that streaked down Jim’s grimy blood stained face was more painful than what was being done to his own body could ever be.

Because it wasn’t as though he had never taken it rough before. It had just never been real then, would have been over whenever he said the word, and besides he had usually been off his face or half out of his mind with the drink into the bargain. In the present he had nothing to numb the sensation, and no choice but to have his face scraped against the dirty concrete floor, his hands stuck behind his back and a hand between his shoulder blades forcing him down.

The truth was that it _hurt_. Really fucking hurt, and he grit his teeth tight together, willing it to be over. Cursed himself for getting his hopes up when the supposed brains of the operation pulled out, only for one of the others to take his place while brainbox twisted a hand into his hair and yanked his head up so he could force his dick into his mouth.

He choked and gagged and thought of biting down, hard, but that was kind of an obvious move, and he was warned in no uncertain terms that if he tried it there was a bullet with Jim’s name on it.

It seemed to go on forever, one long painful blur until finally - finally - there was sticky wetness trailing down his thigh and his mouth was full of bitter tasting come. He did as he was told. Swallowed as best he could, then retched it all back up again, coughing and heaving and wishing he could wipe his face somehow, even as he collapsed back to the ground, shaking controllably.

They were left alone after that, his awareness drifting in and out, and he was vaguely aware of Jim attempting to shuffle closer. He couldn’t get close enough to touch. Wouldn’t have been able to do anything if he had, his hands cuffed behind his own back and the gag tied too tight to get out of.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he managed for Jim’s sake, the world still spinning too much to try and move anywhere. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

Jim didn’t have to say anything for Harvey to know he didn’t believe it.

* * *

“He’s not too bad. Broken nose, cracked rib, you know how it goes. They let him go home a couple of hours ago.”

Harvey swallowed, thick and painful, and fought not to let on how the statement affected him. He had just thought - expected - that Jim would be at his bedside if he could be. That he would have come to see how he was doing, at least, because Jim knew better than anyone how welcome a friendly face would be right now.

But then, perhaps, that had been the last thing Jim had wanted, and he figured Harvey would want some space too. Maybe he thought Harvey wouldn’t want to see him, blamed him somehow and, no, it turned out that there were worse explanations than the idea that Jim just didn’t care enough to spare him a few minutes.

“The doc said - Tuttle saw -” Alvarez ventured, looking as uncomfortable to be saying it as Harvey was to be hearing it. “Do you want me to leave it out of the report?”

He did and he didn’t. Didn’t want to go through it again in detail, no way, but on the other hand he didn’t want to get to court and find himself lying on oath to save face. Watching the case fall apart if they were willing to confess to worse if it meant exposing the investigation as unsound and getting loose on a technicality.

“What’s Jim saying?” He asked finally, and Alvarez just sighed.

“So far? Nothing.”

They opted to keep it quiet for the time being, and it wasn’t long before Alvarez was herded from the room by a no-nonsense nurse and he was left alone to wallow in self-pity.

He passed the time by cataloging his injuries. Plenty of cuts and bruises, no surprise there, and a badly dislocated shoulder. At least it was the left, he supposed. Bruised ribs, all the hallmarks of a good kicking, and though he had been poked and prodded and generally embarrassed beyond belief, there would be no lasting physical damage as a result of any of the rough treatment he had experienced.

If the mental aspect was another matter - If he couldn’t help the way his vision blurred with unshed tears as he stared at the empty chair beside the bed, well. It was nobody else’s business.

It was all just going to hurt for a while, and when Alvarez came to pick him up in the morning, Harvey was very aware of the truth of the statement, even with the painkillers he had been given.

“Where we going?” Alvarez asked, eyes on the road. “Your place? The precinct?”

“Is Jim in?” He asked in turn, then wished he had kept his mouth shut. He was so pathetically obvious.

Alvarez shifted, awkwardly, and it wasn’t doing Harvey’s blood pressure any favors. He had a moment of blind panic, worrying about what might have happened to Jim, and why it was so terrible Alvarez didn’t want to tell him.

“Saunders sent him home,” Alvarez said finally. “He, er, gained access to the interview room and bust the guy’s nose open. I might have had to include some of what we talked about yesterday in the report. You know, damage limitation.”

Harvey slumped his head back against the head rest, suddenly exhausted.

He wished that, just once, Jim would simply talk to him.

* * *

He hadn’t been home long when there was a knock at the door. Didn’t even have chance to haul himself off the sofa before there was the sound of a key in the lock, and then Jim was just standing there sheepishly, a thick plaster across the bridge of his nose and two matching black eyes to go with it.

Not that Harvey could talk. He had graze marks all down one side of his face, and his jaw was swollen and bruised.

“Sit down,” he managed all the same. “You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

There was a flash of a smile, so quick Harvey would have missed it if he hadn’t been watching Jim so intently, and it warmed him through from the inside, to know that even when things were bad he could put a smile on Jim’s face.

“I hear you’ve been busy,” Harvey said when Jim dropped into the chair opposite, watching the shame that crept across his expression. “Look, I’m not about to say it in front of IA but -” He swallowed, voice catching, “thank you, yeah? I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jim just shook his head. Thinned his lips like he was considering what to say then launched into it.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on his hands. “I did it for me. I did it because I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t stop it, and you -” Jim broke off, finally glancing up at him. “Why didn’t you just keep out of it like I told you to?”

His tone was harsh, accusing, but he looked as though he might cry again and Harvey understood where the anger was coming from. He had dealt with it himself, cutting up his knuckles on the wall outside of Blackgate every time he left the place and Jim was still stuck inside.

Harvey thought carefully about his answer. Debated how much to give away, and whether or not honesty was the best policy. Eventually he just had to say it, because the painkillers were really kicking in now, and because he had never been able to deal with the sight of Jim suffering.

“I wasn’t strong enough,” he admitted. “I couldn’t have watched them to do that to you. It would have killed me.” He sucked in a breath, heart thumping. “It was bad enough knowing that it happened, Jim. Knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Jim sniffed wetly against the threat of tears. Winced visibly at the pressure it put on his nose, and Harvey wanted to cry right along with him. Wanted to burst into peals of hysterical laughter because they made a right pair, two idiots who couldn’t say a word of what they were feeling.

Two messed up idiots who both wanted things they couldn’t have.

Jim wanted life to be simple, easy. Black and white. The good to be clear, pure, and to triumph each and every time over evil. He wanted the white picket fence and the rosy cheeked children. The smiling wife who loved him and didn’t begrudge the job, and the city streets to be gleaming clean and free of corruption.

Harvey, for his part, just wanted Jim.

He figured that Jim was the more realistic of the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” Jim croaked then, hand swiping viciously at his eyes, apparently uncaring of the bruising. “I’m really sorry.”

“You haven’t got anything to be sorry for.”

Jim looked up at the ceiling, blinking back more tears, and smiled bitterly.

“Yeah, I have. If I hadn’t been such a fucking coward he’d have still been in prison, and _none_ of this would have happened.”

* * *

It took a couple of weeks for Jim’s nose to heal. A few more for the ribs to be fully fixed, and yet another few before the doctor was willing to sign off on Harvey’s shoulder.

“You ought to be more careful at your age,” she said dismissively as she updated his file, and he couldn’t help the bitter sarcasm that dripped from his tone,

“Yeah? I’ll tell all the villains you said to take it easy on me.”

He was still smarting when he got back to the precinct, and all through the resolution of some long winded dispute over who had said what to the press about the ongoing O’Reilly case.

It was still there at the back of his mind, getting his hackles up, when Jim finally returned from being interviewed, pale and subdued, and maybe that had more to do with his foul mood than anything the medical profession had to say.

He tried to play it cool, didn’t want to crowd Jim, but it was scarcely ten minutes later when he found himself stood at the side of Jim’s desk, pitching his voice quiet to ask how it went.

“Fine. Not bad.” Jim flipped through a case file without seeing it, shoulders tensed up, until he exhaled shakily and actually looked at him. “I don’t know. It didn’t feel like I was reclaiming control of the situation.”

Harvey smiled softly - the force counsellor used exactly the same lines on everyone, himself included. He was glad Jim had gone, all the same, and he was proud of him for filing a report against the guards at Blackgate. It had been eating Jim up inside, he didn’t doubt, knowing that it was in his gift to try and do something, yet be too __afraid__  to act upon it.

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, let it linger just a few seconds too long, and said quietly,

“You wanna talk about it, you know where I am.”

Jim didn’t. Couldn’t, maybe, not to him, and as the court date approached Harvey supposed he could understand the reluctance. The trial had been delayed over and over already, lawyers leaving no stone unturned in search of a loophole or a reduced sentence. The latest word was they were pleading guilty to unlawful imprisonment and battery, on the assumption that the GCPD was no more keen to make the rest public than they were.

Even so it affected him worse than he had expected. Had him unable to sleep the night before, and battling the urge to nervously fidget on the witness stand. Had him feeling sick and filthy when it was all over, and he loosened his tie the second he was free of the court room, almost barrelling straight into Jim in his haste to get out of there.

For a moment he wished Jim would go away and leave him alone. Wished the whole world would do likewise, but Jim simply fell into step beside him. Didn’t push for answers or conversation, and only slid an arm around his shoulders when they were outside and Harvey would have turned right to return to the precinct for the last hour or so of the day.

“I told them not to expect us back,” Jim said with a shrug, like it was something he would have even considered on any other day, and lead him left instead, to one of Harvey’s favorite dive bars.

It was awkward at first. Him unable to meet Jim’s eye, and Jim fussing with the label on his beer bottle, uncertain what he ought to say - if anything. But the drink soon ground away the rough edges, made everything that little bit easier, and when Jim returned to the booth with a round he had lost count of the number of, he sat on the bench next to him instead of in the seat opposite.

Wound an arm around his waist at some point, fingers curled tight in the fabric of his shirt, and Harvey only pulled him closer. Pressed sloppy kisses into his hair to punctuate whatever it was he was talking about, and Jim just laughed at his stupid jokes. Looked so captivating with his dishevelled hair and the flush in his cheeks that it took the bartender at least three attempts before Harvey realized the guy was trying to tell them it was chucking out time.

He sobered up a little out in the cold night air. Not enough though, and they ended up at his apartment building, giggling stupidly as he attempted to get his key in the door. They fell through it when he finally succeeded and, in his right mind, he’d have set about finding the spare blankets and making up the sofa.

As it was they sprawled heavily across his bed, Jim fighting to get his shoes off before curling in close, so close his face was pressed into the crook of his neck and all Harvey could do was wrap his arms about him. Pull the blanket over them both and cling to Jim like he was a dream he might be forced to wake up from.

“Thank you,” Jim mumbled into the skin of his throat when Harvey was just straddling the line between asleep and awake, not entirely sure it wasn’t just his imagination, “for everything.”

* * *

When he woke it took him a good long moment to work out what was happening. Why his arm was stiff and numb, and why there was a dead weight on his chest, drooling all over his collar bone.

“Ugh,” Jim groaned when Harvey attempted to move, and only held on more determinedly.

“Come on, Jim,” he tried again, half tempted to just stay like that forever. “Wakey wakey.”

Jim whined, sounding pained, but when those big blue eyes blinked into focus Harvey saw embarrassment. Shock, maybe, at the position they had found themselves in, and it clawed viciously at his heart because this was probably Jim’s worst nightmare, even as it was something out of his own pathetic fantasies.

“Sorry,” Jim managed, and before Harvey could say anything reassuring Jim was swiping his neck clean, looking still more embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I’ve had worse.”

It wasn’t the best thing to say, not given recent events, but Jim just huffed a soft laugh. Finally got off his arm but then lay his head back on his chest, showing no inclination to move anywhere.

“If my head wasn’t hurting so bad right now, I’d make it up to you.”

His own head was telling him not to go jumping to conclusions. To not let his heart start pounding, his mouth suddenly dry and his arm twitching with more than simple pins and needles.

“Yeah?” He prompted, carefully, and Jim’s breath was hot even through his shirt as he nodded slightly.

“Yeah,” Jim sighed, still not entirely with the waking world, “because I’m never going back to your sofa.”

By the time Harvey succeeded in getting them both out of bed, Jim was really looking the worse for wear. Shook his head grimly at his offer of toast and coffee, choosing to sip warily at a glass of water as Harvey searched his closet for something that wouldn’t swamp Jim until he went home and changed.

As he tried not to think pitiful thoughts about how much he wished Jim never had to go home. That Jim was already home, and waking up to a dead arm and Jim’s sleep addled conversation was something he could look forward to every morning.

Because he would.

“You should know better than to try and drink an Irishman under the table,” Harvey joked when he handed over a t-shirt and the pants of a suit he hadn’t been able to get into for at least ten years. “You’re lucky we’re not at Gotham General getting your stomach pumped.”

He was expecting a swift comeback. A long lecture about the realities of alcohol poisoning, and the preferred treatment methods, but Jim was silent. Plucked at the clothing in his hands so that Harvey stopped what he was doing to sit next to him, concerned.

“I should have stayed with you, at the hospital,” Jim admitted, finally, and the jump between topics was so vast it made his head spin. “You deserve so much better than me, Harvey.”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard that kind of sentiment from Jim, though it more usually related to his girlfriends. It hurt to listen to then and it felt like it was breaking his heart now. Like a knife being plunged deep and twisted, the pain of it raw and overpowering.

“Do you know what they say in therapy?” Jim asked, voice scratched up with more than the hangover. “They say you can’t control what happens to you, but you can -”

“You can control how you react to it. Yeah, yeah, I know how it goes. The thing is, Jim,” he said, leaning in closer, catching Jim’s downcast gaze and holding it, “sometimes that works just fine. When you’re in front of the Competence Panel, convincing them you’re fit for duty, that’s exactly how it is. But in the real world, when it’s really happening, that’s nothing but a crock of shit.”

“It wasn’t happening to me though, was it?” Jim pressed, and Harvey wished they had had this conversation the night before when they had been drunk enough for hugging and tears. When it wouldn’t have mattered what they said, how honest they were, because they could have blamed the drink and gone on with their lives.

Now they were sober, if ill and dehydrated, and there was going to be no glossing over anything they said to each other.

“That doesn’t make it your fault. That doesn’t mean you weren’t freaking the fuck out, does it? Look,” he sighed, searching for the right words before giving it up as a bad job and stating, “I’m not going to be sorry I did it, and I’m not going to play along with your pity party. You got me whether you think you deserve it or not. I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

The day dragged interminably. Victims, witnesses, suspects, scumbags. A never ending cycle of things to do and places to be, and the hangover flaring and waning until he was making spurious pledges never to drink again.

Jim was flagging by midday, and looked completely done in by the time the day was almost done. Harvey was just pondering the unfairness of how good Jim looked, even when exhausted and feeling the after effects, and then there was a flurry of panic around the front desk and he turned around to see a kid pointing a gun at his face.

“”Let’s just take it easy,” he started in very best negotiation voice, willing somebody to get with the program and start evacuating the balcony as per protocol. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about this?”

“Just shut up!” The kid countered, frantic and unsteady, and Harvey could recognize the face of someone flying high when he saw it. Could recognize when someone was past reasoning, even if he couldn’t remember the kid’s case, or why he looked so familiar.

“Come on, Leighton,” Jim piped up from somewhere behind the kid’s shoulder and, of course, the O’Reilly case. It was always the O’Reilly case. “Put the gun down. You don’t want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to do!”

“Okay, well, I don’t want to shoot you. None of us want you to shoot you.”

“Speak for yourself,” someone - a someone who sounded suspiciously like Alvarez - muttered - and Jim was taking a step forward, sweat visible across his pallid forehead.

He was in command of the situation regardless, calm and controlled, and uniform stood down on his signal. The rest of the department followed his lead, and the gun was surrendered without a shot being fired. The usual hustle and bustle returned by degrees, what passed for normality resuming, and when the kid was finally booked in and being taken care of, that was when Jim all but collapsed into his desk chair and gave him a wry smile.

“How was that for controlling my reaction?”

“I’ve seen better,” Harvey deadpanned, then smiled back. “But I’m not leaving here in a box so, you know, I’ll cut you some slack this time.”

“Very generous of you.”

“That’s me. The soul of generosity.”

Jim hauled himself to his feet, slow but steady, and gave him a look Harvey couldn’t quite interpret. Sounded less confident than he had when talking down a potential shooter, and put a hand on his arm.

“You gonna invite me back to your place then?”

“I don’t know if you deserve that kind of accolade,” Harvey blustered, because it wouldn’t do to let on how he’d let Jim move in if he only gave the word he wanted to. Wouldn't do at all to jump at the opportunity, desperate, and beg Jim to come with him, right now. Jim looked relieved of all things. Said softly,

“You already said it didn’t matter if I deserved it or not. I’ve got you.”

He had said that, only that very morning.

Was so bewildered, all the same, that he just stared for a moment. All but gaped at Jim until uncertainty found its way back into the other man’s expression, and that was the very last thing he wanted.

“If you want me,” he managed, feeling his cheeks heat up like he was a kid again, trying to fix up a prom date with someone way out of his league.

Jim beamed at him tiredly.

“I don’t risk my life for just anyone.” At the look on Harvey’s face he smiled still wider and conceded, “Okay, but I certainly don’t go to counselling afterwards and _talk_ about it.”

That much was true. So very definitely true and Harvey couldn’t help but laugh. Couldn’t help but sling an arm around Jim’s shoulder and make his way for the parking lot. Drove them both back to his place and watched on, stupid smile still spread across his face, as Jim made himself at home.

As Jim loosened his tie and toed off his shoes. As he stopped off in the kitchen for some water, then shed more clothing, folding it rather haphazardly and falling in to Harvey’s unmade bed like there was nothing else he would rather be doing. There certainly wasn't anything Harvey would rather be doing than crawling into bed beside him, Jim squirming close and clinging with the kind of grip that spoke of yet another life and death situation. Of being aware how easily things could turn sour in their line of work, and wanting to make the most of every moment.

He got it because he felt the same way. Would do anything for Jim, go to any lengths, and he forced himself not to interrupt as Jim explained to him in quiet whispers how he had misinterpreted Harvey's actions. How he had seen pity and a lack of faith to dig himself out of his own mess, and how being made to talk about it had maybe had its merits. How it made him rethink things, and make sense of things, and how perhaps it was better to look forward than mire himself forever in long ago events he would never have control over.

“You gonna talk about this in therapy?” Harvey asked eventually, curious, and Jim just gave him an earnest look that threatened to steal his breath away. 

“I thought I might try talking about it with you.”

Harvey pressed a kiss to his forehead and found his hand, heart fit to burst with what that meant, coming from Jim.

“Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	63. Harvey never forgets a face...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey never forgets a face...

Harvey never forgot a face.

He wasn’t always the best at putting a name to them, at recalling where and when he had seen them, but he got there eventually.

And Jim Gordon? His was definitely a face he’d seen before.

Where, that was the only question. It drove him mad, frustrated him beyond reason, because the answer was so near he could almost reach out and touch it. He thought he had it, sometimes, the how and the why just within his grasp, and then it was gone and he was staring at Jim’s pretty profile again trying to work out why it was so familiar.

Jim was a Gotham native he learned early on in their association, and for a while he told himself that had to be it. He had seen Jim’s teenage visage in the middle of a crowd, or else up close on some dismal school visit to talk about the dangers of drugs, and why the kids ought to simply say no to them. Or, knowing Jim, it was at some even more dismal neighborhood watch meeting, because even at an early age Jim was bound to have been an insufferable goody-two-shoes.

It didn’t quite fit thought because, while he might have come across Jim all those years ago, the face he remembered was that of an adult.

He tried quizzing Jim during boring stakeouts, asking about his work history and his family, and how closely or otherwise he resembled them. Not close enough, that was the answer, and Harvey went back to puzzling over it.

Began to stare at Jim for other reasons too because Harvey was only human. He had eyes and he had blood in his veins, and he had a pathetic excuse for a heart that beat faster in his chest every time Jim so much as looked in his direction. Jim was gorgeous, Jim was caring, and by the time Jim narrowly avoided walking down the aisle for the second time Harvey was so ridiculously in love with him that he was willing to go grovelling to __Carmine Falcone__  if it meant making Jim’s life even a little easier.

Jim even smiled at him occasionally, in reward, and he had it so bad that was more than enough to keep him going. To keep him hoping, and to forget all about Jim’s mood swings and his reckless idiocy. To excuse away his sarcastic derision, and all the ugly things he heard via the department grapevine Jim had once said about him.

It was in the past, wasn’t how he felt now - and, even if it was, the sad truth was that Harvey would love him regardless.

Because he fell hard, harder than he had ever thought possible, and though Jim’s face still bugged him, it was more because it looked so stupidly stunning, the shadow of his lashes cast along his cheeks in the dim light of the club they were hoping to find their guy frequenting.

There were plenty of guys frequenting it though, and that was kind of the problem. Harvey was no stranger to the city’s gay bars - wasn’t much of a stranger to any of its night life - but Jim was another prospect entirely. He didn’t look uncomfortable; in truth, he looked just as disgustingly perfect as he always did.

But that didn’t really count for much.

The Jim Gordons of the world were too progressive and too liberal to freak out about being the center of unwanted attention. They smiled benignly, declined politely, and left a guy with nothing but wet dreams and filthy fantasies.

Harvey had so many of those. So very many, and he stopped mid stride on the way to the mens’ room because suddenly he knew exactly where he had seen Jim before.

Couldn’t understand how he could ever have forgotten it, even for a moment, because he may have been permanently off his own ugly mug at the time, but the encounter itself had helped him through more lonely nights than he cared to put a number on.

“You okay?” Jim asked, brow furrowing, and Harvey had to get out of there. Pushed through the throngs of people until he was out in the street, sucking down cold night air and waiting for the world to stop spiralling out of control.

Jim __knew__. Jim had to know, because he didn’t have a long standing drink problem or whatever drugs some dodgy guy in the toilets happened to have been peddling that week to excuse the memory lapse. Jim knew and he had never said a word.

He had watched Harvey fall for him. Had given him plenty of polite smiles when Harvey slipped up, when he couldn’t quite hold it all together and looked too long and too hard. When Jim had thrown himself head first into danger yet again, and Harvey had to cling to him.

Had to cling to his own self-control because all he ever wanted in those moments was to kiss Jim. To hold Jim tight and tell him what he meant to him. How desperately he loved him, and what he’d give to be able to demonstrate it.

The reality was that he had already had the chance and squandered it.

Because it had been eight years ago now, nine maybe, and he had been looking for another sin to add to his next confession. The guy at the bar had been looking at him, big blue eyes contrasting with the flush in his cheeks, and if Harvey had been sober he wouldn’t have risked it. Would have been certain it was some kind of set up, because he was a wreck of a man, and the vision in front of him could have walked straight off a movie set.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked though, endearingly nervous, and with his line stolen Harvey could do nothing but nod and think about how proximity only made the guy more attractive.

Harvey looked him over with a cop’s eye and quickly came to conclusions. James - if that was even his real name - was new to this. Was trying to act like he wasn’t and, though he said he worked in security, Harvey recognised the hand of Uncle Sam when he saw it.

He wasn’t going to ask, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell, and he spun tall tales of his own about what he did for a living, knocking a couple of years off his age for good measure.

James didn’t seem to care either way, was eager enough when Harvey dared to push in close enough to kiss him, and perhaps things would have been different if they had gone back to his place.

He would have been overcome by the sight of Jim in his bed, all that soft skin and hard muscle, and he’d have played it casual in the morning and told Jim to be careful when he got wherever it was he was being stationed to. Jim would have been suitably awed, bewildered that he had worked it out, and maybe they’d have spent the next six months writing sappy love letters to each other until Jim was back on home ground and he could do something stupid like get down on one knee and beg Jim to swap out his dog tags for a warrant card.

In the event they went to James' hotel room, some cheap dive of a place where one of his informants worked the front desk, the guy raising an eyebrow as Harvey gave him a smug smirk on his way past.

The elevator was out of order so they took the stairs, and James - __Jim__ \- started to freak out once the door was closed behind them, even greener than Harvey had counted on. He didn’t usually sleep around, he confessed, didn’t usually do casual, and Harvey got an image of a guy who figured life was going to work out with his high school sweetheart, if only he tried hard enough.

“We don’t gotta do anything,” he said in turn, because he might be worked up and half desperate, but he hadn’t yet sunk so low he couldn’t control himself.

James shook his head, unwilling to back down, and Harvey waited until James made the first move, wanting to be certain. Needing to know that James really wanted to do this.

“I didn’t think it would be -” James told him, dazed, after another round of kissing. After Harvey had pushed him back against the hotel sheets and worked a hand beneath his waistband. “I never knew it would be -”

Would be what exactly remained unsaid, and Harvey wished he was, maybe not sober, but clearer headed. Wished he was going to remember more of what was happening because James gasped and moaned so prettily, whining when Harvey put his mouth on his dick like he’d never been sucked before.

Perhaps he hadn’t, not with feeling, and Harvey hoped he was doing the act some kind of justice because James was so responsive it had his own dick aching for attention. Had him kind of regretting that James wasn’t up for something altogether kinkier, and he couldn’t take a few pictures or maybe even a video to help him relive the experience.

As it was he made do with patiently working a couple of fingers into him, on making him cry out and beg for more. Then he had to concentrate on not embarrassing himself because James' hands were tangled in his hair, kissing intently as Harvey tried not to think about how tight and how hot he was. About how incredibly good he smelled, and how every sound he made was driving him closer and closer.

He wasn’t much of a gentleman afterwards. Passed out drunk and insensible, and woke up to find James already gone and the cleaners laying in wait for him to do likewise.

“Good night was it?” Leveson asked when he finally turned up at the precinct and Harvey only grunted, already wishing he had had the good sense to ask James for his number before they got down to things.

“You don’t look so good,” Jim said back in the present, all solicitous concern and a kindly hand on his shoulder.

Meant it in all kinds of ways, doubtless, and Harvey was overcome with the horror of it. Jim wasn’t interested, that was something he had long resigned himself to. But he had been once, had wanted him once, and maybe Jim had laughed himself sick night after night, at just the idea he’d ever let history repeat itself.

“Do you remember that night?” Harvey asked before he could swallow the words down. “Was it really that awful?”

He trailed off, helpless, and though Jim blanched, he made no attempt to say anything. Looked away, embarrassed, and Harvey didn’t know what to do.

Thought about stepping out into oncoming traffic, but Jim didn’t need that kind of thing on his conscience, and he was so fucked up that Jim’s state of mind was more important to him than whether or not he continued breathing.

Jim didn’t follow him when he finally succeeded in walking away, and he didn’t make any effort to contact him. There were no texts, no missed calls or emails, and when Harvey decided to play along as normal and went to pick Jim up for work there was no answer at his apartment. He kept his head down at the precinct, avoiding eye contact, and Harvey wondered if this was divine justice, for all the shitty things he’d ever done.

It went on like that all day, and most of the next, the pain of Jim pretending not to notice that he wanted to speak to him white hot and torturous.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey said eventually, cornering Jim in the locker room, unable to take it a moment longer. “If I’d known I’d have -” He didn’t know what he’d have done, that was the reality of the situation. Still didn’t know what to do and started babbling about how they need never speak of it again, not if Jim decided he didn’t want to.

“You can’t just say you’re sorry,” Jim hissed in turn, anger directed squarely at him for the first time since the early days of their partnership. “I thought we were friends. I thought -”

Jim broke off mid sentence and shook his head, frustrated.

“I thought we were past this. You didn’t want to know, I didn’t know what I was doing - it was a long time ago. You didn’t have to throw it in my face like that.”

Nothing Jim was saying was making sense. They had never spoken about it before the other night, had never even alluded to it. At least, not to his knowledge, because it hit him with a sickening wave of certainty that Jim didn’t know just how wasted he had been. How wasted he had spent whole chunks of his life being, and how little he remembered of any of it.

Why, exactly, his liver was in the state it was, and the stints in department mandated rehab.

Jim was making to leave, righteous anger pouring off him, and Harvey reached out blindly. Grabbed at the sleeve of his suit jacket and ignored the furious glare Jim gave him in favor of maintaining eye contact and stating, quietly,

“Let me explain, please. I would never _ _ever__  use what happened against you. You’ve gotta believe that.”

They were still staring each other down, Jim frowning and confused and him desperate and beseeching, when the door swung open, two uniformed officers avoiding their eye as they headed for their lockers. Jim shrugged his arm away then, still angry, but softened enough to say,

“We’ll talk later.”

The rest of the day crawled by, his gut churning as he attempted to figure out what he wanted to say. How he was going to convince Jim that he had simply forgotten - and, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, that didn’t mean the encounter hadn’t been important to him.

He just hadn’t known how important. Why it was so important. He was a complete wreck by the time the day was done, frantic to get it over with even as he wished the awkward drive to his place could last forever, lest Jim decided that, actually, he didn’t want to be drinking buddies with someone who was such an utter loser.

Didn’t want to be friends, partners, his principle reason for breathing, when he was such a total mess.

“Go on then,” Jim said shortly once his apartment door was shut behind them. “You were the one who wanted to explain it to me.”

Even with an afternoon of thinking about nothing else, Harvey still didn’t know where to start. Settled eventually on the very beginning and handed Jim his good whiskey, hoping it might make things a little easier.

“I lost it for a while after Dix,” he confessed, not quite able to meet Jim’s eye. “I lost it for a long while. It was drink mostly, pills sometimes. I was a mess, Jim. A liability. There are whole years I don’t really remember. Great chunks of time that are just a few fractured memories.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. Kept drinking, and that was better than him simply getting up and walking out at least. Harvey sucked in a deep breath and risked another glance up at Jim’s handsome face, wondering in what universe he had ever thought his cherished hopes might actually be validated.

“I screwed around a lot back then. Screwed anyone who’d have me and most of it -” he shrugged, pouring out his own measure of whiskey and downing it to help steady his nerves. “I don’t remember much of it. Names, faces, they’re in there somewhere,” he tapped two fingers to his temple, “but it’s a jumble. When I saw you that first day at the precinct I knew I’d seen you somewhere.”

He gave Jim a bitter smile, forcing the next words out.

“I just didn’t know where. I couldn’t remember.”

The silence stretched for long moments, Jim staring into his glass and considering.

“When did you remember?” He asked finally, tone clipped.

“The other night, in the bar. I was thinking about how - well, I was thinking and, suddenly, I knew it was __you__. I never forgot that night, Jim, if that counts for anything. I wondered so many times whether you came back in one piece.”

“I never told you I was in the military,” Jim pointed out, back ramrod straight and shoulders tense.

Harvey drained the renewed liquid in his glass, as though it hadn’t caused him more than enough trouble already.

“I know you think I’m a shit excuse for one, but I __am__  a detective. Gorgeous guy like you in a grotty dive like that? That alone was a dead giveaway.”

Jim flushed at that, every bit as easily as he had back then, and it was Harvey’s turn to be shocked when he said quietly,

“I don’t think you’re a bad detective. Not now. Not for a long time.”

The silence filled the air again, awkward and stifling. So painful Harvey itched to say something, anything, to break it. Jim broke before him.

“It’s a lot to take in. I need to think about this.”

Harvey forced himself to nod and smile and act like it didn’t feel as though he were falling apart inside.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

The days that followed were a nightmare. The weeks they formed torture, because on the surface everything was fine. Jim acted just the same as he had before his epiphany. Joked and bantered, but then claimed he had other things to do of an evening.

Was distant in all the ways only someone who devoted so much time to watching him would notice. Disappeared at the end of the third week before he could even try and ask if Jim wanted to do something, then turned up at his door not long after kicking out time, drunk and determined.

Pushed him back against the wall and kissed him like it was going out of fashion, all tongue and hands, smelling of smoke and tasting of cheap beer. Was so eager, so persistent, and it took everything he had to put his own hands on Jim’s shoulders and ask him what he thought he was doing.

What he was going to think of it in the morning.

“I thought it was so bad you just didn’t want to remember it. You said that the other night too. That it was __awful__. It wouldn’t be now. I know what I’m doing.”

Jim punctuated it with a hand at his crotch, knowing and confident, and doing the right thing really really wasn’t delivering the kind of satisfaction Harvey needed it to.

He did it regardless, putting space between them before he could lose control and change his mind.

“It wasn’t awful, Jim, at least not from my perspective. It couldn’t be, not with you. But if we do this - if you still want to do this - it’ll be when we’re both sober.”

“You’re turning me down?” Jim asked, and it wasn’t vain or incredulous. He sounded genuinely upset, humiliated, and Harvey couldn’t help but press a kiss to his cheek, chaste and brief and so perfect it made him want to hold on and never let go.

“I’m saying you’re welcome to my sofa and if you’re still interested in the morning, I will do my very best to blow your brains out. That's a promise.”

Jim frowned and pouted and generally tested his better instincts to their limits, but ultimately saw the sense of the argument and settled down with the spare blanket on the sofa.

Clearly got sick of the arrangement at some point during the night, because when Harvey opened his eyes it was to find Jim sprawled across the bed next to him, on top of his bed covers with the blanket he had provided draped over him.

It was going to be uncomfortable when Jim woke up, Harvey thought. Jim would be angry all over again, probably, and things would only deteriorate between them. With that in mind he tried to make the most of the time he had, admiring how peaceful Jim looked, and how attractively unruly strands of hair tumbled over his forehead.

But when Jim opened his eyes, slowly blinked them into focus, he smiled. Kept on smiling even as Harvey braced himself for the fall out, and Jim only stretched and squirmed and said,

“Last time I woke up in bed with you I almost missed my flight back. You’ve always been a bad influence on me.”

“I thought you just regretted it,” Harvey confessed stiltedly. “I wished so bad I had asked for your address or your number, at least. I used to imagine writing you soppy love letters or sending you a care package. I really don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

It was stupid, embarrassing, but Jim looked sincerely touched. Shifted a little closer and admitted,

“I’d have liked that. If, you know, it wouldn’t have gotten me thrown out on my ear. All I ever seemed to get were Dear John letters.”

“It was probably your charming personality.”

“Is that what put you off?”

Jim was playing it casual, scarcely looking at him, but Harvey had made a study of the expressions and body language of Jim Gordon. He knew that Jim was nervous, almost certain already of his answer, and Harvey took great delight in proving Jim wrong sometimes, especially on issues as close to his heart as this one was.

Especially when his heart was beating frantically in his chest, scarcely able to believe what was happening.

“Nothing could put me off you, Jim. I thought you’d know that by now. You’re so beautiful, inside and outside.”

“Plenty would disagree,” Jim protested, but it was soft and breathy, his cheeks starting to color up a little.

“They’re idiots. All of them.”

“Yours is the only opinion that matters, anyway.”

Harvey gave his own smile at that, helpless and adoring. Pressed a scruffy kiss to Jim’s cheek, followed by another and then another, fingertips tracing across Jim’s features, wanting to commit every inch of him to memory.

“I’ll remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	64. Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Harvey and Jim get drunk and get matching tattoos. 
> 
> I was envisaging the serch bythol while writing, just 'cos it's my favourite.

Awareness came to him in degrees, each new piece of information convincing him further that it would have been better if he had just stayed asleep. If he could just roll over and have a few more hours before he had to face the world again.

That wasn’t going to be an option though. His alarm kept going every five minutes - set by the cruel bastard he had been while still sober - and, besides, he felt too ill to drift back into whatever dream he had been having. The details were gone, blurred and distant, but he had been enjoying it, whatever it was.

He had woken up with a smile on his face.

Now all he could muster was a grimace, jabbing viciously at his cell phone as it started bleeping again. Sitting up was a whole new exercise in torment. His stomach churned and his head spun. He kept still for a long moment, breathing shallowly, and once he was relatively certain he wasn’t going to throw up all over his bedroom carpet he noticed for the first time that there was plastic wrap bound tight around his upper arm.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Snippets of the night before flashed before his eyes. They had gone to the bar, practically the whole department, to celebrate the successful - long anticipated - conclusion of the O’Reilly case. He had been drinking, anything that was going, but the pounding in his head had already told him that.

It had been a good laugh, everyone in a decent mood for once, and he had ribbed Lucius mercilessly for calling it a night at 9:30 pm. Simmons had dropped off not long after, and Tuttle had disappeared around half ten, because his wife was threatening to make him sleep out on the porch if he rolled up drunk and insensible again that week.

Things started to get a little hazy after that. There had been more drink, plenty more of it, and when the bar they were in told them to drink up and get lost, they had simply moved on to the next one. Had been to quite a few different bars if the ache in his feet was anything to go by, until it had been just him and Jim, Alvarez and McKenna.

That was an even worse sign.

He cornered Alvarez as soon as he reached the precinct, demanding he fill in the gaps between having a quiet - if excessive - drink, and falling through the door of his apartment with a permanent reminder of the evening.

“Don’t you remember?” Alvarez asked, genuinely, and Harvey pinched at the bridge of his nose.

He was always surrounded by idiots.

“If I did I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” He sighed, reigned in the temper. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Where did Jim get to? Why didn’t he talk me out of it?”

That was the real question.

Jim - stress induced drinking notwithstanding - was the kind of guy who thought the body was a temple. Wouldn’t eat take out every night, and went to the gym in his spare time, as though the trip from sofa to bathroom and back again wasn’t enough exercise for any man.

(As though he needed to put effort into his disgustingly attractive appearance, when his face looked like __that__ and his big blue eyes haunted every one of Harvey’s fantasies.)

He wouldn’t have watched on while some dubious looking guy with a tattoo gun went to town on his partner’s pasty skin.

Harvey was almost certain of it.

Alvarez just snorted, a huge grin slowly unfurling across his face.

“You really don’t remember.”

* * *

 

“It’s not funny!” Jim hissed for the third time that morning and even with the hangover from hell, even with the painfully tender skin on his own arm, it was all Harvey could do not to smile at the indignant pout on his face.

“I tried to talk you out of it,” McKenna pointed out.

“Me too,” Alvarez agreed. “Even Bullock said you should just pay up and accept defeat.”

Because somewhere in the swirl of drink and banter the conversation had turned to tattoos - how many each of them had, and which had been the most painful.

Alvarez had been as keen as ever to show off his backpiece of the Madonna. McKenna bitched about the cover-ups his numerous short lived marriages had necessitated, and Harvey was drunk enough to think stripping half naked in front of Jim a good idea, reminiscing about afternoons spent bunking off school and getting amateurish images scratched into his skin with India ink and a compass.

Jim, of course, had lectured everybody on their stupidity, and McKenna had refused to accept that Jim had made it through three tours without a single piece of body art to show for it.

“He’s got sensitive skin,” Harvey said in response, with the very best of intentions, because it was true, and because he was too drunk to realize that Jim’s preference for Eco laundry detergent and unscented soap probably wasn’t something he wanted broadcast all over the station.

Probably wasn’t the kind of thing people who weren’t obsessed with him would have noticed in the first place, and Jim just pursed his lips and argued that it wasn’t the pain of the thing that had ever prevented his getting one.

“Bullshit,” Alvarez opined, as succinct as ever. “You act the tough guy but, when it comes down to it, you just haven’t got the balls for it.”

That was Alvarez’ way, to be as infuriating as possible, because nobody doubted the scope of Jim’s pain threshold. Even those who couldn’t stand the sight of him would grudgingly admit that no matter what knocked him down, Jim got back up again.

Jim fell for it, all the same, arguing back and posturing as outrageously as Harvey had ever seen him.

Got himself worked up and up and up until McKenna’s suggestion that they all go and prove themselves right there, right then, or hand over a couple of hundred bucks to the worthy cause of the less cowardly’s future alcohol consumption was met without the derision it deserved.

Instead they all piled into some scummy looking tattoo parlour and even that might not have been a disaster. Alvarez had another date etched along his side - symbolising what Harvey didn’t know and didn’t care to ask. Knowing Alvarez it could be anything from the birthdate of one of his kids to the day he broke his latest dry streak.

McKenna went for some tacky trendy rubbish on his shoulder blade, and Harvey shifted over on the sofa in the waiting area and told Jim that it wouldn’t matter if he backed down and walked away.

“It don’t matter what anyone else says,” he promised, words slurring together. “You gotta do the things you want to do, you know what I’m saying?”

Jim gazed back at him, those impossibly blue eyes every bit as affecting when they were slightly unfocused, and Harvey wished he could close the gap between them. Wished he could capture those perfect lips and tell the rest of the world to go screw itself.

“What are you getting done?” Jim asked instead, soft and conspiring. “Whatever it is, I want the same thing.”

“No you don’t,” he laughed, enjoying Jim’s oft buried sense of humor, then realized that Jim was being serious. Was being so earnest it made his heart ache, the desperate sting intensifying as Jim lay a heavy hand on his arm and said,

“You’re the only one who believes in me. You’re the only one whose opinion I care about. It’s what friends do anyway, isn’t it? Comrades. Partners.”

“It’s not too late to back out, Gordon,” Alvarez crowed, already getting his own mistake wrapped up, and it hit Harvey like a tidal wave.

He could put his mark on Jim. Not for real, maybe, not the way he wanted to. But he could let the whole world know how much Jim meant to him, forever and always.

Before he could think better of it, before he could sober up any, he had pen and paper and was drawing out a simple angular lovers’ knot.

“What does it mean?” Jim asked, curious, and Harvey had never believed in fucking up in half measures,

“Why does everything have to mean something? It just looks nice.”

* * *

 

“Don’t scratch at it,” Harvey admonished a few days later, noting the way Jim kept fussing with his shirt cuff. “It’s not going to heal if you don’t leave it alone.”

Jim grimaced but made a show of pulling his hand away. His reasoning for choosing the wrist had been sound, as far as bad decisions made while drunk went. It was small and unobtrusive, and would generally be covered by the strap of his wristwatch. If there was some part of him that wanted to prove to Alvarez that he didn’t care how painful a place it would be to get tattooed, well, Harvey wasn’t going to begrudge him it. He had done far stupider things with much less provocation.

Still, Jim seemed to be regretting it now, his inability to stop fidgeting giving it all away. Harvey took pity on him - felt guilty enough about the whole debacle - and called Jim into his office just before lunch.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked, confused, when Harvey reached for his hand without preamble, his touch just the wrong side of impersonal before he started unbuttoning and rolling up his shirt sleeve.

“You should be taking better care of this,” he said simply, smearing cream over Jim’s wrist with his fingertips. It should have taken a couple of seconds, at most, but he could feel the fluttering of Jim’s pulse underneath the delicate skin. Could feel it speeding up, matching the sudden racing of his own heart, and when he looked into Jim’s face he would have sworn he was drunk, if all he had was the way his head spun to go by.

Because it felt as though he couldn’t get enough breath. As though he could hardly stay steady on his feet, and Jim was staring right back at him, looking at him the same way he did in Harvey’s fantasies, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Time seemed to slow, nothing else seemed to matter, and for a moment Harvey was sure they were going to kiss. They were so close, so intent on each other, and when the rap on his office door jolted through their awareness and forced them apart, they had been standing so close he had been able to feel Jim’s breath on his face.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lucius said, glancing from one to the other, entirely too knowing.

“I was just, er,” Jim stammered, cheeks burning, and Harvey watched him as he made for the sanctuary of his desk before forcing his attention to Lucius, and the job, and anything other than how desperate he was to know what Jim’s lips would feel like, pressed against his own.

They didn’t talk about it in the days that followed. Kept catching each other’s gaze regardless. Kept reaching out for casual touches and thinking better of it at the last moment, except for the times when they didn’t, hands lingering and skin tingling.

Harvey swallowed thickly on one such occasion, Jim slowly realizing that his hand was actually on his knee, cheeks burning bright, and if it weren’t for the crackle of the car radio Harvey wasn’t sure how much longer his sense of self-preservation would have held out for.

As it was they made for the scene of a jewelry store robbery turned homicide. They shook their heads at the blood smeared carnage, listened to the initial findings of the uniform patrol officer, and then Jim studied something out in the shop front while Harvey offered stilted comfort to the store assistant who was still shaking.

He joined Jim afterwards, figuring it must be something important if the department’s golden boy was giving it such close scrutiny. But Jim only turned away and left him in front of a glass cabinet advertising all manner of Celtic designs, complete with little information cards explaining just why they made the perfect gift for any romantic occasion.

For once, he had to concede, he had only brought it upon himself.

* * *

 

Jim was silent all through the ride back to the precinct. Threw himself into his own enquiries, and was nowhere to be found when it was finally time to clock off for the evening, though he had written up his reports and been in to collect the wristwatch he was still having trouble wearing.

Harvey went for a drink to drown his sorrows. Let Alvarez’ chatter wash over him without listening to any of it, then gave into the inevitable - going home to his empty apartment.

Except it wasn’t empty.

He could see the light spilling under the door as he made his way down the darkened hallway of his apartment building, and in his experience that meant one of two things. Either he was in the process of being burgled or Jim had let himself in.

He supposed there was a third. That there had been a fire, or a faucet left running, and his landlord had been forced to enter but it seemed unlikely. The guy wouldn’t be waiting quietly to give him a piece of his mind.

Jim looked up when he pushed the door open, expression an odd mix of nerves and accusation. He had been there some time; time enough to loosen his tie and shed his suit jacket. To rifle through Harvey’s record collection, along with his drinks cabinet.

He looked at home, and that was more than Harvey could take. It was like everything he wanted, tied up with a damn bow, and he crossed the room without thinking about it. Settled on the sofa next to Jim and tentatively put a hand on the younger man’s arm.

When Jim didn’t object, didn’t pull away, Harvey slowly slid his fingers down the fabric of Jim’s shirt sleeve. Kept going until he touched bare skin and Jim was staring at him the way he had that day in his office.

Like he was just waiting for Harvey to do something.

“It’s supposed to symbolise everlasting love. Being bound together mind, body and soul.”

“I know,” Jim said, but his tone was soft, breathy even, and of course he did because Harvey had seen him studying the cards in that display cabinet like they explained all the mysteries of the universe.

The silence stretched, the air feeling thick and stifling, and then something snapped. It was too much, the constant tension wearing them both thin, and Harvey didn’t know if it was he or Jim who moved first, only that one moment they were looking at each other, spellbound, and the next they were kissing.

Jim kissed like he did everything, focused and determined, and Harvey had to pull him closer. Had to haul him into his lap and push his hands through Jim’s hair. Had to stroke them down Jim’s back and up under his shirt.

Had to try and tell him with actions what he had never been able to explain with words.

I want you.

I need you.

 _I love you_.

He reached for Jim’s wrist, stroking his thumb over his pulse point. Over the stupidest, most foolish, absolutely best mistake he’d ever made and suddenly all of Jim’s careful focus was stripped away. Jim was lost to it, falling apart, panting and desperate and grinding down against him.

It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced, hotter even than he had ever imagined, seeing Jim excited and frantic. Watching him lose control, knowing that Jim trusted him enough to just let go, and when Jim gasped and shuddered, mouth hanging open in startled pleasure, he couldn’t hold back any longer either.

“That was,” he started, breathless, and Jim pressed his sweat slick forehead into his shoulder and interrupted,

“If you try and claim that didn’t mean anything, I swear I’ll -”

Harvey interrupted him in turn, shifting until he could capture Jim’s lips all over again and kiss him until they were both clear that it had meant _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	65. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Harvey is the only person Jim trusts anymore.

Jim was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of trying to live up to the memory of a man who had never even existed.

His whole life he had been striving for the approval of his father. It didn’t matter that he was dead and buried, and it didn’t matter how many times his mother told him how proud Peter would have been of him.

It wasn’t enough, nothing was ever enough, because his father had been his hero. He had placed him on a pedestal so high it was always inevitable it would topple. It was simply the scope of the betrayal which threatened to break him.

The mob, the Court, the lies and the treachery.

Jim wondered, sometimes, about the accuracy of his own memories. If the devoted husband and loving father was just an invention of his mother’s, and if the reality had been the fragmented flashes of heated arguments he had pretended not to overhear. The hours he spent looking longingly through the living room window, waiting for the moment when his father would finally walk through the front door and have a few moments for him.

He couldn’t trust his own judgement, felt as though he no longer knew himself, and there was nobody else he could turn to. No family, no lovers, no friends. He had pushed everyone away, burned every bridge, and he was so lost, so lonely, he couldn’t stand it.

The silence of his empty apartment was deafening, the sterile blankness stifling. He had lived there over a year and the place still wasn’t home. It wasn’t even somewhere he liked to be, not unless Harvey were with him, cracking dumb jokes and drinking his beer.

Harvey was all he had left - the one person in the whole of Gotham, the world maybe, who was willing to put up with him. The only person who trusted him and whom he could trust in return, and now Jim was angling to ruin that too.

Was standing in front of the door to Harvey’s apartment, nerves strained and heart hammering, wondering if he could really go through with this.

He could claim some crisis or other had kept him away. Could simply not say a word in explanation and Harvey wouldn’t hold it against him. He would accept it, resign himself to it, and their relationship would remain unchanged - Harvey watching him with undisguised interest but never overstepping the line.

Never taking advantage, never intentionally making Jim uncomfortable, and it was that last thought which galvanized him into action. He knocked at the door then put his hands at his side, fingers clenching and unclenching, reminding himself over and over again that he could change his mind at any time. All he had to do was say the word, and it would be as though none of this had ever happened.

Not the stupid tears he had spilled staring around at what little he had to show for over three decades on the planet, and not the way he had struggled to keep his tone calm and neutral when he gave in and rang Harvey’s cell number, desperate to hear the sound of the other man’s voice.

The truth was that he wanted something his father never would have approved of. He wanted somebody else to take charge for once. Somebody else to tell him what to do, to make him stop over thinking. He wanted _Harvey_ to be the one because there was nobody else he could rely on. Nobody else he could ever imagine handing so much power to.

Jim didn’t know how much - if any - of this had been clear to Harvey from his stilted phone call, but when Harvey pulled the door open Jim decided that somethinghad been obvious in his vague words and strangled tone. The place was tidier than Jim could ever remember seeing it and Harvey himself was fresh from the shower, the ends of his hair still damp.

“Jim,” Harvey breathed as their eyes met, and Jim realized for the first time what a state he must look. He had been crying, drinking, and Harvey reached out as though to touch his reddened cheek before thinking better of it. The hand dropped, gestured instead for him to come in, and Jim felt the denial like a physical ache.

Completely ignored Harvey’s offer of a drink in favor of putting a hand on his arm. Of watching Harvey swallow, gaze raking up from his hand to his face, lingering on his lips like he couldn’t help it.

Even now Jim was at war with himself. He wanted it but a Gordon didn’t beg. He needed it but a Gordon didn’t leave himself vulnerable.

“Harvey,” was all he actually managed, his voice pathetic to his own ears, but apparently that was enough.

“I’m here. It’s okay, Jim, I got you.”

He had always supposed it would be kind of impersonal, being with another man. That was the way it had looked in the army - for all that he swore he wasn’t looking. Quick, functional trysts to be guiltily denied in the cold light of morning. He saw nothing to challenge it when he made the move to patrol uniform, booking rent boys and their punters, and taking victim statements about acts that only ever seemed to turn rough and bloody.

It was narrow minded perhaps, bigoted even, and when Harvey cupped his cheek, his touch tender and reverent, he felt ashamed of himself. He had known Harvey wouldn’t hurt him, that he would make it good for him, but he had never expected anything like the breathless devotion he was actually handled with.

Harvey kissed him sweetly at first, soft and gentle until Jim pressed deeper. Until Jim clutched at his broad shoulders, needing more, and then he kissed him like he was the only thing on Earth that mattered, only pulling back to gaze into his eyes like he could see right through to his soul.

It had him shivering, trembling, and he could say it was the drink or the exhaustion but he would only be lying to himself. It was excitement, anticipation, and by the time they made it to Harvey’s bed he was flushed and frantic. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t keep quiet, and Harvey simply encouraged it, whispering heated words into his ear.

Groaned, helpless, when Jim had to push a hand into his underwear, and Jim felt himself flush harder at the way Harvey watched what he was doing, eyes dark and wanting.

“You’re so hot, Jim. So goddamn hot. I can’t believe you’re touching yourself for me. I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

Jim could hear the honesty, the almost awed wonder, and he had to kiss Harvey again, hands pushing into Harvey’s hair as the other man finally _touched_  him.

In his careful, cautious imaginings Jim had never been sure he could actually go through with this. Had been dubious about his own capacity to deal with the new and the uncharted. Harvey was too broad, too bearded, too male, and he was too afraid of what it might mean if it turned out that, actually, none of those obstacles posed much of a problem.

He had spent his whole life being afraid of things he would never admit to; terrified of showing the cracks in the facade - of confessing to weakness, of being a failure. Harvey touched him as though he knew, without Jim needing to say anything. He kissed him and stripped him and trailed his fingertips everywhere, pausing to lavish attention on each scar marring his skin. On every freckle and blemish.

“I love you,” Harvey told him, without artifice or hesitation, one hand flat across his abdomen as he mouthed kisses against bullet wounds and ugly scar tissue. “I love everything about you.”

Jim made to protest, in his own mind if not out loud, but Harvey put his hand back on him. Stroked him, slow and slick, and explained that it was his imperfections that made him who he was. His faults and his flaws that made him human and drove him to do better, be better, even if - to Harvey’s eyes - he was already perfect.

He cried out as he came, startled and overwhelmed, and Harvey worked him through it. Held him and kissed him and made him realize that he had got more than he bargained for, because he had been looking to lose himself and instead he lay sated in Harvey’s embrace, feeling as though he had finally found everything he had been searching for.

“I love you so much,” Harvey whispered again, clearly not expecting any kind of reciprocation even as he pressed a kiss to his temple.

Jim sought out his mouth and offered up the one thing he had never been able to truly give anyone, hoping that Harvey would understand.

“I _trust_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	66. Harvey worked for the Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Seeing as you wrote a fill where Harvey saves Jim in the crash, and given what we just learned in the show... what if Harvey was instructed to save Jim but not his father?

It wasn’t the first time they had done this. Anderson owed money, a lot of money, and he had his own vices. All they needed to do was do nothing.

Respond a little too slow, dawdle a little too long, and nobody need be any the wiser. The world wasn’t going to miss a couple of scumbags, and that was how Harvey slept at night, by telling himself over and over that anyone who got in that deep had to be.

Except when the call came through it was accompanied by intel they hadn’t been expecting.

“You know what we were told,” Anderson said, pale faced and uncertain, and for a moment Harvey felt as though he were standing at a crossroads. Then the radio crackled into life again and he realized that there had never been a choice.

They had to move.

He yelled at Anderson to keep the public back, the motorists who stood by lost and appalled, and ignored any and all advice that he do likewise.

The kid was concious, terrified, and panic washed over Harvey because for all he knew the fire department were just as happy to be on the receiving end of generous donations. There  was no word on an ETA for back up and that meant there was nothing but him crouched low on his stomach, praying to God the kid spoke English as he asked if he could try and unclip the seatbelt.

He could hear the driver of the other car rambling in shock to Anderson, propped up against the side of the squad car and repeating over and over, blood garbling his words, that there was never any mention of a kid being involved.

That wasn’t going to make it into any official report, the thought twisting his face into a grimace, and then he was trying to get closer. Was trying to work out how he was supposed to get the boy free, when his leg was twisted at such an angle, and there was so much blood he couldn’t begin to know where the best place would be to try and touch him.

“Do as the man says, Jimmy,” the car’s other occupant croaked, “there’s a good boy.”

Harvey looked at the driver, really looked at him, for the first time. Saw the fear in his eyes and the blood streaking his face. Wondered if he understood what had happened and why, then glanced at the suitcases above what remained of the back seat and stopped wondering.

He had the kid’s name now, at least, and he made good use of it. Coaxed and encouraged and finally succeeded in hauling his trembling form through the shattered glass of the passenger side window. Clutched him close, tear stained face pressed to his chest, and cursed the continued lack of flashing lights and sirens, or even the distant sound of the air ambulance.

“You’re not going to leave me here,” the other man said, realization dawning as he desperately attempted to work free, because Harvey surely wasn’t the only one who could smell the leaking fuel. “If this is about money, I can pay you.”

It wasn’t about money.

“You can’t do this.”

Their eyes met again and this was it. This was the crossroads, because if he started now - if he really wanted to - he could do it. He could be the patrol officer who got them both free. A real good guy.

A hero.

He kind of liked his life though. Loved his family and enjoyed his job. Had nowhere to go but Gotham and no interest in having to start over.

“Don’t just walk away!”

Harvey drowned out the fear and the accusation. Staggered to his feet with the kid in his arms and didn’t once look back.

He didn’t know what the guy had done - he just had to believe he deserved what he had coming to him.

* * *

 

“What do you want?” Harvey asked into the handset, hating the note of the fear in his voice. The slick sweat covering his palm, and the way he felt sick when he looked out of his office window and spied the car parked across the street, its occupant talking on his cell phone.

“You know what I want,” the voice said, cool and completely calm. “I’ve been very lenient but you owe me, and it’s high time I collected.”

Harvey swallowed, thickly, and put the phone down.

He had been waiting a long time for this day to come.

Because it hadn’t happened straight away. It had taken years, really, for his conscience to catch up with him, but that wasn’t how it worked in Gotham. You didn’t simply change your mind and decide you were a white knight all of a sudden.

Anderson had tried to warn him. Dix too, and they had both paid the price for it.

Then Jim had turned up and he had tried all over again. Tried to be a decent man, a better man, and even though he knew the risks he threw his lot in with Jim and did his best to pretend he wasn’t afraid of the consequences.

Jim couldn’t stay out of trouble though. Never knew when to quit, or even when to walk away, and Harvey had begged for Falcone’s help. Had written a blank check and known, deep down at least, exactly what he was offering.

That night he dreamed of making a run for it. Went so far as to pull the suitcase down from the top of his closet and start piling his shirts into it. Then he was struck by a sudden flash of memory and understood what an exercise in futility any such attempt would be.

Peter Gordon had tried it. Had taken Jim as an act of love or out of extreme selfishness - Harvey had never made his mind up, and wasn’t certain which side of the fence his own desire to take Jim with him fell on - and it hadn’t worked. Would never have worked and Harvey resigned himself to the inevitable.

Perhaps it had always been destined to end this way.

“You could make a real difference,” an icy blonde said to Jim just a few days later, his own hands bound tight behind his back and his legs strapped to the chair. He was really getting sick of being used as bait by total nutters. “Gotham needs men like you.”

“If it’s me you want, let Bullock go,” Jim demanded in turn, gun gripped too tightly, blue eyes glancing between the woman and Harvey. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“And isn’t that the point?” the woman questioned, seemingly unconcerned that Jim was threatening to put a bullet in her skull. “If you do nothing, if you don’t take advantage of the opportunity we are offering you, good men will die. Men like your father will die.”

“You had my father killed. Are you saying you’ll kill me too?”

“What I’m saying is that your father could have been saved if different choices were made. Bullock here will tell you.”

Jim frowned at him, confusion evident, and this was it. This was how he was going to repay his debt.

“You’ve read the files,” she went on, “You were __there__. Your father wasn’t dead on impact. No attempt was made to pull him from the wreckage.”

Jim looked lost, afraid to confront memories he had spent almost his entire life trying to bury, and Harvey refused to go out a coward. Refused to live out his worst nightmare and bleed out forgotten and alone, an afterthought in somebody else’s game move.

“Everybody used to do it,” he started, voice scratchy with the tension and the dehydration, “it was easy money. Ignore a call when you were told to. Turn up late and be of next to no assistance when you got there. It was always people who deserved it. That’s what we all told ourselves.”

He licked his dry lips, felt his hair hanging greasily over his forehead, and concentrated on the pain in his shoulders. In his ribs and his left leg, and the back of his head where they had knocked him unconscious.

Anything other than the look of disbelieving horror on Jim’s face.

“But that night, when the call came through, there was a kid involved. A little kid trapped in a wreck nobody was rushing to attend and we - I broke ranks. When this is over, I hope - I was never a total monster, Jim.”

“My father?” Jim pushed, and even with the woman’s smug smirk firmly in his frame of vision, it was as though he and Jim were the only people in the room. As though this was the moment he had lived his whole life for, because all he had wanted for so long was for Jim to look at him like he mattered. Like he was worth listening to, and the reason didn’t much matter now.

It was too late for niceties.

“He said he’d pay me if I got him out. I walked away.”

Harvey remembered the fear on the man’s face. The desperation in his voice.

The way Jim had screamed, and how his mother had broken down, sobbing and howling, when she rushed to the hospital to hear that her husband was already dead.

What he had been told to say, and what the sanctions were for straying off script.

“If I had to do it over I’d make the same decision. Doing nothing, looking the other way, it’s still a choice, Jim. Sometimes it’s even the right one. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The woman glared at him, startled, and Jim stared at him, eyes full of hurt and betrayal. Harvey stared back, forced himself not to look away, and took solace in the satisfaction of watching the decision coalesce in Jim’s mind.

Felt his own vision blur even as he smiled stupidly at the sight of Jim holstering his gun and turning away. Kept it there for Falcone and whoever else might be watching, because they had always underestimated what Jim was willing to do for what he thought was just.

How far he was willing to go for the greater good, and Harvey clung to that thought, determined to accept his fate with all the grace he could muster.

Even a police captain’s death could be covered up but he had faith in Jim. Knew if anyone could use it to bring an end to the corruption at Gotham’s rotten core it was Jim Gordon.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a final shaky breath.

It was past time to wipe the slate clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	67. Dub-Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - How about having Harvey be the one to go all creepy and ruthless on Jim's lovely behind? Maybe he knows that his friendship is the only good thing Jim has left and he knows Jim isn't really interested in him like that (or not ready to admit it) so he uses that against Jim, maybe threatens to take it away if Jim won't sleep with him?
> 
> Trigger warnings for dub-con.

“Stop covering for him.”

“You don’t understand.”

Lee shook her head and took a step closer, the bitter anger just as fresh now as it had been the first time he had seen her in the aftermath.

“Oh, I understand. I understand perfectly. I’ve been there, Harvey.”

He fought the urge to take a step back - to put space between them. He had never succeeded in being particularly subtle about what he felt for Jim, it was true. He heard what people said about him when they thought his back was turned.

The pitying looks they gave him when they knew it wasn’t.

It was too late, there was no way to reverse it. Jim was it as far as he was concerned. Jim was everything he had ever wanted.

Lee kept talking,

“You think he’s going to change. You think that one day he’s going to look at you and be grateful for every sacrifice you’ve made for him. That he’s going to give a damn how you feel about him.”

Harvey had to look away at that, the shameful burn of tears threatening to overcome him. Lee just swept her gaze over him and said dispassionately,

“He won’t. Trust me.”

Lee’s words ate away at him in the weeks that followed.

Tore him apart every time he thought about them, because she was right and he couldn’t keep lying to himself. Jim was never going to care. Jim was never going to look at him as anything other than a convenient second gun in times of crisis.

Jim would never be interested and at first it made him want to weep. Reduced him to a snivelling wreck, and he didn’t know when he had first sunk so low as to choose a night of fantasizing about what could never be over a pretty face that could help him forget about it.

When the tears were done it made him angry. He had given Jim everything. Done anything he asked, no matter how dangerous, no matter the consequences, and one night he drank and drank until he couldn’t take it any more.

Went to Jim and laid the situation out before him.

“You’re my friend,” Jim said, frowning, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Harvey crowded Jim back against the wall of his apartment, a dull thrill of satisfaction at the hint of concern - fear even - on Jim’s face.

“I want more than you’re willing to give and that’s why this is over. You’re on your own. You can find some other fool to clean up after you.”

There was definitely fear this time, Jim’s eyes so beseeching that Harvey almost crumpled. Almost clutched him close and begged Jim for forgiveness - to forget that he had said anything, and promise that he would always be there.

He stayed strong though. He had to. If he didn’t make the break now he would never do it. He would lose himself completely to Jim’s orbit.

“Don’t say that,” Jim protested, the anger Harvey had always expected in this moment conspicuous by its absence. “Don’t give up on me. Please, Harvey.”

It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, not at all, but perhaps he should have. Jim had lost everyone he had ever cared about. Had pushed them away, refused to give in, and it seemed that even Jim Gordon had his limit.

Even Jim Gordon didn’t want to face the world entirely alone.

Harvey knew he had to cling to his anger. Channel it into action because Jim said these things now, might even mean them in his own way, but a few weeks down the line they would be back to square one and he’d have nothing but more heartache to show for it.

“It’s all give and no take, Jim, can’t you see that? I’m sick of it.”

They were so close now, too close, and Harvey couldn’t help track the movement of Jim’s tongue as he swiped it across dry lips. Couldn’t help but stare at him, dumbstruck, when Jim stuttered,

“I could - if it’s - if you want. I would.”

“Don’t taunt me,” Harvey managed and it came out low, threatening, because Jim had no idea. No fucking clue how long - how desperately - he had waited to hear an offer like that fall from Jim’s lips.

“You’re all I’ve got,” Jim said, voice little more than a whisper, and later Harvey would blame the drink. The stress of being acting captain and the unbearable tension.

The truth was simply that he was weak.

He wasn’t a good guy, not really, not beneath the surface. There he was still the same scumbag he ever was. The same mess who could never say no, who could never turn away from what was on offer, and his heart was racing, breaking, even as he pushed still further into Jim’s personal space and breathed into Jim’s ear.

Warned, quietly, “If you don’t want this tell me now. Tell me to go and I will. I won’t even make you talk about it.”

“What about us?” Jim asked, breath shuddering out of him. “Will things stay the same?”

The man Jim thought he was would have said yes in an instant. The man he wished he was would have laughed the whole mess off and told Jim not to worry.

The man he spent all his time pretending he wasn’t braced one hand on the wall next to Jim’s head and said,

“If I leave now there is no us.”

Jim nodded.

Shut his eyes and waited for him to do something, his entire body tense and unresponsive. It should have been enough to convince him it was a terrible idea and put a stop to it.

It wasn’t.

He kissed Jim, one hand on his jaw to prevent him turning away. Moved lower to suck at the skin of his throat, raising a mark of possession and pushing his calloused hands up and under Jim’s shirt. He ignored the way Jim flinched when he groped at the front of his pants, the flesh there as soft as his shoulders were stiff, and when he sank to his knees he told himself that it was only nerves preventing Jim from really getting into it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed, glancing up to see the embarrassed flush on Jim’s cheeks and the harsh way he bit at his lower lip, eyes still clenched shut.

That was okay though, Jim watching had never been part of the bargain, and he lavished all his attention on the task in front of him. Kept at it until Jim was hard and straining, the air charged with cut off whimpers and his own heavy breathing, and when Jim spilled in his mouth Harvey staggered back to his feet and reclaimed his mouth. Thrust his tongue deep even as he pulled Jim’s hand to where he wanted it, groaning helplessly at the feel of Jim’s fingers wrapped around him.

Pushed Jim down onto his neatly made bed and let him lay on his side, facing away. Kissed at the side of his neck as he worked him open, slow and steady, and told Jim he loved him as he rolled him into position, refusing to think past his impending orgasm.

Jim wouldn’t meet his eye when it was over. Pulled the blankets around him instead and rubbed his hand against the fabric over and over, like it would help wipe his mind clean of the whole experience. For his part, Harvey didn't say much. Fumbled back into his clothing, awkward and empty, thinking of all the times he had stuck his hand in his pocket once his shoes were on and left a few crumpled notes on the nightstand.

This wasn't the same though. This was so very much worse.

He felt sick, disgusted, and there was no point in apologizing. The damage was already done.

This time it was he who had sold himself - and Jim who was left with buyer's remorse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	68. Mpreg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Could you write Gordlock mpreg?

“I’m just going to ask Dr. Narula to step in,” the woman said, face pale, and Harvey did his best not to let the sickening lurch of fear he felt show on his face.

That was what doctors said when their patients were dying. When people who looked healthy, appeared to be in the prime of life, were about to start wasting away until even those who loved them most could scarcely recognize them.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Jim rasped, brow furrowed with the pain, and Harvey was suddenly glad he had pulled out of Alvarez’ scheduled poker night. He wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Because Jim was the one on the bed. Jim was the one with the crippling stomach pains and the inability to keep anything more filling than water down. Not even that, sometimes, and Harvey pledged there and then that there was no way he was going to allow Jim to die on him.

It wasn’t the done thing, they both knew that. It flew in the face of departmental policy, and still wasn’t the kind of move that was encouraged in public. He gripped one of Jim’s hands in his own all the same, squeezing tightly and hoping that the message was getting through:

I’m here for you.

I’m not going anywhere.

The doctor returned, a tall serious looking man following in her wake, and Harvey watched them intently as they conversed in whispers and poked and prodded at the machine.

“We just need to get another reading,” the new doctor said, either less concerned or a better actor than his colleague. “There seems to be a problem with the equipment.”

That was another wait. More tension and more worry, and him fighting back the urge to pull Jim into his arms when he was sick again, settling for rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

Then came a flurry of activity. Medical staff crowded everywhere, and Jim leaning back into his touch for reassurance even as he answered endless questions about how long he had been experiencing these symptoms, and whether or not he was completely certain his medical records were up to date.

“Did you have any involvement with Indian Hill?” One of them asked eventually, cautiously, and Jim nodded his head while Harvey swore a newfound commitment to tracking down everyone responsible and bringing them to justice.

Seethed and panicked and demanded finally that someone tell them what the hell was going on.

“I can take it,” Jim agreed. “Whatever it is, however long I’ve got, I want to know.”

Narula fidgeted with his glasses, composure cracking.

“We just need to run a few more tests.”

* * *

“What do I do now?”

Harvey didn’t know. Didn’t have a single clue but Jim was looking to him. Had a hand clutched tight around his own, like it was the only anchor he had left to sanity, and Harvey was nothing if not committed to going above and beyond where Jim was concerned.

Would support him in anything, no matter how crazy, no matter how dangerous, and he said as confidently as he could,

“Whatever you want to do. If you do - If you - ,” he couldn’t say it. “You’ll have to go on light duty. That’s non-negotiable.”

The silence fell thick and heavy between them, stretching long enough for him to be afraid that he had said the wrong thing. The wronger thing, at any rate, because he couldn’t imagine there was a right thing to say to a guy who had just been told he was pregnant.

Jim let go of his hand, even, and hauled himself into a sitting position.

Took his hand back and managed a wry smile.

“I don’t think HR is going to have a form for that.”

Harvey studied his face for a long moment until he was suddenly sure that Jim would get through this, no matter what, because Harvey had no intention of letting him try it alone, not even for a moment.

“You underestimate HR,” was all he said, a smile curling across his own features, “they have a form for absolutely fucking everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	69. Harvey wants more than sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Jim and Harvey are having a bit of a dry spell. (This started off sticking to that and then kind of, er, meandered...)

There weren’t many things Harvey Bullock was good at. Holding his drink, maybe. Soldiering on past the point a sane man would give in, definitely.

Leaving his bed partners with a smile on their face, without a doubt.

He had plenty of practice at it. Had started young - too young, probably - and determined that if there was one thing he wanted to be able to do better than those around him, this was it.

Mrs Maguire from the floor above had been only too happy to give him the benefit of her experience, and when Mr Maguire came home early one day he had nodded with unseemly eagerness when the older man suggested they find some other way for him to make recompense, because it would be such a shame to have to bust his pretty face open.

In retrospect it was obvious that they had had it all planned. That the threats and his fear were all part and parcel of what they wanted, but he had been young and stupid and, besides, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t enjoyed it.

Wasn’t as though he hadn’t gone out looking for more, screwing and getting screwed by anybody who would have him, until the guilt started to filter through and the priest who had used to lead his Sunday School classes warned him that he couldn’t fill the emptiness in his heart with mindless rutting.

“Don’t you think your mother would have wanted better for you?” The man asked, the very worst mix of insipid concern and righteous patronizing, and he bolted from the confessional without looking back.

He didn’t need to be lectured to.

Didn’t need people bringing up what his mother would and wouldn’t have wanted. She was dead, gone, and it didn’t matter what he did. He couldn’t disappoint her.

Couldn’t make her proud either, though he went to her graveside the day he graduated the Academy, still dressed in his over starched uniform.

“I’m going to help people,” he told her, fingers tracing along the letters carved into the headstone. “You’ll see, I promise.”

That night he went out and got wasted, and put his new handcuffs to good use, writhing and sobbing on some stranger’s bed as they raised bruises all over his pasty skin.

It didn’t take long before his reputation began to precede him. Before word got around that he’d do anything, go anywhere, and his training officer seemed to truly believe that he needed to be blackmailed into sinking to his knees, as though their watch commander wasn’t already well aware of his talents in that particular area.

He didn’t care, couldn’t give it up, not any of it, because he wasn’t good at words or at making friends. He wasn’t the type of guy to let people close or make connections, and if the best he could manage was a few moments when somebody else positively _needed_  him, he was more than willing to take it.

Was willing to pay for it, even, and his first real partner introduced him to a world of seedy back rooms and seedier trysts around the back of the squad car, laughing at his initial reluctance and claiming it was one of the perks of the job.

Anderson made good use of it, at any rate, and if he carried on laughing at Harvey’s preference for working a girl past faking and play acting over twisting a hand into her hair, it was of no real matter. It wasn’t like he was about to admit to wanting to feel wanted any more than Anderson was going to confess that he most feared feeling powerless.

“I don’t want to die,” Anderson begged when a stray bullet caught him in the chest, face nothing but regret and fear, and later, when he left the hospital covered in the other man’s blood, it really hit Harvey that when his own time came there wouldn’t be anyone to miss him.

Nobody to mourn and nobody to notice, and when he was partnered up with Simmons she turned her psycho-babble on him and suggested that if he stopped fucking around long enough to get to know someone, he might have some kind of life outside of the job.

Dix said much the same, if not as nicely, and he argued back that he was perfectly content. Perfectly happy, because getting close to anyone was only ever a recipe for heartache.

Another date to remember, and another grave to pretend to be too busy to visit.

“You’re going to fall hard someday,” Simmons told him on a visit back to the city, new letters after her name and the wedding ring missing from her finger, “and when that day comes you won’t even want to go looking elsewhere.”

“I’m not a cheater,” he protested, because he wasn’t an addict. He could keep it in his pants if he needed to.

Simmons only laughed, eyebrow raised, and asked if he had ever been in a relationship that lasted long enough to put the theory to the test.

He had been willing to try, had thought that was where things were headed, but she laughed all over again in the morning. Went suddenly contrite and solemn when she realized he had been serious, and put a hand on his arm as she said,

“I just don’t think of you that way. I’m sorry if last night gave you the wrong impression.”

“It was a good night though, right?” He managed, all forced smile and hair of the dog to soften the harsh edges, and her smile was full of relief because it really was the thing he was best at.

The only thing he was good at, he thought sometimes, because the drinking was getting worse, and his commitment to the job was slipping. His interest in it waning, and he started going through partners like he got through cheap whiskey, at high speed and with nothing left to show for it but a bad taste in his mouth and a distant wish that he hadn’t even bothered.

People were better off without him, would be better served by staying the hell away from him, and then Jim Gordon turned up with his macho posturing and his indignant moralizing. Refused to mince his words and told him he was every bit as bad a cop - a man - as he had ever feared, and possibly worse.

Apologized to him, sincerely, in the aftermath of the business with The Goat and Harvey felt as though something had twisted inside him, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Had him dreaming of things he had long since given up hope of.

Had him trying, really trying, for possibly the first time ever, and the smile Scottie gave him when he worked up the courage to ask her for more than a roll in the sheets made him think of Simmons’ words from so long ago, about love and what it did to a man.

It made him soft, made him lose himself, and he wondered if it meant Simmons was right or wrong when weeks - months - passed and his conscience would have been clear if only his heart wouldn’t lurch, painful and desperate, every time he caught sight of Jim Gordon.

“I love you,” he told Scottie when she said it was over, and the look she gave him in response made his stomach crawl. Made him look away, swallowing thickly, because Scottie knew all about lies and fear and said softly,

“It’s not always enough, Harvey.”

Her words haunted him constantly, convincing him over and over of their truthfulness. He saw it in the mess that was once Jim’s relationship with Lee, and he felt it in his own heart, an ache that never faded, because it didn’t matter how much he loved Jim. Didn’t matter how hard he had fallen or how desperate he was to be near him - Jim was never going to feel the same way, and that was all there was to it.

He tried to go back to his usual coping methods. Drank too much but it didn’t make him forget. Smoked too much but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Screwed around and understood, finally, what it was that Simmons had been trying to explain to him. What Father Donnelly had been attempting to make him realize. What his own mother had wanted for him when she patted weakly at his hand and told him he was going to find someone who made him happy.

It wasn’t that the sex was bad, and it wasn’t that he regretted it even when it was. It was that sex was all it was. Was all it was ever going to be, and he wanted so much more.

“You’re either getting old or you’re hung up on somebody,” Ginny told him after he had done his very best to get Jim what he needed from her. “You were always easier to read than you thought you were.”

He shrugged, gaze falling on the sofa Jim had been sleeping on. The blankets he had spent the night wrapped in.

“A bit of both, maybe. You saying I’m losing my touch?”

She just smirked, every bit as filthy as she had ever been. “I didn’t think you asked me here to stroke your ego.”

Jim remained oblivious.

He didn’t seem to think it strange, the frequency with which Harvey touched him. The lovesick looks he couldn’t help bestowing, and the hours they spent on the phone each night while Jim was away, supposedly rekindling the flame with the love of his own life.

It didn’t work. Not for Jim, and not for him either, because Jim came back more broken than he had been before he left and Harvey told himself that Jim needed someone to look out for him. Ignored the vicious voice of self-recrimination, because Jim didn’t need some pathetic old fool to literally watch over him, sitting at the edge of his bed and letting his fingers trace along Jim’s sleeping features in a sad mockery of the kind of caress he dreamed of giving.

Jim didn’t tell him to stop though, not even when he returned to the department, and Harvey only fell harder and harder, until the mere thought of looking elsewhere for what his body was so desperately craving made his heart clench in retaliation.

If he couldn’t have Jim, he didn’t want anyone.

Nobody could compare, nobody else could make him feel a tenth of the things Jim did. They didn’t set his heart racing every time they smiled, and they didn’t leave him breathless and useless, just by standing too close to him.

That left him with his right hand and his overactive imagination, until it was a wonder he could get through any of his paperwork, between the daydreaming and the cramp in his hand. Because Jim was such a good little boy scout, if some of the crueller station gossip was to be believed, that his idea of adventure was leaving the lights on.

It was almost criminal.

So were the things Harvey wanted to do to him, and sometimes it was all he could do to remember the difference between fantasy and reality, and how unlikely Jim was to actually welcome his superior officer hitching him up against the wall of the records room.

He didn’t seem to have quite the same reservations when it came to Barbara Keane, and Harvey did the polite thing and looked the other way when Barbara pushed herself right into Jim’s personal space and announced,

“I wish I could help you, Jim. This case has obviously got you very excited.”

Jim flushed, shame writ all over his pretty features, Barbara laughing at his discomfort.

“It happens to the best of us,” Harvey offered when they were back in the car, because discovering somebody was a homicidal maniac wasn’t always the passion killer it ought to be. God knew he had gone crawling back to Fish Mooney often enough, drunk on the way she could make a man feel __special__.

“I don’t - It wasn’t -” Jim protested, a hint of color lingering in his cheeks. “It’s just been so long since,” his voice grew quiet, still more embarrassed, “you know.”

Harvey knew.

Had his mind stuck on the concept like a needle on a scratched record.

“Do you ever miss it?” Jim asked before he could put his own foot in it, and his incredulity must have shown because Jim hurried on, gaze fixed on his knee. “If I hadn’t messed things up you’d be married now. We’d both be married now.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” he countered, palms suddenly sweaty. “Scottie and me, we wanted different things, Jim.”

Scottie had wanted stability. A peaceful life and long weekends in which nothing much ever happened.

He wanted Jim and all the drama that came with him.

“I couldn’t stop putting the job first,” Jim admitted, summing up the faults with his own relationships.

“Sometimes the job is all we have.”

Jim glanced up at him, finally, and the atmosphere was so charged Harvey could think of nothing but the many and varied ways he wanted to make Jim lose control of himself.

“It’s not always enough, Harvey.”

The echo of another time and another place was too much. The knowledge that even now, even after everything, he still wanted the exact same thing robbed him of his sense of self preservation.

“What if you could have both? The job and someone who understands how much it means to you.”

“Someone else I can disappoint, you mean. Someone else whose life I can ruin.”

He hated to see Jim miserable. Hated to hear the bitterness in his voice and see the shame in his eyes. Hated it so desperately that getting his own heart shattered seemed the lesser evil, and he was pleased that his hand was steady, at least, as he laid it on Jim’s thigh.

“You’ve never disappointed me, Jim. My life was a disaster before you came into it.”

It wasn’t the kind of line that was going to make it into a romance novel. Certainly wasn’t the kind he would have used when all he wanted was a single night with someone. It was true though, more honest than he had once believed himself capable of being, because even if he didn’t have everything he wanted being close to Jim, having Jim’s friendship - it was so much more than he had ever had before.

His hand was still on Jim’s thigh, Jim’s body heat soaking through into his skin. He rubbed his thumb across the fabric of Jim’s pants, watched him swallow in response.

Let his gaze linger on the visible bulge in Jim’s lap before raking it up and over Jim’s neat shirt and tie. Met Jim’s own gaze and waited. Waited until the tension crested, until Jim made a frantic, desperate noise, and then they were kissing, clumsy with longing.

“We can’t do this here,” Jim whimpered when Harvey dropped his head to kiss at the skin of his throat. To nip at his earlobe and stroke his hands down Jim’s back, over his shirt but under his suit jacket. “We’re still on duty.”

It took everything he had to put space between them. He gasped for air, tugging at his tie to loosen it, and watched Jim struggle for his own composure.

“The job comes first,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Jim laughed - a real genuine laugh that made his teeth ache it was so sweet - and said,

“It was a close call though.”

Harvey laughed along with him, couldn’t help himself, and they both put on their very best professional fronts for the rest of the afternoon. Kept capturing each other’s gaze, all the same, and losing themselves in the potential of the heavy atmosphere surrounding them.

He felt feverish with it by the time the day was finally done, and they barely spoke as they made their way from the precinct to Jim’s apartment. As they climbed the stairs and as Jim unlocked the door.

Then the rest of the world was shut out and it was just the two of them, staring at each other. Staring into each other, and Jim reached for him. Pulled his hat free and pushed a lock of errant hair behind his ear so that Harvey shivered, not caring how often Jim had used the exact same move on women he had been in the same situation with.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing could have ever been the same as what he was feeling right now, that was the way it seemed to him, and he pressed just as close as Barbara had earlier that day, until he could feel the same proof of just how long it had been since Jim had had any real human contact.

Jim didn’t try to get free this time, didn’t want to, clearly, and Harvey cupped one hand around the back of his neck. Held him still as he kissed him, slow and steady until Jim began rocking into his thigh. Until Jim started biting at his lower lip and tugging at his hair, soft breathy sounds escaping him on every exhale.

He was losing control, falling apart beneath him, and Harvey didn’t know whether to slow it down or speed things up. Couldn’t decide what to do first because there were so many things he had dreamed of doing to Jim, with Jim, that it was completely overwhelming.

Jim made his mind up for him.

Reversed their positions and made short work of his belt buckle, kissing him soundly the entire time, slick heat that had him attempting to follow when Jim pulled back abruptly. Had him twitching, helpless, when he realized what Jim was planning, dark blue eyes meeting his own as Jim sank to his knees.

“Oh God,” he managed when Jim breathed in the scent of him through his underwear. Gave up on forming words when Jim trailed his open mouth along the length of him, the damp heat of his breath almost too much even through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Then he couldn’t think, could scarcely stand, because Jim was making enough noise for both of them, moaning around the flesh in his mouth and pushing his hand beneath his own waistband. Harvey knew because the lights were all on, nothing hidden, and the sight of Jim getting off on the act of sucking him was so hot it was near painful.

Jim didn’t let up. Used his free hand to make up for what his mouth was struggling with, and perhaps it was inexperience or simply that he was out of practice. Harvey couldn’t tell, didn’t care, because the fact it was Jim touching him outweighed every other possible consideration.

“I -” he tried to warn, and maybe it was that he had gone longer than at any other point in his entire adult life. Maybe it was simply that it was Jim on his knees in front of him. All he knew was that he couldn’t hold back, couldn’t last another moment, and Jim only took him deeper. Touched his spit slick fingers to his balls, further back, and he was coming, shaking and panting, completely undone by Jim’s moan of encouragement.

Jim sat back on his heels when he couldn’t take any more, looking up at him as his hand moved frantically. As Harvey ran his thumb over the wetness of his lower lip, and Jim flickered his tongue against it, like he was intent on killing him with the desperate shudder the touch sent through him.

“Jim,” was all he managed in response, low and agonised, and he was shuddering all over again at the way Jim gasped and tensed, his muscles straining and tightening as he came messily over his fist and the pants of the suit he was still wearing.

He ran his fingers through Jim’s hair afterwards, petting as Jim got his breath back, his sweat damp forehead leaning heavily against the bare skin of his thigh.

Jim kissed him sweetly when he made it back to his feet. Wound his arms around his neck and let himself be lead into the bedroom, beneath his cool bed sheets, and Harvey didn’t know how to describe the blissful ache in his chest. The way his skin tingled, his breath still coming too fast and too shallow, so unbearably happy to have Jim cuddled against him.

“I was supposed to be the one getting you off,” he confessed when Jim started tracing fingertips over the freckles dusting his arms, comfortable enough to be honest with him, “that’s how it usually works.”

“You did,” Jim told him bluntly, smile quirking at his lips, “I distinctly remember you looking so good I couldn’t help myself.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to explain, but the soft expression on Jim’s face gave it all away. Jim already knew, already understood, and he paid it back by pulling Jim closer. By pressing kisses along his hairline and winding a possessive arm around his waist.

Perhaps they had both been waiting for the right person. Someone who would understand, without being told, what it was they were waiting for.

Jim wanted him, needed him, even, for more than what he could do with his mouth and his fingers - and nothing Jim did was ever going to be reason enough for Harvey to turn his back on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	70. Soulmarks AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Any chance you'd write me a gordlock fic that's a dorky cute soulmates au with their names appearing on them at birth? I love those.

Jim Gordon did not believe in soulmates.

They existed, of course. He wasn’t one to fly in the face of centuries worth of scientific evidence. He had a name on his own wrist, even, in cramped scruffy script that he couldn’t imagine belonging to anyone he would want to associate with.

What he didn’t believe was that he needed to find them. That he couldn’t be just as happy with a partner of his own choosing - someone who wanted to be with him because of the man he was, not because tradition said they were already bound to each other.

His parents hadn’t been born marked and they had loved each other just as truly as any of the characters in his childhood storybooks. It was getting rarer and rarer for children to be born with a mark anyway, certain proof to Jim’s mind that there was no real rhyme or reason to it.

Soulmates belonged to the past, a relic of some earlier time when failure to cross paths with a fortuitously named stranger meant being condemned to a life of loneliness. It was just nature’s way of keeping the birth rate down before the invention of effective contraception, or some other equally mundane explanation.

It was no longer necessary, no longer relevant, and it didn’t matter how much his wrist itched and chafed and drove him mad with irritation, Jim refused to believe any of the stupid superstitions on the subject.

His one and only wasn’t waiting just around the corner, and he wasn’t about to start swooning in the middle of a shift because his tortured heart ached for a man he had never clapped eyes upon. Barbara had probably switched laundry detergents, and when he came over faint in the middle of his induction interview it was because he was nervous about the new job and the fact that the weather had been unseasonably warm in Gotham.

Then he turned up for his first day as _Detective_ James Gordon and knew that he had been correct to write soulmates off as so much nonsense.

There was no way he was destined to spend the rest of his life with a Neanderthal like Harvey Bullock.

* * *

“So this is how it’s going to be?”

Jim ignored the question, staring deliberately out of the car window. This was exactly how it was going to be. He was engaged, was looking forward to a happy marriage, and if his heart pounded with excitement every time Bullock so much as glanced in his direction, it was neither here nor there.

It was like sneezing in a dusty room or blinking in the face of a sudden bright light. An instinctive - involuntary - reaction.

It didn’t mean anything.

“You’re not what I envisioned either, you know,” Bullock said, tone conversational around yet more artery clogging food. “I was hoping for someone tall, dark and handsome.”

Jim only scowled harder.

It wasn’t a surprise when they came to blows, not beyond the fact it hadn’t happened sooner. They scrapped like schoolboys, clumsy and vicious, and when Harvey raised his hand to wipe across his newly bloodied lip, Jim caught sight of his name for the first time.

There was something about seeing it in the flesh, right in front of him, that took his breath away. It was no longer something distant and academic, but a real phenomena close enough for him to reach out and touch it.

He did, couldn’t help himself, and Harvey just frowned at him as he traced his fingertips over the familiar flow of his own handwriting.

“You know I took a course on graphology once. I always thought you were gonna be boring.”

Jim smiled slightly in acknowledgement of the implied apology and looked at the name on his own wrist.

“I had my doubts you were even literate.”

“I could grow to dislike you,” Bullock - _Harvey_ \- groused, but it was good natured, and when the older man suggested they find a bar so he could drown his newly single sorrows, Jim agreed without hesitation.

* * *

It became a regular thing, after duty drinks with Harvey. From there it became one of his favorite things, and though he wasn’t about to admit to looking forward to it with breathless anticipation, he got the impression Harvey had a fairly good idea.

He had to, because Harvey didn’t bother playing it tough or brushing it off, instead telling him straight out that spending time with him was the highlight of his evenings.

And, okay, his actual words might have been more akin to ‘so long as you’re buying, Junior, I’m not going anywhere’, but Jim could read between the lines. Jim could interpret the hopeful glances Harvey kept sending his way, and the hand that sent sparks all over from the contact point on his shoulder.

He was a detective.

Still he hesitated. Because they were friends now, good friends, and he didn’t want to mess that up. Just because two people seemed destined for each other, it didn’t mean that was how things would actually play out. He had thought he and Barbara would be together forever. He had seen too many domestics turned tragic, barbaric acts committed by people with and without soulmarks on their skin.

“I think we should call it a night,” Jim said eventually, the drink sending his thoughts in circles and leaving Harvey slumped forward across the table. “We’ve got work in the morning.”

Harvey just gave him an odd look, searching, then nodded to himself though he seemed disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be late. Scout’s honor.”

* * *

It took a while but Jim diagnosed the uncomfortable feeling in his chest as jealousy. Marrow deep jealousy because it might be hypocritical, might be childish, but the idea that Harvey would want to go looking elsewhere when he was right there was enough to have him grinding his teeth together.

To have him gripping his pen hard enough to all but snap it in two.

Harvey was joking about it now with Alvarez, if the hand gestures were anything to go by, and Jim fell back on the faithful burn of self-righteousness as he demanded that Harvey actually get some work done.

“Maybe you ought to think about getting some stress relief,” Harvey said too knowingly, “it would do you the world of good.”

“I’m not stressed.”

To prove it he reached for the stapler to attach the covering sheet to yet another witness statement, and slammed the thing down so hard it refused to open again.

Harvey simply raised an eyebrow.

Jim wasn’t going to be beaten by an out of date ritual, and he wasn’t going to be beaten by a piece of office equipment either. Set about trying to pry the damn thing open and jerked back at a sharp pain, watching as blood welled up on his fingertip. He stuck it in his mouth before thinking better of it, and when he looked up it was to find Harvey staring at him, color painted all across his cheekbones.

The sight was a head rush. Had him feeling a confidence that was usually lacking and he made a show of sucking his finger clean. Gave it a final lick as he held Harvey’s gaze, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

“Definitely not boring,” Harvey muttered, referencing their long ago conversation, and Jim made the conscious decision to stop fighting it.

They were meant for each other, maybe, but the reality of it would be only as good as they made it. How much effort they put in and how honest they were willing to be about what they wanted.

Jim was willing to work for it.

“I thought you were holding out for someone tall, dark and handsome?” He asked, as lightly as he could as Harvey shifted in his seat, attempting to cover his too obvious reaction.

Harvey looked back at him, searching again, and this time whatever it was he was looking for, he found it. He must have done, because the smile he gave Jim in response was blinding.

“I’m not greedy. One out of three isn’t bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	71. Tied Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - Harvey ties Jim up. I don't care why or how.

The music was blaring, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and Harvey leaned in close to whisper in Jim’s ear,

“You could at least try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jim was way too uptight, his distaste way too obvious, and this was why Harvey had suggested anyone _but_ Jim ought to accompany him. Alvarez would have bitched and moaned but ultimately got on with it, and even Tuttle wouldn’t have had to be continually reminded of the importance of keeping cover.

It was too late now though. Their guy was nowhere to be seen and they were attracting too much attention, Jim’s body language screaming to anyone who so much as glanced in his direction how desperately he didn’t want to be there. How uncomfortable he was with what he was witnessing, and judging by the look on the barman’s face they had 30 seconds or so before somebody approached and felt them up for a wire or a firearm.

There were two options, realistically.

He either shoved Jim up against the wall and did his best to extract the other man’s tonsils, or he shoved Jim up against the wall and staged an epic break up scene. As nobody with two brain cells to rub together would ever believe he would willingly part ways with someone who looked like Jim Gordon, he braced his hands on Jim’s shoulders and put his weight behind it.

“What -” Jim started, knocked off balance and hitting the wall with more force than Harvey had intended. It only riled him up further, made him still angrier, because they were surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in Gotham. The country, even, and perhaps Jim hadn’t had to see what happened to cops who were caught in the lion’s den but Harvey had.

Jim might not give a damn about his own welfare, but all it meant was that Harvey had to care for both of them.

Had to kiss him, so harsh their teeth clacked together, and then pull back to snarl, loud enough for their onlookers to hear,

“You had plenty of opportunity to back out of it. If you think I’m going to let you show me up like this, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Jim glared back, confused and panting hard, and Harvey got it. Understood that it wasn’t Jim’s scene. It wasn’t exactly his, either. He liked a bit of pain sometimes - a couple of well placed slaps and a set of handcuffs. A hand tangled in his hair and a sharp nip to his bottom lip. Nothing too adventurous. This was something else entirely. Whips and chains and muffled screams from the back rooms that made The Foxglove seem like a tea party. If Jim didn’t play along it wouldn’t be him meting out his punishment, and the sooner Jim understood that the better it would be for both of them.

The easier he would be able to breathe because when he splayed his hand over Jim’s throat, controlling and possessive, he could feel the frantic thrum of his pulse. The harsh bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, struggling for composure, and Harvey leaned in so that his lips were brushing against Jim’s ear, Jim shivering helplessly against him.

“Do you trust me?”

Jim went wide eyed, hesitated just long enough to really think about the question, then nodded all the same. Harvey found himself nodding in turn, relieved, because if they tried to walk out of here right now they would be given the third degree. Likely would never make it out onto the street alive, not even with Jim’s military training and his own commitment to ensuring the city’s scumbags kept their grubby fingers away from his boy scout. “

Do as I say and if you really don’t like it, well,” a smile curled across his face, unbidden, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

It had been a while since he had indulged in this particular vice, but it was like riding a bike. The basics soon came flooding back. He pushed Jim down a dimly lit hallway, the bass of the music thudding through the air, and then steered him into an empty booth. The privacy was nominal at best, and he hoped Jim would forgive him once it was all over. Prayed Jim wouldn’t hate what he was about to do to him, at least, and watched the emotions flicker in Jim’s eyes, his face remaining a good approximation of impassive.

“I’ve been very lenient with you,” Harvey said, pitched for their unseen audience, “too lenient. I see that now.”

“I -”

“Did I say you could talk?”

Jim looked at him as though he had never seen him before. Watched, rapt, as he reached for one of Jim’s wrists and unbuttoned his shirt cuff. Ran his fingers over the fluttering of Jim’s pulse, still wildly elevated, then set about loosening the knot of Jim’s tie and divesting him of his shirt. He kissed at the side of Jim’s neck as he worked - had watched Jim cosying up with Lee often enough to know what it did to him - and hoped it would be distraction enough to stop Jim freaking out when he undid Jim’s belt buckle, and when he pushed Jim’s wrists into the wall above his head and began binding them in place.

There were plenty of restraints on hand but they had both found themselves bound up with rope more than once. It was familiar, almost, and he hoped that would count for something because from what he knew of Jim’s relationships, it was going to be just about the only thing they were going to do that Jim had much experience with.

He could feel eyes on his back, could tell they were making a scene from the embarrassed flush on Jim’s cheeks, and while it wasn’t exactly his top fantasy involving Jim and semi-public displays of indecency, it wasn’t a million miles away from it.

If Jim weren’t so very green - if this wasn’t simply a way to avoid getting a bullet through the skull - Harvey thought he would really go for it. Some fancy knot work, maybe, just enough to really set off Jim’s golden skin. Jim’s legs in the air, bound and spread. As it was he kept it simple: Jim’s hands tied to the railings above his head and separate bonds at each ankle. He had to take a moment to admire his handiwork, even so, along with the strands of Jim’s hair which were now falling over his forehead.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” Jim demanded, pushing his luck the same as always, squirming against the ties and finding them secure. Harvey figured it was good enough to be in the spirit of the thing without forcing Jim to be silent too. If Jim was going to sock him in the jaw for this later he wanted some auditory memories of Jim begging him for more to make up for it.

“I should have put you over my knee first.” He grinned at the way Jim blushed harder, the color creeping down his neck and along his collar bone. “But you’d have enjoyed that too much.”

“I’m not into this,” Jim protested, nerves or something else entirely making his tone lack the conviction he had been aiming for.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

Jim’s face went redder, his eyes downcast, and Harvey pitched his voice to stay between them,

“I’m not going to hurt you.” That wasn’t quite it, Harvey knew, and he went back to the column of Jim’s neck, listening for the gratifying hitch in Jim’s breathing. “You want to stop just say, yeah? We’ll think of something else. I’m not trying to take all your control away.”

When their eyes met again Jim was nervous but determined. Nodded, ever so slightly, for him to get on with it and Harvey glanced at the clock on the far wall. An hour, at least, before the guy they were waiting on was likely to show his face again, so that meant he had to drag this out.

He didn’t think it would be a difficulty.

Not for him, at any rate. Jim, on the other hand, was already on edge and over responsive, twitching and shivering as soon as he began skating his fingertips down his side. Gasped and tipped his head back and Harvey wondered how long it had been since Jim had had anyone else touch him. Wondered whether Jim would ever consider granting him a repeat performance, if he made it good enough.

Put his all into it, just on the off chance, and enjoyed the sounds Jim made when he sucked wetly at his nipple. When he licked a broad swipe across the bottom of Jim’s rib cage, and when his fingers skirted the edges of his underwear. Leaving off the gag had definitely been the right decision.

Jim looked so good like that, desperate and a little vulnerable, and if Harvey had to tell him in increasingly filthy language, he was only getting into character. Only ensuring that everyone understood they were there to use the facilities, just like all the other people who would be ruined if their proclivities made it into the newspapers.

“Oh,” Jim gasped, hips pushing forward, when he finally let his fingers stray along the outline of his dick and he kept at it, feather light and teasing, until Jim’s chest was heaving and his thighs were trembling.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked, all confident smirk, and Jim was always going to have the power to surprise him. Was going to be the absolute death of him, no question, because instead of the obvious Jim looked up at him, pupils blown wide, and managed,

“Kiss me. I want you to kiss me.”

He couldn’t refuse a request like that, not now and not ever, and he pushed his hand across Jim’s abdomen, fingertips just edging under the waistband of his boxer shorts as Jim writhed as best he could, and kissed him like it was a lifeline. Like he was afraid of losing himself completely, and Harvey used his other hand to cradle the side of his head, reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

His initial plan, if ‘plan’ was the right term for it, had been to just go through the motions. Get Jim worked up a bit and then claim he hadn’t earned the right to get off at the end of it. Untie him and give him chance to regain his composure while he pulled his clothes back on. The problem was that that really wasn’t going to cut it. Jim was a frantic, beautiful mess and he was so hard he couldn’t think straight.

Couldn’t give either of them the breathing room to calm down again, and all he actually succeeded in was pressing yet closer to Jim, until his dick was pushing against Jim’s hip through the fabric of his trousers. Jim moaned into his mouth, body heat pouring off him, and Harvey didn’t have the willpower to resist wrapping his hand around Jim’s erection.

The noise Jim made was enough to make it all worthwhile, the kind of noise he was going to be thinking about for years to come, and he kept his movements slow and steady even as Jim tried to twist and buck and force him into stroking faster. Took his hand away every time Jim got too enthusiastic, just long enough for Jim to look like he might start sobbing.

He was waiting for a sign, waiting for the perfect moment, and it came with Jim’s gaze losing focus. With sweat trickling down Jim’s face and his expression twisting, the frustrated desperation obvious.

“Please,” Jim whined finally. “Please, I can’t take it.”

That was his cue to recapture Jim’s mouth. To quit teasing and give him the kind of pressure he was clearly so in need of. Jim was really fighting against his bonds now, falling apart under his hands, and Harvey didn’t think he had ever seen anything quite so mesmerising. Came to the conclusion that he was already in way too deep with this and dropped heavily to his knees, yanking Jim’s boxers down just enough to get his mouth on him, his tongue sliding along hard heat.

Jim slammed his head back against the wall, his entire body tensing up as he came, his thighs quivering where Harvey braced his hands against them, swallowing until Jim was crying out all over again, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He rested his forehead against Jim’s stomach for a long moment, attempting to get his own self-control back. Jim’s leg twitched with some kind of aftershock and he knew that it was no use. His problem wasn’t going to be going away any time soon, not without a little assistance.

“I’ll let you loose now,” he started, pushing back to his feet and up the full length of Jim’s sweat damp body. “I’ve just got to - I need to -”

“Oh God,” Jim groaned, voice utterly wrecked, and Harvey realized with a start that Jim was watching. Jim was panting and shaking and watching him with dark eyes as he touched himself. It was more than he could take, more than anyone could take, he reasoned, and he pressed close so he could suck at the skin of Jim’s neck, the taste and the scent of him driving the movements of his hand faster and faster.

He clung to Jim as he came. Kissed him soundly in the aftermath, wiping his hand off and then pushing it into Jim’s wet hair. Finally pulled himself together enough to fix his clothing and start untying knots.

Jim was shaky without the extra support and Harvey was only too willing to let him lean against him. Took more pleasure than he probably should in helping Jim back into his clothes, and lingering over the buttons of his shirt and the knotting of his tie. He didn’t want the intimacy - the ‘moment’ - to end, not now he had tasted Jim’s mouth and heard what he sounded like when he was too far gone to worry about anything.

“We’ve probably missed him,” Jim whispered, glancing at the clock.

Harvey was going to apologize. Started mentally bracing himself for Jim’s impassioned lecture about why the whole thing had been a terrible idea, from start to finish. But Jim blindsided him yet again, and set about straightening Harvey’s tie and pushing his hair behind his ears. Kissed him, soft and chaste, and sighed,

“I think I need to sit down.”

There it was - Jim admitting to not being superhuman. Jim implying for possibly the third time in their entire acquaintance that it might be reasonable to make the job his second most pressing priority. He wasn’t going to rub it in though. If Jim wanted to go home and be looked after, that suited him just fine.

That was kind of like a dream come true, if he was truly honest.

“We can always try again another night,” was all he did say, hot and breathy in Jim’s ear as he began steering him towards the exit.

Jim just gave him a sly smile, the one that never failed to get his blood pumping.

“And I can show you my rope skills. I was a boy scout, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	72. Jim chooses Lee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim chooses Lee.

Harvey isn’t under any illusions about the long term viability of whatever it is he and Jim have got going here. They get drunk, they make out, sometimes they fuck - sometimes they pass out - and in the morning neither of them so much as alludes to it.

It’s stress relief, he supposes. Easier for Jim than arranging dates and buying flowers, and cheaper for him than paying one of his old regulars.

That’s what he tells himself, at any rate, because the truth only ever makes him want to punch something. Makes him want to weep pathetically, curled up in some darkened corner, because he’s too old to feel this way. Too young to know that it will never get any easier.

Too smart to let himself believe, even for a single moment, that Jim really gives a damn about him.

He tries for it regardless. Blocks the doorway and warns Jim that if he doesn’t listen, if he goes ahead with his death wish of an operation, he’ll never forgive him.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jim snaps, so wound up he can’t keep still. So fired up Harvey isn’t certain Jim won’t use force if he doesn’t let him pass in the next couple of minutes.

“I’m your Captain,” Harvey responds with a confidence he doesn’t really feel, “it’s my job to tell you what to do, Jim.”

They stare each other down, his gaze beseeching and Jim’s furious. Jim looks away first, but it doesn’t feel like a victory.

“Fine.” Jim says, unclipping the badge from his belt and dropping it to the ground between them. “I quit. Now let me go, Harvey.”

Barnes would have told him to get out of his sight. Essen would have given him that disappointing look she did so well, and then forced him to talk about it.

Harvey can only swallow thickly and beg, sounding nothing like himself,

“It’s too dangerous. Don’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m going to.”

He wants to say that if Jim does this, they’re through. If Jim won’t listen to reason then he should never bother darkening his door again.

He’s too much of a coward.

“What am I supposed to tell the Commissioner? IA? The media?”

Jim just shrugs and Harvey doesn’t voice the real question.

‘How am I supposed to carry on living when I identify your dead body?’

“She’s in danger,” Jim says finally, hand trembling as he rakes it through his hair. “I don’t care what happens to me, I have to try. Can you understand that?”

The tension is so thick he could cut it with a knife. The strength of Jim’s conviction so overpowering it’s almost as though he could reach out and touch it.

He can understand, that’s the reality of the situation. He knows exactly what it means to be willing to throw away everything if it might save the one person he loves the most.

Is more than willing to put theory into practice.

Jim grunts when he hits him, eyes wide in startled shock, and Jim might be younger and fitter, but Harvey’s got 50 pounds on him and is desperate into the bargain. Is focused and determined, and he grapples Jim to the ground, securing him with both their sets of handcuffs.

He tugs at the knot of Jim’s tie - pulls the material free of his collar and attempts not to reflect on how this is the first time he has ever done it sober. Then he’s forcing it between Jim’s lips, gagging him tightly enough to keep him quiet, but double, triple, checking it’s not going to obstruct his breathing.

Jim strains against his bonds. Tries to curse and scream and Harvey has to hold him still just long enough to press a single kiss to his cheek and whisper,

“I’m sorry.”

He’ll do his best to save her. Will do his damnedest to save himself, but they both know the score: this time it really is a suicide mission.

He doesn’t look back at Jim as he walks away. What they had wasn’t built to last.

At least this way Jim will never see him cry over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	73. Jim is touch starved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask - touch starved Jim Gordon.

Harvey had always been there for him. Had covered for him, risked everything for him, and as Jim ran through the dark city streets he wondered if Harvey had any idea how much he appreciated it.

How hopelessly lost he would be without Harvey, and how terrified he had been since the moment Harvey had gone missing.

His legs were burning, his lungs aching, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t slow down, not even for a second, because it could mean the difference between life and death, and if it did Jim knew he would never forgive himself.

Might not manage it anyway, because he had been too blinkered. He hadn’t listened when he should have, and spent too long refusing to negotiate. Now there was the very real possibility that he was already too late, and Jim couldn’t tell if it was rain, sweat or tears dripping down a face - or a combination of all three.

The sight of Harvey’s prone form gave him the final push he needed, his pulse pounding in his ears as he flung himself to the ground beside Harvey, horror washing over him as he realized that the dark pool surrounding his body was blood not rain water.

They had shot him in the back, like the filthy cowards they were, and Jim forgot all his first aid training along with anything he had ever learned about scene preservation. Instead he was pulling Harvey into his arms, begging, fingers streaking more blood over his pale face as he pleaded with Harvey to open his eyes and look at him.

Harvey’s skin was cold, his limbs heavy and unresponsive, and it took Jim three attempts to find a pulse. Three long moments of mindless panic and stomach churning sickness.

He sobbed when he found it, his face buried in Harvey’s wet hair, and continued to cling to him until the wail of sirens and the flashing of lights surrounded them.

“Is he going to be all right?” He asked the paramedic, as frightened and helpless as any of the other loved ones they would deal with that night, and the guy only paused long enough to give him a pitying look.

“We’ll do our best, that’s all I can promise.”

* * *

People gave him a wide berth in the hospital waiting room, no doubt a combination of the blood covering his clothing and the misery etched on his features. A nurse almost laid a hand upon his shoulder when she came to inform him that Harvey was out of surgery, then changed her mind at the last moment, suggesting that he might like to wash up and get a cup of coffee or something.

Jim tried. Stared at his reflection in the restroom mirror instead and struggled to recognize the man looking back at him.

There was no mask, no secrets. Just someone who had almost lost the one person who mattered most to them. Someone who couldn’t understand why he had ever tried to deny it, or why he had spent so long pretending he felt nothing more than friendship for Harvey.

Harvey was so pale when he was finally allowed to take up his place at the man’s bedside. The only splashes of color were the livid bruises, and Jim had to reach for his hand - couldn’t have stopped himself even if he had wanted to. Harvey was the only person who ever touched him these days, who ever let himself be touched by Jim in turn, and Jim wondered if he could even live without it.

Couldn’t truly fathom how awful it would be, if the only human contact he had to look forward to was a criminal landing a lucky punch every once in a while.

The emotion settled in his throat, thick and cloying, and he concentrated on the cool skin in his grip. Made pledge after silent pledge that things would be different if - _when_ \- Harvey woke up again.

He wouldn’t take Harvey for granted. He wouldn’t turn away when he wanted to press closer.

He was done with being a coward.

Yet what seemed so simple in theory was harder in practice, because for all the time Jim had spent in hospital, he had no experience of the constant stream of visitors and well wishers Harvey attracted.

When it was him in bed, bleeding and broken, the only constant was Harvey. Lucius came by sometimes, if it was a particularly long stay, and once Bruce had paid him a visit accompanied by Alfred.

Harvey had friends though, rather than just colleagues. It felt like the entire department called in on him, and the room was festooned with get well cards and chocolates. He had touched all kinds of lives in positive ways and, when even his elderly neighbor dropped in to see him, Harvey gestured at the grapes piled on his bedside table and quipped that he was gearing up to open his own vineyard.

Then there was Harvey’s family, a seemingly endless web of complicated relationships bound together by shocks of red hair and raucous laughter. Jim hovered awkwardly, uncertain whether his continued presence was welcome, before a cousin ushered him back into the uncomfortable plastic chair and told him jovially that Harvey talked about him so much it was as though they were already acquainted.

Harvey shot him a tired smile, almost shy, and Jim flushed with the potential implications.

He wished he hadn’t been so stubborn, so obsessed with his own toxicity and second guessing every olive branch that was handed to him. Because Harvey invited him to every Bullock family gathering, no exceptions, and every time he made up some excuse or other, rather than take charity.

That had never been Harvey’s intention, it was so startlingly clear now, and he remained long after official visiting hours ended watching Harvey sleep, the deep dark smudges under the older man’s eyes testament to his utter exhaustion.

Finally he kissed Harvey’s brow, careful and tender, and hoped against hope that Harvey hadn’t already given up on him.

* * *

“I’ll be fine,” Harvey protested when Jim pulled up outside his own apartment. “I’ve got everything I need at my place.”

It hurt. Not that Harvey didn’t want to stay with him, Jim didn’t believe that for a moment, but that Harvey had assumed all the assurances Jim had given the doctors were worthless. Harvey had only been discharged on the proviso someone was going to be there to look after him, and Jim had piped up before any of Harvey’s relations could make the offer.

Had filled out his application for leave in triplicate, and endured the incredulous look on Tuttle’s face when he requested it be fast tracked, or he simply wouldn’t report for duty.

“Come on,” he said, tone as lighthearted as he could manage, “I’ve already cleaned the place now.”

Harvey snorted as he accepted his help to get out of the car, Jim secretly revelling in the solid weight braced against him.

“Don’t lie, Florence Nightingale. You just don’t want to have to return your nurse’s uniform, do you?”

Jim grinned, shouldering Harvey’s bag and sliding a supporting arm around him, “How did you find out about that? I was trying to keep it a surprise for you.”

The look on Harvey’s face was priceless. Amused, fond, kind of startled. Hopeful, even, and it filled Jim with a renewed sense of confidence. They had hardly had a moment alone since that first terrible night at the hospital, and then he had been the only one aware of what was happening.

Safe in his apartment, there was no reason left for him not to start talking. No reason other than his own fear of rejection, and he fussed about settling Harvey on the sofa with a drink to give himself enough space to pull his courage together.

“Do you want anything to eat?” He asked, procrastinating, and Harvey just looked up at him from the leave confirmation he had left on the coffee table, like he was a view he could never get enough of.

“This might be the painkillers talking but I want to say thank you. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s nothing, not really.”

“So you’d take two weeks off work for anyone? Who are you and what have you done with Jim Gordon?”

Harvey was smiling, keeping it casual, but Jim couldn’t take it. Moved to sit next to him, the intensity of what he was feeling threatening to overwhelm him.

“I thought you were dead.”

The silence stretched, thick and stifling, and then Harvey was reaching for his hand clumsily, voice strained,

“If I disappeared for two weeks every time I thought I’d never see you again, I wouldn’t have a job to go back to.”

* * *

Somehow words seemed superfluous, the sincerity in their gazes and the electricity sparking at their touch saying it all for them.

Jim lead Harvey into his bedroom, both of them remembering nights when Jim had been drunk and insensible, sobbing into Harvey’s chaste hold, too proud to simply ask him to stay. This time he wrapped his arms around Harvey. Breathed in the comforting scent of him and rubbed his cheek against the scruff of Harvey’s beard.

There was no scope to do much, no way they could go far, not with Harvey still beat up and hurting. He settled for lying down beside Harvey on his freshly changed sheets, uncaring that it wasn’t long past midday or that there were doubtless plenty of worthwhile things he could be doing.

He wanted to be with Harvey. Needed to feel his heartbeat under his palm, physical proof that he had been given a second chance at happiness.

“You gonna wear that nurse’s uniform for me later then?” Harvey slurred eventually, sleep already pulling at him, and Jim curled closer into his side, fingers tracing patterns over the material of his shirt front.

Felt a smile tug at his lips and didn’t need to lift his head to see the outraged expression on Harvey’s face.

“Nah. I’ve got to think of your blood pressure.”

Jim didn’t push it when they woke wrapped around each other, waiting for Harvey to decide how quickly they should take things. Attempted to hide his disappointment when Harvey didn’t even kiss him, and told himself not to be so self-absorbed. If he had just been shot multiple times he probably wouldn’t feel much like fooling around either.

Just because he wanted to be wound around Harvey, it didn’t mean the older man had stopped valuing the concept of personal space.

Harvey’s proximity just did things to him. Always had done, even in those early days when they could barely exchange two civil words with each other. Barbara had laughed the first time she had seen them together, and whispered in his ear that his daddy complex was showing again.

He had glared at her, righteously upstanding as usual, and didn’t understand how desperately he would miss that once it was gone, the comfortable teasing and the banter.

It was yet another thing he relied on Harvey for instead, and Jim wished all over again that he could be more like the man he once was, because he would have taken the risk and told Harvey everything. The man he was now had nothing but Harvey left, and for all he trusted him, for all he needed him, he was still terrified of getting it all wrong and Harvey turning his back on him.

“I’m so beat even your snoring couldn’t keep me awake,” Harvey joked when it grew late, some of the color beginning to return to his cheeks, and though he ached to join him Jim stayed out on the sofa, thinking and worrying, until the need for sleep finally overpowered him.

* * *

It was strange starting the day without anywhere he needed to be, anything he needed to be doing. It wasn’t bad though, and that surprised him, because when he was injured it was normally a matter of hours rather than days before he was itching to get back to the precinct.

To get back to Harvey, he realized, and something of the revelation must have shown on his face because Harvey raised an eyebrow behind his glasses and asked if there was something bothering him.

Jim shook his head, busied himself with dinner, and felt as though the bottom was dropping out of his stomach when he emerged from the kitchen to find Harvey had repacked his overnight bag and was shrugging painfully into his jacket.

“What are you doing?” He asked, appalled at the way the words wavered, and Harvey gave up on trying to button the coat in favor of shoving his hat on his head.

“I don’t want to outstay my welcome, Jim.”

Jim just stared. He hadn’t said anything to suggest he didn’t want Harvey there, he hadn’t done anything.

Not this time.

Maybe Harvey had decided it wasn’t worth trying. That he wasn’t worth fighting for, and it was like the shock of seeing Harvey on the ground, wet and cold in a puddle of his own blood, suddenly caught up with him. It had him trembling, shaking, and he had to suck in breath after frantic breath, his chest feeling tight and constricted.

Harvey took a step towards him, then seemed to think better of it. Scrubbed a hand over his face and said, sounding just as much of a mess as Jim was feeling,

“I can’t do this again. Not yet. I can’t bear it.”

“So you’re going to just walk away?”

He couldn’t say more, couldn’t get the words out, but Harvey glanced down at the floor rather than look at him. Didn’t coax or encourage him to speak, the way he usually did, and picked up his bag with a grimace.

“I’m gonna go and stay with my cousin for a few days.”

Jim knew he ought to do something. Knew he was going to regret it if he didn’t, but it was too late by the time he forced himself to move, because Harvey was the practical one in the partnership and had called ahead for a cab while he was too busy showing off his limited culinary skills.

That last put him into a new panic, and he spent the night staring at the TV, numb and disbelieving, the smell of burned food lingering in the air and the imprint of Harvey’s head on his pillow.

* * *

Jim didn’t know how it was possible to have so many cousins. He was soaked through from the rain and bone tired from traipsing all over the city attempting to track down the right Bullock.

Harvey wasn’t answering his cell phone though, and Tuttle was reciting chapter and verse on data protection. That left him with no choice but to track Harvey down the old fashioned way, and Jim hoped to God Harvey wasn’t just going to just slam the door in his face.

Because he had been thinking about what Harvey had said to him - had thought of nothing else, if he were being honest, and he thought that maybe he understood exactly what Harvey had been trying to tell him. It wasn’t the first time he had slept in a bed with Harvey. It wasn’t the first time he had clung close and dreamed of how it would be if that were his life, being allowed to touch just as much as he wanted.

It wasn’t the first time he had chickened out in the morning and pretended that nothing had happened.

Finally he struck gold, recognition flashing across the freckled face peering back at him, and he was ushered inside even as a bewildering number of kids came to see who was at the door, and why the dog wouldn’t stop barking. Harvey looked at him wide eyed when his host lead him through to the living room, and significant glances passed between half a dozen people Jim was only half certain he had never clapped eyes on before.

“Has something happened?” Harvey asked, trying to haul himself to his feet. “Is it the precinct?”

Jim moved before he could think better of it, lightly pushing Harvey back down to the sofa, the brief contact enough to make his pulse race, and assuring,

“There’s nothing wrong, nothing’s happened. I just wanted to see you.”

Harvey gazed at him silently, stunned, and then there was the bustle of questions and drinks being offered, and Jim found himself pressed tight against Harvey’s side, giving it his best shot at polite conversation as his head spun and his heart lurched around in his chest.

When the visit wrapped up, when the cousin Harvey was staying with showed the others out and left them to it, Jim was almost at a loss. He was no good at this, never had been, because when he tried to explain himself all he ever did was say the wrong thing. When he tried to show people how much they meant to him, it only ever seemed to end badly.

“I thought you didn’t like family gatherings,” Harvey said, when it felt like the silence would never end, and Jim knew it was something he had said, even if he didn’t remember it.

“I didn’t want to meet your family,” he confessed, and Harvey flinched as though he’d been hit, as if to prove all Jim’s predictions about how terribly he was going to mess this up. He forced himself to keep talking, “I didn’t want them to make you see how much better off you’d be without me in your life.”

Jim fidgeted, looking around at the photographs and the homely comforts of the room, both things that were lacking from his own miserable apartment.

“Why would they do that?” Harvey asked, sounding genuinely confused, “All they ever want to do is ask questions about you.”

“Because they don’t know me. Now that they do…” He trailed off, hating that it was so difficult. Hating that he couldn’t make Harvey understand what he was saying, not when he could scarcely understand himself. “You deserve so much better, but I want you to choose me anyway. I’m not a good man, Harvey.”

That was the crux of it. He had been once, or maybe that was an illusion too. Perhaps he had never been anything but a virus.

He stood, suddenly desperate to get away. He was going to cry otherwise. Was going to completely embarrass himself, and Harvey didn’t need to deal with that on top of everything.

Except Harvey’s fingers were around his wrist, holding him in place, and Jim felt like he was falling apart, lost in Harvey’s gaze.

“Promise me you’re not doing this because you feel sorry for me. Because you feel responsible for what happened. I couldn’t live with it, Jim.”

Harvey sounded just as lost, just as desperate, and Jim tugged at his grip and helped him stand. Pressed himself in close until Harvey’s arms slowly came up to wrap around his shoulders, the tension leaching out of Jim as he buried his nose in the soft fabric of Harvey’s shirt.

It felt so good, so right, and although it was little more than a whisper he succeeded in saying what he had gone there to admit.

“I can’t live without you.”

* * *

They went back to his place, so like the day he had driven Harvey home from the hospital, and yet so utterly different.

Harvey had to lean on him, just the same, but Jim’s heart wasn’t hammering with anxiety but anticipation. He didn’t bother with the sofa or offers of hospitality, instead pushing Harvey down onto his bed sheets and letting his fingers wander along the side of his face and into his hair.

Kissed him, silent and tentative at first, and then Harvey’s good hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and it was like the floodgates opening. Jim moaned, helpless, and suddenly everything was happening at once, so that he could scarcely keep track of it.

Harvey’s tongue was in his mouth and his hand was in his hair. His thigh was between his legs, the pressure maddening, and his breathless praise was filling the air, interspersed with vivid descriptions that made Jim blush, full of all the filthy things he wanted to do to him.

“You’ve given this some serious thought,” Jim panted in turn, fingers tugging frantically at buttons and fastenings, “no wonder you never get any work done.”

“If I’m not worrying about you, I’m dreaming about you,” Harvey agreed, and the words sent a jolt through Jim. Want and need and happiness, all mixed up together, and Jim knew that he was terrible at this. At being with someone, at doing the things other people seemed to manage so naturally.

He couldn’t mess this up. Couldn’t have Harvey doubting his intentions again and thinking that this was in any way a one sided attraction.

“Me too. I mean, not about me - about you. I mean -” He sucked in air, found courage in the feel of Harvey’s lips against his throat. In the hand that was making short work of his zipper. “I think about you at work. I watch you through your office window sometimes and think about you fucking me over your desk because you can’t wait any longer, because you want me so badly.”

His cheeks were burning, the confession at once exciting and embarrassing, and Harvey made a weird noise as he clutched him closer. All but keened, desperate, and wrapped his hand around the heat of his erection, gasping out,

“Jesus Christ, Jim, I’m never going to be able to concentrate in there again.”

The feeling was mutual, really, and Jim wished that Harvey wasn’t still bandaged and bound. Hated himself for making Harvey wince in pain, even as he pushed up into his palm, his weight resting against Harvey in all the wrong places, unable to keep away from the expanses of bared skin he had spent so long wanting to feel under his palms.

He tried to suggest they move, stop, anything, but Harvey kissed the words from his lips. Replaced them with his own and started begging Jim to come for him, his hand making some kind of twist on the upstroke that had Jim’s head spinning and his attempts at reciprocation faltering all over the place.

“Come on, Jim,” Harvey urged. “I’m gonna make you see stars when I’m fixed up. I’m going to do things to you that you’ve never even dreamed of. But right now I just need to see your face. I need you to come for me.”

Jim whimpered. Trembled and shook and tipped his head back, certain he was going to see stars anyway because he was so desperate, and Harvey’s touch was so perfect. He was so close, so very close, and then Harvey was kissing at his ear, teeth grazing against overheated skin, and he was coming explosively, whining as Harvey kept at it, working him through every last shudder.

He collapsed against Harvey when he was done, his limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. Tried to get his hand to do his bidding, all the same, because Harvey was still rock hard and wanting.

Their fingers tangled together, awkward and counter productive. And then Harvey was taking control of the situation, closing his hand around Jim’s own and setting a fast, hard pace, his breathing growing heavier and heavier until Jim gathered enough energy to recapture his mouth, the kiss slick and frantic.

Harvey groaned when he came, the sound making Jim flush hot all over again, so that he couldn’t even find the words to protest when Harvey wiped their hands off in his blanket. Instead he let Harvey hold him close. In truth did his very best to push in still closer, loving the heat and the sense of belonging.

“I never took you for a cuddler,” Harvey said as their heart rates slowed and the world began to come back into focus, “you’re always full of surprises.”

“Good surprises?” Jim asked, not at all certain he wanted to hear the answer. Harvey only tilted his chin up to kiss him again, stroking hands down his back and smiling goofily at him, so that Jim was sure his own expression was a mirror image.

“The best kind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	74. Gobblepot with unrequited Gordlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick ficlet for a Tumblr ask - Gobblepot with unrequited Gordlock.

If it was just sex, perhaps Harvey could have lived with it.

Sex meant nothing. It was the scratching of an itch. The fulfilment of a basic need. Who you did it with was of little to no importance.

That was what he told himself, at any rate, when the girls snapped their gum and held out their hands disinterestedly. When they pocketed his cash and stared at the ceiling, waiting for it all to be over.

It was how he reasoned away the bruises on Jim’s neck and the cut to his swollen lip. A fight turned primal. An informant who had nothing but still wanted to be useful.

Cobblepot looked worse, most likely, and it was in that thought Harvey took comfort.

That thought which had him thrusting into the tight channel of his own fist. His other hand was braced against the cool tile of the shower stall, Harvey hating himself even as his blood burned white hot, imagined images of Jim forcing the King of Gotham into some dank alley wall seared into the backs of his eyelids.

Jim grinned the next time he returned from such a rendezvous, his customary anger no longer a heavy weight around his shoulders. Harvey refused to look at him as he slid into the passenger seat of the car. Refused to comment on the scent of sex which clung to him, or the fact the buttons on his shirt were fastened out of order.

It was none of his business.

None of his concern, and later, alone in his miserable bed, he pretended it wasn’t Jim he was thinking of. Not when he came, breathing harsh and desperate in the silence, and not when he wept, broken and undone, for the painful realization that Jim would sooner fuck a psycho murderer than be _loved_ by him.

He did his best to look out for Jim. Made excuses and lied about the younger man’s whereabouts. Claimed to know nothing about his intimacy with the city’s former Mayor, nor the reasons for it, and finally stumbled across the pair of them in the act, the view making his dick ache even as his stomach churned.

It wasn’t vicious, wasn’t violent, and Harvey wanted to retch at the sight of it. Felt sick at the tender touch of Jim’s lips to Cobblepot’s jaw, and wished himself dead at the adoration in Cobblepot’s eyes as his pale fingers worked Jim open.

He drove his own fist into unyielding brick. Lashed out over and over again, even as Jim’s wanton gasps sounded in the still night air, then drank himself numb until a bartender rang him an ambulance, complaining that the blood and the flashes of milk white bone were losing him custom.

Cobblepot smirked when he saw him bound and bandaged, sharp gaze seeing more in his face than Jim had ever cared to.

“You never stood a chance,” he said, so smug Harvey ground his teeth together to resist the urge to swing for him, “but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Harvey looked away, as though Cobblepot didn’t know the answer already.

Jim was out of his league, out of his reach, and still he would continue to hope for more. Would scavenge for the meagre crumbs of Jim’s affection, and risk anything and everything, again and again, just for the chance to remain in Jim’s orbit.

“I’m always going to be there for him,” he said, relieved that his voice stayed steady, and Cobblepot only arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow in amusement.

Let the humiliating realization wash over him, his throat aching with emotion.

Cobblepot wasn’t afraid - wasn’t even jealous.

He had no need to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	75. Jim goes undercover as a hooker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr :) -
> 
> Watching another cop show. A detective gets into trouble for attemting to hook up with a prostitute, who is actually an undercover cop. She lets him off and he gets all emotional, when she asks him why he did it. His life is falling apart, apparently, and part of his answer was this: 'I needed to connect with someone, anyone, who wouldn't hurt me back no more.' It made me think of Harvey. Do with it what you will. <3

Harvey hated wasting time being lectured on stuff he already knew.

The only thing he hated more was being forced to interact with the sort of sanctimonious prick who volunteered to go on extra training courses. His current table was full of them, intent on asking twenty questions and exchanging best practice from their relevant departments, when all Harvey wanted to do was stare down the facilitator’s top while she read out her powerpoint presentation.

He was too hungover to do much else, truth be told, and perhaps that was the one good thing about being sent off for a refresher on interrogation techniques for the modern law enforcement officer - Essen wasn’t around to bust his balls for drinking himself into a stupor again.

The problem was that none of the other, considerably less principled, women in his life were around to do anything with his balls either, and though he didn’t exactly know the area, it didn’t take long to figure out the parts that were deemed disreputable.

He headed straight for them the second class let out for the day, determined not to remain sober a second longer than necessary.

His classmates were going for a meal, were all willingly spending yet more time with each other, and Harvey couldn’t imagine anything worse than another evening of awkward conversation. At least he couldn’t until he moved onto the third bar, and it might have been beer goggles, but his heart flip flopped in his chest when his gaze adjusted to the dim light and settled on the guy perched on the corner bar stool.

Harvey wasn’t the kind to discriminate, was plenty happy to take whatever he could get, but even if he had never looked twice at a man before he had no doubt this kid would have changed everything. He was something else entirely, was so obviously in another league to the dive bar they were drinking in, and though Harvey knew it was a fool’s errand he sat next to him all the same.

Offered to buy him a drink and scarcely knew what to do with himself when the guy smiled shyly in thanks, coming over as desperate and breathless as a teenager attempting to secure a prom date.

“So what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” He tried, embracing the corniness of the line, and the stars must have all been in alignment, or else there was some seriously strong shit in the water supply. Whatever the reason, the vision in front of him didn’t brush him off or turn away.

He seemed interested in what Harvey had to say, asked questions about what he did and whether or not he lived locally, and if he lied a little it was only because there was nothing like telling someone you were a cop, and that you specialised in dead bodies, to act as a passion killer.

“I work for a paper,” he offered, because sometimes he figured he might as well do, the number of stories which originated with him. He and Charlie Billington on the city beat went back a long way, after all. “How about you?”

Jimmy could have been a model. Could be a TV stalwart or a porn star, with his pretty face and well defined biceps, but he only ran a hand through the close cropped hair at the back of his neck and gave a vague answer about doing this and that and the other since getting home. From where, he didn’t say, though Harvey was leaning towards the military.

The reticence did things to him, either way. The flush in Jimmy’s cheeks got him worked up and wanting, while the way he fidgeted with his beer bottle made his chest clench painfully. In that moment he was certain he would do anything, give anything, just to be stuck in this guy’s friend zone.

He was an idiot, always had been, and he splashed cold water over his face when he paid a visit to the bathroom in an attempt to pull himself together. He would be home this time tomorrow, and he was probably old enough to be Jimmy’s father.

It didn’t make him any less appealing.

Because things were going so well too, might actually lead to a hand in his pants or a dick in his mouth, but then he got back from the can to find Jim gone and nothing but the crushing sense of disappointment to keep him company.

He had money in his pocket, enough to hook up with someone - anyone, he wasn’t fussy - but somehow the idea didn’t appeal. Instead he drank and drank. Drank until he could hardly stand, could scarcely see, and misjudged the distance between the stool and the floor, missing his footing entirely and landing face down. He was kicked out for it, the pain distant but tangible, and he prodded at his nose out in the cold night air, wincing when his fingers came back streaked with blood.

The only thing to do was stagger back to the hotel and sleep it off.

All he had to do was remember where the hell he was staying.

It was easier said than done, even with the way he was slurring, and as he seemed to wander in ever decreasing circles he had time to sober up enough to at least be aware of the problem.

To start recognising land marks, and to realize that it was not as late as he had expected. To rifle through his pockets and his wallet, and to quickly make sense of the grotty street he had found himself on, along with the shivering figures pacing up and down the sidewalk.

He was debating it, wondering whether there would be much of a price discrepancy with the back streets of Gotham, and then he spied Jimmy leaning against a wall, his posture tense and his shirt half unbuttoned.

It made sense. It explained Jimmy’s reluctance to talk about himself, and why he had upped and disappeared. Free drinks were all well and good, but they weren’t ready cash, and the girls back home never failed to make clear the distinction. Reminisced sometimes about the early days, and how difficult it had been when they and a John hadn’t been on the same page with what was happening.

For all that it made his stomach twist, sudden and painful. Jimmy could do better, deserved better undoubtedly, and he was fired up on fantasies of saving the guy from whatever demons were haunting him.

Was equally fired up at the idea of getting him spread across his bed, begging for his attention, and if he had to pay for it, well. That was something he was more than familiar with.

Except Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, and in his haste to explain himself his words were stumbling over each other.

“It’s all right,” Harvey soothed, one hand braced against the wall behind Jimmy’s head as he leaned in close. “I’m not asking for a freebie. I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

Jimmy flushed still harder, the tips of his ears reddening, and Harvey couldn’t think because the guy was so pretty. So new and fresh and Harvey ached to take him in his arms and never let him go again. To promise him the world and fix it so he’d never have to turn tricks again, not when Harvey could play the white knight and sleep on his broken down sofa, if only it meant coming home to the bashful smile he had seen earlier, after a long day of dealing with the cesspit that was Gotham city.

“I don’t think - “ Jimmy tried, clearly uncomfortable, and then there was relief written plain all over his face. Gratitude evident in his eyes and in his body language.

“You have the right to remain silent,” a female voice began behind him, pulling his arms into cuffing position, and Harvey closed his eyes for a long moment.

There was something worse than being made to sit through yet another training course, after all.

* * *

Harvey had it so bad that instead of trying to save face, instead of attempting to spare his own ass, he started arguing Jimmy’s case.

The guy was young, green, and besides that Harvey was willing to stake money on him having fought for his country. In normal circumstances he wouldn’t have cared either way, but this was different, and something about the woman’s neatly scraped back hair and upright posture told him that she would be impressed by that.

Instead she simply snorted, amused, across the interrogation table and said,

“I’m sure Officer Gordon appreciates your character reference.”

Because it turned out that Jimmy wasn’t embarrassed about working the streets. He wasn’t a lost soul in need of salvation. He wasn’t even a messed up vet fallen on hard times. Jim Gordon had only flushed and stuttered because he had been on the beat a mere matter of weeks, and while he was capable enough to be used as bait for a wanted murderer, he wasn’t experienced enough to cover his nerves and how uncomfortable it made him.

“We told him to keep you talking for a bit, rule you out,” Detective Harper explained, eyeing him curiously over her case notes, “but you just wouldn’t let up, would you?”

Harvey shrugged, too drunk and too sick to care overmuch about the fact he could be out of a job when news of this got back to the precinct. Everyone knew Essen was just looking for a reason.

“You know the risks,” Harper pushed, a copy of his GCPD profile on the desk between them, “and it wasn’t like he was giving you any encouragement.”

That stung. Hurt like a bitch because, to his mind, that was exactly what Jimmy - Officer Gordon - had been doing. The way he listened so intently, and the way he leaned in close to hear him better. The way he had been doing his job, thoroughly and professionally, Harvey thought with a sudden wave of bitterness, and for the first time he focused on his reflection in the two-way mirror.

His nose was swollen, broken possibly - it certainly throbbed badly enough - and a black eye was rapidly forming.

He saw himself through Harper’s eyes. A wreck of a man. A mangy washed up old cop hitting on a guy so gorgeous just the thought of his strong jaw and blue gaze was making him weak kneed. Trying to buy sex from someone who was so blatantly undercover Harvey almost felt ashamed of his lack of judgement.

Just felt ashamed, period.

“I wanted to make a connection with someone,” he said finally, though he had intended to remain silent. “I just wanted not to feel alone for a couple of hours.”

It was so pathetic, hearing it spoken aloud like that, but Harvey figured it didn’t much matter. He was going to have plenty of time to drink away the memories when he no longer had a job to go to. Except Harper was looking at him with an odd expression on her face. Not quite pity, he had too much experience with that one, but something not a million miles from it. Empathy maybe.

Understanding.

She turned her attention back to the notes she had been making, reading aloud from the statement,

“Detective Bullock, noting the discrepancies in Officer Gordon’s story and how ill at ease he appeared, became concerned for his welfare and attempted to speak to him when their paths crossed on Bridge Street. In order to maintain Officer Gordon’s cover, Detectives Harper and Lyle made an arrest and conducted Bullock to the station where the situation could be explained without fear of compromising the operation.”

Harper set the paper down, holding out a biro for him to sign his name with.

“Does that sound correct to you, Detective Bullock?”

Harvey swallowed, the pain in his nose merging with that in his head and his heart, so overpowering it added the sting of unshed tears to the mix.

“Thank you,” he managed, feeling old and broken, and Harper simply folded her arms across her chest and watched him sign on the dotted line.

“Don’t thank me, Bullock. Get your act together and sort yourself out, yeah?”

* * *

It was over a year later when he saw Jim Gordon’s face again. The spark of recognition was instant, obvious, and Harvey hated himself for the way his heart lurched and his cheeks flushed.

He acted as though he hadn’t noticed, as though he recalled nothing of their previous encounter, but they both knew it would only last as long as Jim was willing to play along with it. Jim held out longer than he had expected, weeks rather than days, but then he wasn’t the same fresh faced rookie Harvey had met all those months ago.

Jim was still full of enthusiasm, there was no question there. He still had almost everything to learn too, that was just as apparent. But he was more confident now, had more experience under his belt, and and when the confrontation finally came Harvey had already decided how he wanted to play it.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you by bringing it up,” Harvey said easily, not even taking a break from his sandwich, “it’s not every day you get a partner you knew as a hooker.”

“I was never a hooker,” Jim hissed, as predictably insufferable as ever, and Harvey smirked because he knew how much it infuriated him,

“True enough. Your cover was so bad it was only the falling down drunk who took an interest.”

Jim seethed, hating any suggestion that he wasn’t competent at the job, and Harvey went out of his way to rub his face in it. Turned up at his swanky penthouse apartment with a girl who owed him a favor, and enjoyed the look of horror on Jim’s face when he left him alone in the middle of a shift to go and get his leg over.

“You’d better not take long,” one of his old regulars warned, panting and writhing against his fingers, “your partner looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.”

“Let him,” Harvey intoned, trying for indifference, and got his thumb in on the action, enjoying the breathy moans and the rhythmic clenching it resulted in.

“You sure you don’t want to?” She trailed off, eyebrow arched, when he had achieved what he had set out to, and Harvey shook his head. Sucked his fingers clean with a leer and said, all mock outrage,

“I’m on duty!”

His good humor lasted about as long as it took to walk back to the car. Jim looked like he had been sucking on a lemon, expression murderous, and Harvey wished he had at least had the foresight to toss one off before returning because Jim had only seemed to grow more attractive since their first meeting.

Perhaps it was just that he had had more time to catalog everything about Jim that he found so enticing. The long column of his throat and the tight pull of his shirts. The flush that spread all the way to his ears, and the scent of him, so perfect it had Harvey sniffing at the collar of the jacket Jim had left in the car one night, and imagining if Jim would taste even better.

He wanted it so badly. Would get on his knees right now if Jim gave the slightest indication he was interested. Would let Jim do what he would to him, no holds barred, if only Jim would look at him, just once, as though he didn’t hate him.

“You’re disgusting, Bullock,” was what Jim actually said. “Men like you are why I joined the police force.”

“I always knew you had masochistic streak,” Harvey winked, anger and hurt and lust all simmering just beneath the surface. Jim scowled back at him, eyed him up like he was filth clinging to the sole of his shoe, and went on,

“If I had been the arresting officer that night, I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you. I’d have made an example of you.”

“Tell me what it’s like, Jim,” Harvey snapped, the frayed edges of his temper slipping through his fingers. Jim just frowned at him, confused, and Harvey slammed on the brakes, sick of it all. “Is it hard work being so fucking perfect?”

“I don’t claim to be perfect,” Jim said, voice quiet but full of self assurance, “I just know that I’m better than you.”

* * *

Jim never apologised for it. They never spoke of it again, even, simply turned up for work in the morning and followed Essen’s order to act like adults instead of school children.

Harvey never forgot it, all the same, and clung to the words as they grew closer. As animosity slowly gave way to indifference, and then to grudging respect for one another. As they became friends, best friends, and as he fell so desperately in love it hurt to be apart from Jim.

Killed him, almost, to see him lose his way, serving time for a crime he didn’t commit and being robbed of everything that had ever mattered to him.

“I deserve it,” Jim slurred to him one night, stinking of the whiskey he had spilled down himself, “that’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“Why would I think that?” Harvey countered, taking his own swallow from one of the half empty bottles. “Why would I be here if I believed that?”

Jim stared at him, searched his face for something, then brushed a hand against his fingers as he reached for the bottle. Never looked away, even as he took a slug of the drink, and then surged forward and smashed their lips together. Took advantage of the way Harvey gasped, helpless, and pushed his tongue into his mouth, all slick heat and whiskey driven determination.

It was over as soon as it started, Jim swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, and bursting into tears.

“I do deserve it, Harvey. You’ve no idea how much.”

Harvey settled for holding him close. Pressed soft kisses into his hair and whispered soothing words into his ear. Put him to bed when he had cried himself into exhaustion, and tucked the covers in around him, his pathetic heart aching at the pitiful sight Jim made.

He looked so lost, brow furrowed even in sleep, and it reminded Harvey of the night he had first met Jim. Made him think of the ridiculous fantasies he had entertained over those few short hours, about shielding Jim from the ravages of the wider world and keeping him all for himself, like some fairytale princess locked away in an ivory tower.

That wasn’t what Jim needed though, and instead he sent Alvarez around the following day with some case files for Jim to look through, hoping that his message were clear -

There were better men than him depending on Jim.

* * *

They never spoke of that night either. Jim, perhaps, didn’t even remember.

Harvey tried to be content with that.

He had tasted Jim’s mouth once, and that was once more than he had allowed himself to believe he would ever experience. Jim was his friend, his partner, and if that was all he ever had Harvey knew he ought to be thankful for it.

Because Jim did what Harper’s words couldn’t. He gave Harvey back his sense of self-respect. Gave him a reason to haul his ass out of bed in the mornings, and his informants began to bitch that he was no fun anymore, not when he started playing by the book again for the first time in years. The acting Captain had to set an example, had to behave with integrity, and Charmagne demanded to speak to him when she was brought in for street walking, threatening to go to the newspapers.

Charlie Billington was gone, victim of an overdose, and the new city editor would love nothing more than to discredit both him and the department. Charmagne knew it too and folded her arms across her ample chest,

“You think you’re better than us now, that it?”

Harvey swallowed thickly, too aware of Jim’s silent presence at his side. Too hung up on long ago conversations that he always knew would come back to haunt him.

“I’m not better than anyone.”

He left the room then. Slumped against the wall of the corridor and attempted to get a grip on himself. He had broken the rules and now he was going to have to pay for it, that was life.

That was justice.

Except Jim laid a hand on his shoulder when he finally emerged from the interrogation room, gently leading him out towards his office.

“I didn’t lie to you,” Jim said, picking up the thread of a discussion Harvey didn’t remember. At least not until Jim began elaborating, “If I had been the arresting officer that night, I wouldn’t have felt sorry for you. I didn’t feel sorry for you.”

Harvey sank into his seat, wondered how much longer he would be able to think of it as that, and scrubbed a hand across his face. He wasn’t ready for this. Would never be ready to hear how little Jim thought of him.

“I respected you for what you did,” Jim went on, contrary to all his expectations. “Your job was on the line and you cared more about what a record would do to some rent boy who ran out on you. No other cop in this city would have given a shit.”

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain what the words meant to him. Jim just kept talking,

“I wouldn’t have given a damn, not then. You’re a better man than I am.”

The sincerity in Jim’s tone left him speechless. Had him too numb to interject, even as Jim assured that Charmagne wasn’t going to say anything. That she had just wanted off the charge, and Jim wasn’t too high and mighty to exercise his discretion when it came to filling out the paperwork.

“You don’t have to compromise yourself for me,” Harvey managed eventually, wishing he could think up some joke, some easy banter, to hide the scratch in his voice.

Jim gave him a watery smile.

“I know. That’s why I did it.”

* * *

Something changed between them after that. It was nothing tangible, nothing Harevy could point to. They just grew closer. Trusted each other more. Told each other everything - everything except the depth of what he felt for Jim, though he was increasingly certain that Jim knew anyway.

Jim started telling him his crazy plans. Rang him as soon as he could to assure that he was safe, and let Harvey touch his arms and his shoulders when he returned to the precinct, needing the proof that Jim really was none the worse for the experience.

“You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” Jim told him once, jaw tight as Harvey carefully swiped at the latest gash on his arm with antiseptic. Harvey only let his fingers trail tenderly for a moment and sighed,

“You know I can’t help it.”

It was as close as they had ever come to talking about it, and Jim nodded sharply. Avoided eye contact and Harvey went home when he was sure Jim was patched up and free from lasting side effects, thinking wistfully of the days when he would have gone to Fish or one of the other Madams and screwed the pain away.

Instead he shut his eyes and dreamed of Jim, of the softness of his skin and the blue of his eyes, stroking himself to yet another unsatisfying climax.

In the morning things were back to normal, or at least what passed for it in Gotham, and Jim went with him to see a stiff in situ in the back of some filthy alleyway, a cursory examination of the scene enough to convince them both that they had a pattern and a serial killer on their hands.

Charmagne told him what she could, but Benji glared at him when he walked into the store where he was working now and hissed at him that he had escaped that life and had nothing else to say to him.

“It could have been you last night,” Jim wheedled, “could have been one of your friends.”

“It was one of my friends,” Benji snapped. “We grew up together, got hooked together, sucked our first Johns together. I’ve got a life now. A job, an apartment. If I wouldn’t risk it for him, I’m certainly not going to risk it for you, am I?”

Jim was quiet after that encounter. Quieter than usual, even, and Harvey allowed himself a brief touch to Jim’s shoulder as he asked him what was bothering him.

“If it wasn’t for you it could have been me last night,” Jim said, deliberately not looking at him. “Another fucked up war vet with nothing left but the needle or the bottle.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Harvey chided. “You’re strong. You’d have got it through with or without me.”

Jim shook his head. “It’s not about strength. It’s about having somebody who cares what happens to you. Somebody willing to put up with all the shit you put them through.”

He’d stick around if that was all Jim ever wanted him for, but he didn’t want Jim to know that. Didn’t want to admit it to himself, even, and he was still struggling to deal with the knowledge of just how desperate he was when Jim put a hand over his own.

Met his gaze and said earnestly,

“We need to get this guy. I need you to let me do this.”

* * *

Jim was older than he had been last time Harvey had seen him like this. Wasn’t as jumpy or as fresh faced, but that only worked in their favor. Their guy wasn’t targeting teenage runaways, preferring men who looked like they had give up all hope. Like they had lived and fought and been beaten black and blue for their troubles.

It was disturbing how well Jim played the part. How his unwashed hair only seemed to highlight the bags under his eyes, and how his too thin shirt had him shivering in the cool night air, giving him the air of a needy junkie.

“I don’t like this,” Harvey said for roughly the twelfth time that evening, “you know what those alleys are like. If we lose sight of you anything could happen.”

“I’m a big boy,” Jim grinned, the expression incongruous with his general downtrodden appearance, “I can look after myself.”

“That’s what they all thought,” Harvey offered, thinking of the latest bodies down in the morgue. Thinking of the relief on Jim’s face when Harper had stepped in to stop him hassling him, and how Jim had no idea what a difficult customer could do.

What it meant to be faced with someone who refused to take no for an answer.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he asked instead, carefully keeping his tone steady, and Jim surprised him by sliding his fingers into Harvey’s hair and bringing their foreheads together. By looking deep into his eyes and saying, soft and breathy,

“I promise.”

The first night they got nowhere, nor the second, though Jim was pinched and groped and catcalled for his troubles. Almost got his nose bust open by a couple of thugs when the bars began to close their doors, and Harvey dug his knee into their backs with far greater forced than was necessary as he fastened the cuffs.

Nobody got away with threatening Jim, not if he could help it.

On the third night Alvarez was bitching about what a waste of resources this was, when there plenty of really innocent citizens who needed their protection.

“They matter just as much as anyone else,” Harvey protested, nervous tension bringing his temper to the fore. “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone, eh?”

Alvarez scowled but his fingers went to the chain around his neck, all the same, and Harvey realized with a start that he had lost sight of Jim. Felt sick dread wash over him, panic growing, and as the seconds crawled by he knew he had to do something.

Bit out the command, stomach churning, and decided he didn’t care a damn if it ruined the operation.

He gestured at Alvarez to cover him, hefting the familiar weight of his gun in his grip. The back alleys in this part of Gotham were a maze of short cuts and dead ends, all but impenetrable to outsiders, and Harvey was glad for once of a childhood spent being dirt poor, with nothing better to do than wander for entertainment.

It seemed to take forever regardless, each moment an eternity of torture, and then his blood was running cold in his veins at the sight of Jim on his knees, a knife pressed against the column of his throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jim said, sounding calmer than he could possibly be feeling, and Harvey quickly calculated his chances. Gave the guy half a second longer than he normally would have, on account of Jim’s sensibilities, and then put a bullet through his skull, heart hammering as blood and tissue spattered Jim’s pale features.

He shot him again when he hit the floor, and again for good measure, and Jim looked up at him in horror.

“I could have talked him down.”

There were footsteps sounding behind them, the heavy tread of GCPD issue boots and lace ups, and Harvey reholstered his gun with shaking hands.

“You said you respected me for caring more about a rent boy than myself. You had it all wrong. I cared more about you than myself. That’s never going to change, Jim.”

* * *

The clean up dragged. The paperwork and the debriefings. The reports for Internal Affairs, and the statements for the media. By the time he finally left the precinct he was exhausted.

Shaken up, still, by the image of Jim with a murderer’s knife to his throat, and it was only through force of will that he drove to his apartment instead of stopping off to see how Jim was doing.

Jim was angry at him, at the confessions he couldn’t keep to himself probably, and Harvey knew it would break him if Jim took it out on him right now.

Except Jim was already waiting for him, sat with back against the door to his apartment. He had showered, shaved, and after the last few days it was a big enough difference to put Harvey in mind of the young man he had so wanted to be a white knight for.

“Why didn’t you wait inside?” Harvey asked, “I gave you a key months ago.”

“I didn’t want to presume. I wasn’t sure it meant what I hoped it did.”

Harvey was too tired, too confused, and then he noticed for the first time that Jim had a holdall with him. That all his nervous tics were on full display, a cut on his hand reopened and bleeding.

“Come on,” he urged simply, “I need my sofa.”

He offered Jim a drink once they were inside. Settled for a swig from the bottle for himself, and struggled to make sense of what was happening. What Jim was doing in his apartment at gone two in the morning, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of the shirt he had been wearing the very first time he met him.

“You’re not the first person I’d kill for,” Jim said just as he was going to suggest they get some sleep. Harvey felt his stomach clench at the revelation. Of course he wasn’t, Jim was a police officer. Had served in the military. It hurt anyway, because of where it was inevitably leading.

Jim ran a hand through his hair. Got up from the chair he was occupying and moved to sit next to him, one hand laying across Harvey’s forearm, the heat soaking through the fabric of his shirt sleeve.

“You’re the first person I’ve _lived_ for. I want to impress you. I want you to want me.”

“You know I do,” Harvey said quietly, mind reeling with the unexpectedness of it. “From the very first moment I saw you there’s nobody I’ve wanted more.”

“Why?” Jim pushed. “I’m a mess. A hypocrite. I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

“You’re human,” Harvey countered, knowing that it was too late to try for self-preservation. “You try not to be. You believe that things can change. You believed in me.”

Jim looked dubious, less than convinced, and Harvey finished softly,

“I love you.”

“Would you love me if I had been working the streets? If I was like one of those guys on the slab, lost and hopeless?”

“Yes,” Harvey said without hesitation and the impact was immediate. Jim shook with the release of tension, looked relieved beyond measure, and Harvey reached for him before he could think better of it. Found himself with an armful of Jim Gordon and gave voice to his own worries, “You can do better than me, Jim. So much better.”

 _‘You’re disgusting,’_ rang in his head even now, even after everything they had been through together, and Harvey wished he was strong enough to do the right thing and to leave Jim free to find somebody who truly deserved him.

Jim kissed him, tasting of toothpaste rather than whiskey, hands holding his head in place.

“You can do better than me,” Jim echoed, tone leaving no room for argument, “but when it comes to you I’m selfish. I’m never going to be perfect.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be,” Harvey breathed, overwhelmed by the situation. By how closely Jim was pressed against him, and the way his thumbs were stroking along his cheekbones.

“Can I stay then?” Jim asked, those big blue eyes looking up at him beseechingly so that all Harvey could do was nod wordlessly and hope that Jim understood what he meant by it.

Jim could stay as long as he wanted, and Harvey hoped that was going to be forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	76. Don't Look Back In Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because deawrites gave me free reign to do something based on her writing - I really wanted to do something with the idea that Harvey had been married before.
> 
> TW for mention of attempted suicide.

“I bet this takes you back, doesn’t it?”

Jim gestured at the little wooden desk and grinned widely when Harvey’s response was to give him the finger. They were at Gotham Museum for the opening of the Deputy Commissioner’s ‘Policing and the Community’ exhibition, and Jim couldn’t help but rile Harvey up when faced with a display of Victorian education.

“You ought to be careful,” Harvey warned, the smirk on his face betraying his real feelings, “you’re not too old for me to tan your hide.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” Jim countered, enjoying the banter even as he fixed the old school cane with a wary eye.

Harvey snorted. “I bet you never even had a detention, did you? Jim Gordon, the model student.”

Jim’s smile faltered, just for a moment, and he hoped Harvey hadn’t seen it. He was a grown man - a police officer and a war veteran. He had done things his younger self could never have imagined, from serving time in prison to witnessing a corpse come back to life.

It was ridiculous to be hung up over things which happened in middle school.

“I bet you were never out of detention,” Jim said as cover, “you probably had your own designated seat with its own ass groove and everything.”

Harvey jostled his shoulder, good naturedly, and Jim wondered not for the first time what Harvey was like back in high school. Jim had been a goody two shoes. Did his homework, ran track, and ended up Class President three years running, validating his mother’s decision to get them the hell away from Gotham.

He couldn’t imagine Harvey doing any of that. Harvey would have been cutting class and smoking behind the bleachers. Lounging around the hallways and sporting some disastrously bad 1980s haircut.

“The problem,” Harvey told him, tone turning confessional, “was that all the teachers had it in for me. Five minutes late, detention. Falling asleep in class, detention. Not wearing your blazer, detention. I’m telling you -”

Jim cut him off, “Wait, blazer?”

That had never featured in his imaginings.

“I keep trying to tell you, Jim,” Harvey said, with just the barest hint of embarrassment, “I’m a good Catholic boy. St. Bede’s, Class of ‘85.”

He stood up straighter then, ready for the Deputy Commissioner’s approach, and Jim just concentrated on schooling his features into polite neutrality.

Somewhere out there was photographic evidence, and he was going to make it his mission to find it.

* * *

The opportunity came sooner than he expected, when a potential witness in a case he was working turned out to be a physics teacher.

“I really can’t help you,” she told him testily as she moved around the room, setting things up for the next lesson, and Alvarez gave him an indifferent shrug from behind her back, code for ‘what were you expecting?’

Jim sighed and handed over his card. Spied a wall of framed class photographs on the way out, and lingered shamelessly, taking advantage of the way Alvarez was flirting with the pretty young secretary who had been tasked with accompanying them around the building.

He scanned the rows of acne ridden faces. The brace filled smiles and the copious amounts of styling mousse and hairspray. He felt his own face break into a smile when he caught sight of Harvey, all long red hair and slouching posture. Button badges pinned all over his blazer and tie knotted skinny side out, no doubt just to annoy whoever had been in charge of herding them together for the photograph.

“What are you so pleased about?” Alvarez asked, suspicious, when Jim caught him up and Jim only shrugged, the dumb smile refusing to dissipate.

“Nothing.”

He told Harvey about it later, teasing, and the older man raised an eyebrow and asked pointedly,

“What is this obsession with my school uniform? Are you trying to tell me about some kink you’ve been hiding?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Jim admonished, shifting in close enough on the sofa to steal a few chips from the bag Harvey was set on demolishing. “It’s just weird, you know, thinking of you in uniform.”

“I was in blues for 12 years.”

“It’s weird to think of that too,” Jim offered, pensive. “You were born to be a detective.”

“So you don’t want me to dig out my patrol uniform for you?”

Jim sucked his fingers clean of crumbs and gave it his best innocently seductive look.

“When was the last time you wore it? You might not get it on.”

“You cheeky -” Harvey started, moving quicker than Jim would have given him credit for and pinning him down to the sofa. Tickled his fingers along his ribs, merciless, until they were both flushed and panting. Until Jim had to distract him from another round of torture by writhing up against him, and doing his best to kiss him senseless.

It ended with half their clothing strewn around them, his legs hooked around the backs of Harvey’s thighs, Harvey’s lips sucking a brand into his neck as his hips snapped forward. It was so good, it was always so good, and Jim couldn’t help the frantic noises he was making. Couldn’t quit the shameless way he was squirming, and Harvey groaned helplessly at the sensation.

Pushed himself up enough to kiss him, hot and slick and wanting, and hitched his legs up higher. Thrust into him deeper, harder, and Jim cried his name when he came, completely lost in the moment.

“Oh God, I love you,” Harvey moaned into his ear, his own rhythm devolving into desperate movement, and Jim echoed the sentiment, encouraging. Shivered, happy, when Harvey collapsed atop him, his weight warm and comforting.

“Are you falling asleep?” Jim queried after a long moment, Harvey making no attempt to sit up or move over any.

“Mmm,” Harvey managed, his beard scratching against Jim’s collar bone as he moved to lay his cheek flat, Jim’s heart clenching up with the display of open trust, “I’m just resting my eyes a minute.”

* * *

Jim was still towelling his hair dry when there was a knock at the door of Harvey’s apartment. He picked up the pace, fearing some new call out, rifling through Harvey’s closet for one of the shirts he kept there.

It wasn’t Tuttle’s dulcet tones that filtered in from the living room though, or Alvarez’ impatient complaining. Instead it was a woman Harvey was inviting in, two women even, and Jim peered through the crack between the door and the frame, flushing a little at the sight of Harvey gathering their discarded clothes together.

At the way Harvey fussed about unfolding the throw for the sofa, and Jim really hoped he wasn’t going to have to meet some of Harvey’s relatives while he was still coming down from the high of being screwed across the sofa they were sitting on.

“You’re still an unrepentant slob, I see,” the older woman said, choosing to sit in one of the armchairs as though she were all too aware of Harvey’s habits, “you never could tell the difference between the floor and the laundry hamper.”

“You gave up your right to nag me about it,” Harvey whined, clearing the junk mail and varied detritus from the other chair, “I’ve got it in writing somewhere.”

Jim smoothed his shirt down. Combed his fingers through his hair and readied himself to go make his introductions. But then Harvey pushed the door open a little, dumped the laundry and the junk to the bedroom floor and gave him a quick apologetic look before pulling the door firmly closed, the message clear.

Your company is surplus to requirements.

Jim sank to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling hurt and confused. They had been partners for years, friends for almost just as long. Had been dating, or whatever label he was supposed to give it, for four months and Jim had assumed they were past the stage where they kept secrets from each other.

Where they acted as though they were nothing more than work colleagues to the people who mattered to them.

He was put out enough that he moved back to the door, his view mostly obscured but the ill fitting frame affording him a glimpse into the room beyond. Recognition buzzed through him, because the other woman had chosen to sit in the far chair, where he could see her face, and he placed her immediately as the teacher he and Alvarez had gone to St. Bede’s to interview.

“It’s Andrew,” the woman he couldn’t see was saying, and she sounded tired.

“It’s always Andrew,” Neave Graham, the teacher, sniffed.

“What do you want me to do about him?” Harvey asked, nowhere near as sarcastic as Jim had been expecting.

“Talk to him. Try to get through to him. You were always his favorite, Harvey.”

Harvey sighed, and slipped into his professional facilitating voice, “I’ll try but I’m not promising anything.”

* * *

“And you were too embarrassed to tell them you’ve been fucking a guy. I know, you said already.”

It was lunchtime the following day, and Jim wasn’t through being hard done by. Didn’t know how to deal with frustration thrumming beneath his skin every time he thought about Harvey’s lacklustre explanation last night, the one he gave before Jim spited himself by going home to his apartment and tossing and turning for hours, unable to sleep without Harvey beside him.

“That is _not_ what I said, Jim,” Harvey protested, sounding genuinely hurt by Jim’s attitude. “I just thought it would be awkward for you, that’s all. Me and Deb, we didn’t part on the best of terms, you know that.”

Jim did know, that was the worst of it. Harvey had never kept it from him, had divulged all his personal history, even when Jim refused to reciprocate beyond the vaguest outline of his family dynamics. He knew all about Harvey’s attempt at marriage, the good times, the bad, and how afraid Harvey was that what they had would fall apart in the same way that had.

His pettiness wasn’t helping the cause, that much was obvious, but Jim couldn’t help himself. He was appalled at the way he was behaving, ashamed of how childish he was being, but he pushed further all the same, not even sure what he was hoping to achieve with it.

Proof that Harvey would put up with it, maybe. Some twisted determination to find Harvey’s breaking point - to force an argument and give himself an excuse to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Why was that, did you cheat on her?”

The words surprised him even as they left his lips, and Harvey looked just as startled at hearing the question as he was to have asked it.

“Jim,” Harvey breathed, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other cradling the side of his face, gazing at him so intently Jim felt his heart race in his chest. His skin was tingling, his throat aching with the sudden surge of emotion. “You’ve nothing to be jealous of, I promise.”

“I’m not,” Jim stammered, in lieu of ‘I’m sorry’, and Harvey only kissed him softly, right there on the park bench where anybody might be watching, then pulled back and smiled at him bashfully.

“Don’t spoil it now, I always wanted somebody who was willing to fight over me.”

Jim felt his cheeks flame, the back of his neck burning, but Harvey wrapped an arm around his shoulders and carried on happily,

“Can I suggest a wet t-shirt? Maybe a vat of strawberry jello?”

“You’re an idiot,” Jim grumbled, even as his mood improved rapidly. Trust Harvey to work the real problem out of him, then sweep it away as though it had never mattered in the first place.

Harvey pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“It takes one to know one, buddy.”

* * *

Jim dragged his feet at the end of the shift, changing into a clean shirt and deliberating the best way forward. Harvey simply slammed and banged through his own locker, battling the sticky lock he still hadn’t bothered to get fixed, then laid a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to be there. Quit over thinking it.”

“How do you do that?” Jim asked, rather than tackle any of the serious issues, “Have you taken up mind reading as well as procrastination?”

“The two dovetail nicely,” Harvey agreed, playing along. “I couldn’t get anything else done after a stint in your mind. It’s too filthy.”

“You wish.”

Harvey just brushed a kiss to the back of his neck then stepped away to let him finish getting ready.

“You know I do.”

With that they made for the car park and Jim did his best not to fidget, or let on that he was nervous. He didn’t think Harvey would have invited him to this if he hadn’t kicked up such a fuss over his ex-wife’s visit, and Jim couldn’t imagine what he would have to say to a guy his own age who knew Harvey as his former step-dad.

“It’s hard,” Harvey had confessed once, over more beer than usual, when the conversation turned to failed relationships, “because you grow to love the kids, you think they’re going to be a part of your life forever, and then it’s over with their Mom and you’re less than nothing to them. You’re some sort of weirdo if you even want to keep a photograph of them.”

Jim wondered if any of his Mom’s boyfriends had ever felt that way about him, but somehow doubted it. He hadn’t been an easy kid to get along with.

But then neither had Andrew, by all accounts, and Jim thought of another late night of traded confessions. Harvey had told him that he felt responsible, sometimes, for the prison sentences the guy had served, and the bumpy path his life had taken. As though greater stability would have been all it took to turn everything around. As if his Mom marrying a beat cop had been the entire impetus for petty criminality in the first place.

“He’s a good kid really,” Harvey said in the present, and Jim bit his tongue rather than remind Harvey that he and Andrew were the exact same age. He didn’t really want Harvey dwelling on the implications of their age difference, especially not when he knew Andrew’s Mom had been a good 8 years older than Harvey, at least.

He wasn’t completely intent on self-sabotage.

Except when they walked into the bar Jim wished he had said something. Wished he had followed his initial instincts and found something else to occupy his evening.

“Jimmy Gordon!” Andrew exclaimed before Harvey could make the introduction, “My God, it’s been, what, 20 years?”

Jim swiped his suddenly sweaty palm against his pants leg, then forced a grimace of a smile onto his face as the other man shook his hand with a grip that ground the bones of his hand together.

“About that,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t long enough.

* * *

“So you and Andrew were at school together?” Harvey questioned carefully later that night, Jim realizing with a start that he was chewing at his fingernails, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

“Yeah.”

He couldn’t say more, couldn’t get the words out even if he knew which ones he wanted, and Harvey seemed to understand. Dropped the subject and let him be silent and unresponsive, choosing simply to spoon up close behind him and hold him tight.

Jim pretended to be asleep. Tried to relax into Harvey’s embrace but it was useless, pointless, and when he finally did give in to exhaustion it was to wake a couple of hours later, shaking and sweat sodden, his heart pounding with memories of running, and his ears ringing with the pounding of artillery shells.

“Andrew Callahan,” Jim announced when he arrived at the precinct, nothing but the dark smudges under his eyes to show for the nightmare.

“Was your prom date?” Alvarez mocked, “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Jimbo.”

Jim glared, at the nickname and at the insinuation, and slapped the case files he had requested down onto Alvarez’ desk.

“He knew the victim, works around the block from the shooting. That teacher, the one we both agreed was holding out on us, she’s his sister. Family members always cover for each other, always. It all fits.”

Alvarez flipped through the file, shaking his head.

“Petty theft, disorderly conduct, low level possession. It’s a hell of a jump from that to homicide.”

“He’s served time,” Jim insisted, neglecting to mention that it was for car theft not battery, “he’s capable of it.”

Alvarez looked less than convinced. Sighed anyway and said, “Fine, I’ll speak to the Captain when he gets in.”

“No!” Jim raked a hand through his hair, casting an anxious glance in the direction of Harvey’s empty office. “I mean, I’ll do it. It’s my idea, it’s only fair I take the heat if it turns out to be nothing.”

“Okay,” Alvarez said slowly, frowning at him, and Jim couldn’t keep still. Bumped his foot back and fore as he tried to sit at his desk and focus on some paperwork, and only noticed when he smeared blood across a covering form that he had been nervously biting at the skin around his thumbnail.

He had to do something, had to make progress, and finding that Alvarez was out following up a lead of his own, Jim gathered his essentials together and determined to go and dig up some dirt on Callahan.

It wasn’t as easy as he had envisioned. The guy’s neighbors all claimed he was a decent guy, if prone to letting his dog bark and playing his music too loud. His boss already knew about his criminal record and didn’t appear bothered by it, asking him sardonically what difference it made to his ability to pack boxes and answer phone calls.

Jim kept at it. Spent the rest of the week devoting himself to it, the frustration growing and growing as he hit dead end after dead end. He finally managed to get hold of Andrew’s estranged girlfriend, his throat prickling at the sight of her obvious baby bump, and he did his best to convince her she ought to stay as far away from his as she could, all while telling him everything she knew about his shady dealings.

“What has he done?” She demanded, giving him nothing, and maybe he implied too heavily. Maybe he outright told her. Either way there was a pounding on the door of his apartment that night which Jim ignored stubbornly. At least until the key sounded in the lock, and Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing up the paperwork and the take out littering his usually immaculate surfaces.

“Jim, you better have a good explanation or I swear to God I will kick your ass.”

In truth Jim had nothing. Just felt ill, like his skin was crawling, and Harvey caught hold of his hand before he could scratch at his arm again, gently examining the mess it was in.

“I’m not actually a mind reader,” Harvey said then, moving slowly to pull him into a hug, as though he expected him to startle otherwise, “If you don’t tell me what’s going on up there, I can’t help you.”

Jim rested his forehead against Harvey’s shoulder for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of the man and regretting the last few nights he had spent at his own apartment.

“He just,” Jim said shakily, struggling for composure. “I know he did it.”

To his credit, Harvey listened to his evidence. Stayed silent as he went through his case notes, and the scene of crime photos.

Then he took the pile of papers from Jim’s hands and said calmly,

“He’s got an alibi, it checks out. You need to stop this now.”

Jim sat. More fell, really, and suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Looked around at the state of his apartment, at the rumpled state of his clothing, and scrubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin.

“His Mom said she wanted you to talk to him. That there was something wrong.”

He was nothing if not stubborn.

Harvey gave up on his attempt to tidy the pile of paperwork, dumping it down onto his coffee table.

“Christie’s having a baby. She wants Andrew to grow up and make things right between them before her grandchild’s old enough to call some other broad Grandma.”

Jim nodded, sharp and stilted. Of course, that made sense. Much more sense than the kid who had made years of his life a living hell growing up to become a murderer. That was how it worked on TV and in the movies.

In real life the bad guys won, because Andy Callahan had a job and a dog and was about to be a father. He had a family who loved him, and friends who didn’t believe for a moment that he was capable of killing someone. He was well liked, well adjusted, and he had shaken Jim’s hand as though they were old friends, not a middle school bully and the kid who had been terrified of him.

“I think I need to lie down,” he said, not making eye contact as a pay off for keeping his voice steady. “I’ll see you tomorrow maybe.”

He didn’t look back to check if Harvey was leaving. He just toed off his shoes and crawled under his bed covers, curling in on himself the way he used to when he got home from school to find his mother was at work and Roger was out at football practice.

Sobbed just the way he had used to then too, helpless and painful.

He was a mess, had been forced out of the military and only still had his job because Harvey was so willing to make excuses for him. He had no friends and the only family he had left hated him. Roger had written him a letter after he was convicted of Pinkney’s murder, claiming that he was dead to him, and though Jim had tried since it was overturned, all his letters came back marked ‘return to sender’.

The only person able to put up with him was Harvey, and he had fucked that up too because everyone had their limits. Barbara had hit hers, as had Lee, and he had only kept pushing and pushing until they cracked completely.

He owed Harvey more than that.

The least he could do was stay away from him.

* * *

Things didn’t look so bad on Monday morning. It helped that he had slept, and eaten, and stuck plasters around his bloodied fingers, to make it more difficult for him to slide irredeemably into old habits.

Harvey had rung him, text him, been around to bang on his door again, but Jim hadn’t answered. Had kept the chain locks on and braced a chair against the door for good measure.

He hadn’t been ready to deal with it.

“Thank God,” was how Harvey greeted him when he arrived at the precinct, looking like he hadn’t slept the entire weekend. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Jim ducked his head, awkward, and Harvey pulled him into his office for some modicum of privacy.

“I knew I should have stayed. I’m sorry I didn’t, I just -” Harvey trailed off, gaze raking over his face as though he could hardly believe it was in front of him. “I thought you wanted some space, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there.”

“It’s okay.”

It was. It was his own fault for acting like such an idiot. For letting stuff that happened a lifetime ago get him so worked up and behaving every bit as crazy as the other kids used to accuse him of being.

Harvey wanted to say more, that was clear, but Tuttle was rapping at the door and Jim had never been so happy to see the other man. He spent the bulk of the day at his desk, catching up on all the paperwork he had neglected while indulging in his one man crusade against Andrew Callahan. He followed up a few leads after lunch, and was just about to call it a day when the desk sergeant called him over to say he had a visitor.

Jim swallowed, hoping that his stride hadn’t broken, and held his hand out.

“Harvey’s in a meeting at the moment, but he’ll be done in fifteen or so.”

“It’s you I wanted to see,” Andrew admitted, and they ended up in a diner down the street, Jim spooning too much sugar into his coffee, the way he would have drank it when he was a kid.

He sipped at it numbly, trying for calm and cool and professional, and Andrew sighed in a way that reminded Jim a little of Harvey.

“Look, I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of me. I never gave you any reason not to.”

Jim shrugged. Reminded himself how very long ago it was and how very little it mattered, in the grand scheme of things. Andrew went on,

“I should have said something that first night, in the bar. I didn’t want Harvey to know what a bastard I’d been to you. I didn’t want him to think less of me.”

He could understand that, at least. He went out of his way to try and impress Harvey, even when he knew it was stupid and more to do with his own vanity. Harvey made him want to be worthy of the praise he invariably heaped upon him.

“It was a long time ago,” he managed finally. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

The vehemence in the other man’s tone surprised Jim, and he stared at him over his coffee cup.

“I heard you tried, you know. I’m sorry - I was sorry then and I’m sorry now. If I could do it over…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim blinked at the hand being held out to him. Hesitated a long moment and then took it, shaking firmly. They nodded at each other, once, and then he was alone at the table with his over sweetened coffee, wondering if this meant he was truly an adult now.

* * *

It was already dark when he let himself into Harvey’s apartment, and the smile Harvey gave him was enough to convince him he had made the right decision.

Harvey fussed over him. Got him a drink and offered him food, and there was a joke on the tip of Jim’s tongue about absence making the heart grow fonder. Then Harvey was looking at him cautiously, obviously trying to choose his words carefully,

“Andrew rang me. He said he’d been to see you.”

“I’m sorry about the case,” Jim pre-empted, relieved that Alvarez had made an arrest that afternoon and its closure was imminent so they could start to move on from it. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Harvey bit at his lip. Reached for his beer bottle and took a long pull before speaking again.

“I met your mother, you know. I never made the connection before today. She looked a damn sight more murderous than she does in your photos.”

Jim frowned, lost at the fork in the conversation, and Harvey elaborated,

“You were still in the ICU, they didn’t know if you would pull through or not, and she told me that your death would be on my conscience. That kids only behaved the way they were brought up to.”

That sounded like his Mom; everything they did reflected on her, on their father’s memory, and why wouldn't they think of that?

“She was scared of losing you,” Harvey said with conviction, apparently reading his expression as easily as ever. “She couldn’t understand how she hadn’t seen how desperately unhappy you were.”

Jim pinched at the bridge of his nose. Covered his burning eyes with a hand and winced at the memories of that afternoon. Of his ruined schoolbooks and the bruises that were already forming. The laughter ringing in his ears and the certain knowledge that he had years more of it ahead of him.

Of waking up to the starched white of the hospital and his mother’s tear stained face as she begged him over and over again to tell her why he had been so stupid.

“We don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to,” Harvey said, the sound of his voice grounding him back in the here and now. Jim opened his eyes and simply gazed at him, mentally cataloging the arch of his brow and the sweep of his eyelashes. The fullness of his lower lip and the kindness in his eyes.

“I hadn’t thought about it in a long time,” he said eventually, slowly, as though he had to dredge the words up from deep inside himself, “I didn’t expect it to hurt as much as it did, being reminded. The last few days it felt like I was back there, like I was living it all over again.”

Harvey shifted closer, reaching for him tentatively then hauling him against his side when Jim proved willing.

“You’re no good at dealing with how you feel now,” Harvey said fondly, “God only knows how bad you were at it then.”

“I barely spoke a word for six months after my father’s death. That’s why everyone said I was crazy.”

It was the first time he had willingly told anyone that, but Harvey didn’t visibly react at all. Just kept his arms around him and kissed his temple tenderly.

“You were a kid, Jim. You were all just kids.”

He clung to Harvey in turn, the simple acceptance doing more than all the years of repression.

“I guess this really means you’re not into school uniform then,” Harvey said finally, the curve of a smile against his ear, and Jim laughed helplessly, the tension draining out of him.

“Do you ever think of anything other than food or sex?”

Harvey nipped at his ear, still cradling him close.

“Have you met me?”

* * *

“You signing up for this?” Alvarez quizzed, gesturing at the flyers that had been left on everyone’s desks that morning.

“Might do,” Jim said non-committally, aware enough of his own reputation not to let on that he had been the one to put them there. “It’s a good cause.”

“You and your causes,” Alvarez muttered, dismissive, but Jim spied him later adding his name to the sign-up sheet. Was pleased to see others following suit, and Harvey congratulated them on showing concern for something other than the ETA on the repair of the vending machine during his afternoon debriefing.

Jim loitered after everyone else had returned to their desks, or some task or other. Handed over the last candy bar from the news-stand on the corner like it was illicit contraband, and Harvey kissed his cheek in thanks before attacking the wrapper.

“I knew there was a reason I love you.”

 “I thought it was my good looks and charm.”

“It’s not your work ethic,” Harvey countered, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“You’re not funny.”

Everyone knew what a stickler he was for time keeping and by the book policing.

“The Deputy Commissioner’s pleased,” Harvey said around a mouthful of chocolate, “she reckons your schools and bullying initiative is going to be an even better PR coup than her Policing and Community exhibition. High praise, that is, coming from her Ladyship.”

“You’re just pissed she won’t sign off on that new vending machine.”

“She’s all big pictures and blue sky thinking,” Harvey snarked, “She’s forgotten how much of pain in the ass the boots on the ground actually are. Seriously though,” he abandoned the candy for now, giving a cursory glance out of the office window before kissing him, “I’m very proud of you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Jim chided, though the tips of his ears were heating up already.

“We’ll see,” Harvey said easily, returning to his chocolate and coffee, and Jim went back to his desk with a stupid grin on his face.

He had no doubt they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	77. Half a World Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey leaves and Jim realizes what he feels for him.

Harvey wanted Jim to be happy. Lived to try and make that goal a little more achievable. He was there for Jim when he was upset, and he had his back when he was in trouble. He heaped on the praise when Jim was feeling insecure, and wouldn’t stand to hear a word said against him, no matter how much Jim might deserve it.

The problem, he supposed, was that he was selfish. He wanted to be happy too. He wanted to be the one to make Jim happy and though he tried to hide it, did his best to wish them well, every second he was forced to spend watching Jim and Lee together felt like torture.

Like his heart was breaking.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way she does,” Jim confessed one night, the two of them drinking beer at Jim’s apartment, and Harvey swallowed around the painful lump in his throat. Stared unseeingly at the television and wondered how long it would be before he was no longer welcome.

Jim would want to move back in with her soon, if they hadn’t talked about it already, and Harvey would be back to drinking with strangers in dive bars or sitting by himself in his miserable apartment. Playing the same sad songs over and over again and wishing he could have just one night to show Jim what he meant to him.

It would never happen though. Jim wasn’t interested, couldn’t be less interested, and Harvey told himself he was content with the way things were.

He would be best man at Jim’s wedding, perhaps, and maybe even godfather to his children. He would be invited to holiday meals, and family barbecues, and Lee would smile at him with pity in her eyes because she had always known what Jim didn’t want to see.

That was what he was thinking about when Jim rapped on his office door with breathless excitement. Showed him the ring he had chosen and Harvey scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice when he managed,

“Congratulations, Jim. Really. I’m so happy for you.”

Jim beamed, slipped the box back into his jacket pocket, and Harvey wasn’t sure if the pain in his chest was the last of his hope shattering or the onset of a heart attack. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep still, and finally he left his desk to wander through the rain slick streets.

He ended up at a florists, the guy behind the counter looking at him expectantly, and Harvey ignored the aesthetically balanced bouquets on display in favor of asking for something as outrageously bright and colorful as the guy could manage. He took the result to his mother’s grave, and sat heavily on the sodden ground, not caring about the wet or the dirt or the curious looks the other mourners gave him.

“Sorry it’s been so long, Ma,” he whispered, scraping back the overgrowth, “I just don’t know who else to turn to.”

It was raining again, steady, and the water was dripping from the brim of his hat and down his shirt collar. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, and suddenly he couldn’t help himself. He was sobbing, harsh and broken, because he would give Jim everything he had - mind, body, soul, all of it - and Jim had still chosen somebody who had tried to kill him.

Still preferred someone who had professed to hate him, again and again, until Jim had nearly cracked with it. Until he had been so hurt and so lost it was Harvey who had found him passed out on the floor of his living room, the stink of pills and drink and desolate despair in the air.

Harvey who had sat at his bedside and mopped his brow. Harvey who had held him close and promised that things would get better.

He didn’t know how long he spent there, helpless and pathetic, but when a hand touched his shoulder the sky was beginning to darken and he turned to find Jim’s concerned face in front of him. It was embarrassing, shameful, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t do anything but cling to Jim and sob into his shoulder, Jim starting out stiff and awkward before wrapping his arms about him, rubbing at his back until he finally regained control of himself.

They went back to Jim’s apartment, Jim digging out an oversized sweater and handing him a towel for his dripping hair. Changed into dry clothes himself and sat next to him on the sofa, asking softly,

“Was it the anniversary today?”

The question tore at him. Had him scrubbing a shaky hand across his face and reaching for the beer Jim had offered. He could almost still feel the comforting warmth of Jim’s embrace, was wrapped in the scent of his cologne and his laundry detergent, but he couldn’t find the words to tell Jim that he had been reduced to such a mess by nothing more than the thought of Jim asking Lee to marry him.

Instead he let Jim believe what he would, and Jim confessed that he had already done it. That Lee had refused to give him an answer, said that they ought to take things slowly, and so he had gone to the cemetery to seek some solace at his father’s graveside.

Harvey nodded, faintly disgusted by the relief that washed over him. The ugly anger that twisted in his gut, because Lee had just been offered everything he had ever wanted and rather than jump at it, welcome it, she was content to simply keep Jim dangling on a fish hook.

“Tell me about your Mom,” Jim said, no doubt wanting a distraction, and Harvey did. He had mentioned her to Jim before, in passing. Had told him a few stories, even, back when they had been stuck on long and boring stakeouts. Now he meandered from tale to tale, the timeline jumping all over the place, and Jim listened intently.

Laughed at her choice turns of phrase, and commiserated over the all of the harebrained plans of his she had vetoed. Smiled wistfully at him when he came to a pause and said,

“She was lucky to have someone who loved her so much.”

Harvey met Jim’s gaze, those big blue eyes he could so happily lose himself in, and willed Jim to make the connection. To understand how completely he worshipped him.

“It’s late,” was all Jim said, “you should stay here tonight. I’ll get you a blanket.”

He lay awake for a long time, curled up beneath a throw blanket from Jim’s own bed and hating the way he couldn’t quit wondering whether Lee had slept under it. Whether Jim had fucked her - made love to her - under it, and whether Jim was touching himself behind his bedroom door, wishing that it was her company he had this evening.

This was only a reprieve, he realized then. Lee hadn’t said yes this time, and maybe she wouldn’t next time. But the time after? She would be Mrs Gordon and he would be surplus to requirements. Some sad, lonely old man they included in their plans out of some misplaced sense of duty.

He couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t just sit by and watch it happen. He had to get out now before it was too late, and he didn’t have the power to.

* * *

He wrote up his letter of resignation the following morning. Stared at it for a long time before putting his signature to it, debating whether or not he was doing the right thing. Then he looked up to see Jim whispering something into Lee’s ear outside his office window, the way she giggled in response and the resulting smile it put on Jim’s face.

It was stamped, sealed and in the mail to the Commissioner before most of the department had even shaken off their hangovers.

He felt strangely free once it was done. Relieved, he supposed. He had served enough time, would get his full pension entitlement, and then he could - he didn’t know. He had never imagined he would live long enough to reach retirement.

Jim turned down his offer of drinks that night, told him he was taking Lee out to dinner, and Harvey went to one of the cheapest dive bars on his roster. Shook his head at the tacky décor of the week, shamrocks and tricolors, and thought about how his Mother had always wanted to make the trip back home, and how unfair it was that she got so sick before he had a chance of earning enough money to make it happen.

He could do it for her, he figured. Go see all the places she used to talk about, all the places that had still been deemed too dangerous for tourists the last time he had made the trip, crawling with armed police and checkpoints.

His favorite cousin, Kathleen, lived there and she was always inviting him to go and stay with her.

It didn’t take much to arrange, and that in itself was somehow strangely anti-climatic. His resignation was accepted without fuss, on the proviso he served out four weeks notice, and Kathleen was so eager she rang him without the slightest consideration for the fact it was four o’clock in the morning in Gotham.

He couldn’t get back to sleep afterwards. Looked around at his possessions, at everything he had to show for fifty years on the planet, and felt kind of sick with the realization that there was hardly a thing worth salvaging. He had thought of keeping his lease on, maybe renting a storage unit, but now it seemed pointless.

He would be taking his clothes and his photographs with him. The few things that held real sentimental value too. That left run down furniture and chipped crockery. Faded bedding and dog eared paperbacks. He could buy some equally shabby replacements when he returned.

If he returned.

Two weeks in he had boxed most of it up and donated anything that was decent to Goodwill. Left the bulk of it out front with the rest of the garbage, and asked Alvarez if he wanted anything from his record collection, remembering long ago conversations from when Jim was in prison and they were forced to partner.

“You downsizing or something?” Alvarez asked when he came around to look through it, “Because the only thing smaller than this dump is a cardboard box on the sidewalk.”

“People been telling me for years that I look like a bum, it’s only fitting.”

He was trying for banter, for levity, but Alvarez saw straight through him. Frowned and dug and generally detected, until Harvey dropped heavily into his creaky armchair and sighed.

“I’m calling it quits, okay? The new Captain’s starting a week Monday. I’m going to stay with family.”

Alvarez stayed silent a long moment, absorbing the news. “Does Gordon know?” he asked eventually, and the color that flamed along Harvey’s cheeks gave him the answer. “You’ve gotta tell him.”

They had never talked about it, he had never talked about it with anyone. At least not anyone living. But he guessed it was obvious. The desperate panic he couldn’t hide every time Jim was in danger, and the gormless grin he sported every time Jim smiled at him. The way he had been wandering around like the shadow of a man, half dead now all the hope had been kicked out of him.

“I will.”

The truth was that he had been trying. Had almost done it every day since he had made the decision. Had taken every opportunity he could to bask in Jim’s presence - at the precinct, at the greasy spoons and the bars in its vicinity, at Jim’s apartment and at his own, though Jim hadn’t even commented on the bare notice boards or the fact he had already thrown out all his glassware.

It never seemed to be the right moment. He could never seem to find the right words. Finally Alvarez forced his hand and made a big announcement on his last day with the department, ushering Marten over with a card and a watch and a bunch of flowers because, in his words, it was traditional.

Everyone on duty shook his hand. Clapped his back and wished him well, and Harvey laughed emotionally when he finally got the card open and saw all the names congratulating him on being the least crazy Captain they had ever worked for.

“We’re going to miss you,” Lee said and gave him a hug he tentatively returned, looking up to see Jim watching him with an unreadable expression.

Harvey tried calling for him, to speak to him, but he wasn’t quick enough and there was still no sign of him when he finished his final shift with the GCPD. He went to his Mother’s grave afterwards, to lay the flowers he had been given and to warn her that he might not be around for a while, then sat and finished the last of his whiskey, staring at his packed suitcases.

A pounding at the door roused him a couple of hours later, and he opened it to find Jim standing there, upset and angry.

“When were you planning on telling me? Why are you doing this?”

Harvey didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said was going to justify it.

“I’m old, Jim. Tired.”

“No,” Jim shook his head, pacing his sitting room now, vibrant and beautiful in contrast to the drab gray all around him. “You’re the best guy this city has. You can’t just turn your back on it.”

Harvey looked away but it was too late, he had already seen the real accusation on Jim’s face.

You can’t just turn your back on _me_.

Jim seemed to notice the suitcases for the first time then. Swallowed audibly and asked,

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go and stay with my cousin.”

“Where?” Jim pushed, like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was afraid of what the answer was going to be.

It took Harvey two attempts to get his voice to work, his throat tight with emotion as he managed,

“Ireland.”

“Ireland,” Jim repeated dumbly, shock written all over his face. “That’s on the other side of the world, Harvey.”

“It won’t be forever,” Harvey assured, the words tumbling from his lips. “And you’re gonna be just fine without me. The new Captain they’re bringing in, she’s good, and you’ve got Lee. You don’t need me.”

“You’ll stay in touch?” Jim’s voice cracked and Harvey couldn’t bear it. Felt the tears burning even as Jim did his best to cover it, trying for light hearted and teasing and simply sounding plaintive, “Will you miss me?”

Harvey took a step closer, and then another. Brought one hand up to slide into the soft hair at the back of Jim’s head and pressed their foreheads together. Gazed deep into Jim’s eyes and attempted to tell Jim without words that no matter where he was in the world, he would always be there for him. He would be at the end of the phone, a moment’s away by email. If Jim said the word he would come to him in an instant.

His other hand came up to rest on Jim’s cheek, his thumb stroking across the arch of his cheekbone.

It was now or never.

“You have no idea how much. I love you, Jim.”

He kissed him then, a soft brush of lips that made his heart clench and his pulse race. It wasn’t challenging, wasn’t demanding, just a simple statement of fact. A confession that he should have made a long time ago.

Jim didn’t attempt to follow when he pulled away. He just stared at him for a long moment, no reaction either good or bad, and then he sucked in a shaky breath.

“Let me know when you get there, okay?”

* * *

In the movies he would have given up hope. Gone to board his flight resigned to getting over it and starting afresh, and Jim would have moved heaven and earth to get past airport security and beg him to stay.

To tell him that he loved him too, that he always had done.

Then they would have kissed to the soundtrack of some cheesy pop song while a crowd of extras watched on and cheered.

This was real life and he hoped and prayed until the very second the plane left the runway. He tried and failed to read some trashy novel he had picked up at the airport, then curled into the window and pretended to be asleep, hoping that the burly guy next to him wouldn’t pick up on the tears he couldn’t hold back.

It was finished, over.

He had to move on from Jim Gordon.

Kathleen was happy to see him at least, and for his part Harvey had never been so glad to see a welcoming face. A whole gaggle of welcoming faces, as it went, and it was hard to believe some of them were the same gap toothed little kids from his memories. Some of them had kids of their own now and Kathleen confided in him that it had been touch and go whether or not Gerald was going to make them all arrive wearing name tags.

He still couldn’t believe that Kathleen had married Gerald, not really. Not when she had been so outgoing and vivacious, and Gerald had been none of those things. The guy had made her happy though, obviously still adored her, and Harvey thought about that as he lay in their spare room wearing the sweater he had deliberately forgotten to return to Jim, wondering if he was ever going to find something similar.

The first couple of weeks passed in a blur, the strangeness of being surrounded by family for the first time in so long quickly giving way to comfort. It was nice, fun, and though he could see it grating in the long term, for the present he was more than content with the situation. Caught up on family history, and took the kids to the local parks. Reminisced with Kathleen and actually finished a book for the first time since he took on the role of acting Captain.

Sent a pretty picture postcard to Jim, emblazoned with ‘Wish You Were Here!’, and had all the breath knocked from his lungs one morning at breakfast, when Kathleen handed him a card Jim had sent in return.

It was a grimy looking cityscape of Gotham, the kind Harvey hadn’t even realized there was any call for, and on the back Jim had printed in his neat angular script:

_Not as scenic but I still wish you were here instead of there._

Kathleen looked at him in concern, saw the color drain from his face and the shameful dampness that came to his eyes, and she touched his hand the moment they were alone. Promised that he could tell her anything, and for a moment he was a kid all over again, clinging to her in the aftermath of his Mother’s diagnosis.

“I thought it would be easier here,” he said slowly, “if I didn’t have to see him all the time. I still think about him though, every second of every God-damn day. Why can’t I just stop loving him?”

“Oh, Harvey,” she breathed, pulling him into a hug. Let him talk and talk and talk, about the first time he had seen Jim and the first time he had realized he was in love with him. About how desperate he had been when Jim was in Blackgate, and how it had almost killed him when he had found Jim not breathing and unresponsive.

How hard it had been to pretend, day in and day out, that the only reason he cared was because Jim was his partner, and how he had been driven half mad without anyone to talk to about it.

“You could have told me,” Kathleen admonished, gently, and he knew because it wasn’t 1985 any more. Nobody was going to hate him, and nobody was going to disown him, but the fear had been there all the same.

She read it in his face, had always been able to know what he was thinking, and told him with the kind of conviction she had once been infamous for, back in high school,

“We’re going to find you a guy so hot you won’t even remember the name Jim Gordon.”

He laughed, weak and watery, and thought that if anyone could, it would be Kathleen.

The fact that she didn’t wasn’t for want of trying, in spite of all his protests on the subject. She even dragged him to speed dating, once, flirting with a dozen guys while Gerald sat at the bar sipping a shandy and reading the newspaper.

“He knows it’s nothing,” she said when he queried it, then nudged his shoulder and added pointedly, “that’s the only way any relationship can work - open communication.”

Harvey thought of Jim and his problems with all types of communication, and tried to convince himself that he was better off out of it. He didn’t do a very good job at it, never did, and instead sent Jim postcards of every tourist attraction he visited. Every beach and every castle, along with cards featuring silly cartoons and some covered in Gaelic.

They were proof that he was thinking of Jim. That he was there if Jim wanted him.

That he was still head over heels in love with him.

After that first card Jim didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t send any in return and, in the end, it was Alvarez who emailed him to say that Jim was on leave because his brother had been killed in a car crash. Harvey stayed up until the early hours of the morning, desperately trying to get through to Jim, and when he finally succeeded it was Lee who answered and told him that Jim would call him back when he got a chance.

Harvey lay back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling, imagining he could still smell Jim’s cologne clinging to his sweater.

He had only ever been kidding himself.

There was no moving on from Jim Gordon.

* * *

“You don’t have to do this,” Gerald said.

“You won’t do yourself any favors,” Bridget, their eldest, warned.

“He has to learn that he can’t snap his fingers and have you come running,” Kathleen said finally, worry for him making her words harsh, and Harvey knew it was pointless trying to come up with any explanation other than the obvious.

He loved Jim, and Jim had asked for his help. It was that simple.

The letter had arrived almost six weeks after Roger’s death, Jim’s usual neat hand all over the place. The ink smudged in places like he had been in a rush. Like he had been crying, maybe, and Harvey wasn’t under any illusions. He knew Jim had been drunk when he had written it. Probably when he mailed it, too, but Harvey didn’t care.

Couldn’t stay where he was when Jim had reached out for him. When Jim had finally admitted that he missed him. That he was his best friend and that he didn’t know how to cope with the grief, with trying to be a father to Roger’s daughter, with Gotham, without his support to lean upon.

Instead he herded the kids around the shopping precinct and got them to advise him on what to buy a toddler who was missing her parents. Bought them all something too, and the older ones caught on immediately that he was about to disappear on them.

They made him badly spelt cards and clung tight to him his last night, eliciting promises that he wouldn’t forget about them even if he had another kid to be friends with. It got him emotional, was overwhelming, because it was so different to that final night in Gotham he hardly knew how to thank them for it.

“Don’t let him walk all over you,” Bridget advised when they went to wave him off at the airport.

“If he can’t see what’s he’s missing he doesn’t deserve it,” Kathleen told him, attempting to squeeze the breath from his lungs.

“Good luck,” Gerald said and held his hand out, but hugged him back when Harvey went for it in gratitude.

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

The flight was long and uncomfortable, doubts over what he was doing sending his thoughts in circles. He hadn’t spoken to Jim about what he was planning, couldn’t bear to hear Jim try to talk him out of it. Perhaps Jim wouldn’t even want to see him. Perhaps he was still angry he had walked out on the GCPD and left them in the lurch.

Then he made it through Customs to find Jim stood there waiting for him.

He looked tired, dark smudges under his eyes and skin a little too pale. He was still the most beautiful sight Harvey had ever laid eyes on. More beautiful than in his memory even, and this time Jim all but lunged at him, arms coming up to wrap around his neck, the force of it knocking the hat from his head.

“How did you know?” He asked, clinging to Jim in turn, and after a few moments Jim pulled away, looking faintly embarrassed as he said,

“Your cousin, Gerald. He rang me to say which flight you were on.”

Harvey blinked at him in surprise, glad that he had made more effort with the man this time around. Kathleen really had known what she was doing when she said yes to his proposal.

He made to retrieve his hat then and spied the stroller for the first time. Crouched down to make his introductions to Jim’s niece, noting how her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as her uncle’s.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly when he pushed back to his feet. Forced himself not to get carried away and added, “I bet Lee adores her.”

Jim hadn’t said anything about her in his letter, and Harvey assumed that he had been trying to spare his feelings. It had touched him deeply, proving the deciding factor in his choice to return. So long as Jim didn’t rub in his face he could do it. So long as Jim remembered that he loved him just as much as she did, he could live with not being able to show it.

Lee’s been great,” Jim agreed, starting to lead the way out to the car park, “she came out with me for the funeral, and she helped me sort out the nursery.”

Harvey nodded, trying to read between the lines of whether this meant they were living together or not, and whether she had finally agreed to wear Jim’s ring on her finger. He wasn’t up to simply asking outright, and assumed he would find out all the details soon enough because when he admitted his vague plan to find a motel room, Jim told him firmly he would be staying with him for as long as he wanted to.

Jim had moved apartment in the time he had been away, to a building with security doors that worked and the graffiti in the elevator was conspicuous only by its absence. It was easier with two wages, he guessed, and braced himself to make small talk with Lee.

Except when Jim shut the door behind them, there was no sign of Lee’s presence. No ladies’ coats on the pegs, and no women’s shoes lined up in the hallway. No purse on the sideboard and no evidence of any additions to Jim’s collection of books and knick-knacks, at least not any that didn’t clearly belong to a one-year-old. What was there was every postcard he had sent to Jim, tacked up on the living room wall, a collage of every moment he had wished he was sharing with Jim. If nothing else, it meant that Jim hadn't been irritated to keep receiving them.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Jim said suddenly, “nothing’s been the same without you.”

Harvey settled on the sofa with the baby, glad for the refresher course he had been subject to, and for some reason Kathleen’s words came to mind, about relationships only working with open communication. It was an idiot move, he knew that. It would only set him up for a fresh bout of heartache.

“I missed you every day,” he said anyway, glancing up to see Jim’s smile falter, just for a moment.

“I thought we’d ring out for pizza.”

The smile was back in place, the pleasantly neutral tone, and Harvey did his utmost to play along.

If this was the way it had to be, he would have to live with it.

It was surprisingly easy in spite of it. He was so happy to be with Jim - to see him, to touch him. To bask in the glow of his smile and laugh at his stories, and to get to listen to Jim’s in turn. They ate and talked, and Jim put Babs to bed, Harvey knowing he shouldn’t but watching from the doorway all the same, his heart seizing up at the way Jim settled her down and kissed her forehead.

Jim pulled the door to carefully when he was done, and suddenly the mask was stripped bare and Jim looked so nervous it was all Harvey could do not to reach out for him.

“I’m sorry for sending that letter,” Jim started and it was like the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

He had got it all wrong. Jim regretted it. Jim didn’t want him there, had never wanted him to come back, and Harvey thought he might be sick before Jim even had chance to verbalize it.

“I’ve been such a coward,” was what Jim actually said, voice strained. “You told me how you felt and I did nothing. Lee and I, we broke things off, and I couldn’t pick up the phone to tell you.”

“It’s all right,” Harvey excused, just as eager as ever to wipe that look off Jim’s face. Somehow the news didn’t give him the satisfaction he had thought it would, not if it meant Jim had been left alone to face whatever horrors Gotham had been throwing at him. “You never owed me anything.”

“It’s not all right,” Jim countered, tone vicious but his hand gentle when he reached out and took one of Harvey’s in his own, the simple touch sending shock waves over him. “Can’t you see that? I didn’t even have the guts to explain myself to you, but I still wanted you to give up your chance to be happy for me.”

It was so much more than he had ever expected, even if it wasn’t everything he wanted. It had him sliding his free hand up into the soft hair at Jim’s nape, bringing their foreheads together the way he had the night he had left Gotham.

“I can be happy anywhere, Jim. It’s just easier the closer you are to me.”

Jim gazed into his eyes, brought his own hand up to rest his palm against Harvey’s cheek, thumb stroking tenderly.

“I missed you,” Jim whispered. “So much.”

Then Jim was kissing him, soft but insistent, and Harvey couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming as he cupped Jim’s face and kissed him back. Jim didn’t melt away though. Didn’t disappear into smoke and leave him alone and wanting. Instead he pressed in close and kissed him harder. Stroked his tongue into his mouth and only then broke away to give him a smile so stunning it made his knees weak.

“I didn’t understand what I felt for you,” Jim said. “Even when you left, I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. Why I thought about you every second of every day.”

Harvey’s heart was pounding, hope and disbelief warring with each other. Jim kept talking,

“Then Roger died and it made sense. The idea of you not being there, not even on the other side of the world, it terrifies me. I love you, Harvey.”

It was stupid, it was childish, but Harvey squeezed Jim so tight he lifted him off the floor. Turned them in a semi circle before putting him down again, grinning fit to split his face with happiness.

“You haven’t changed your mind then?” Jim asked, expression just as gleeful.

Harvey kissed him again, just because he could.

“Never.”

* * *

"So, what, are you gonna be a police wife now?”

“So, what, are you looking for a punch in the mouth now?”

Alvarez looked startled for a moment then broke into a grin.

“Fair enough. I say you deserve a medal for putting up with Gordon, especially now you’re not getting paid for it.”

“Maybe I’m getting paid in kind,” Harvey said, taking a swig of his drink and enjoying the way Alvarez started coughing and spluttering.

The guy just asked for it.

Jim put in an appearance then, still in the process of knotting his tie, and Harvey enjoyed that sight even better. Smirked, pleased with himself, at the memory of why Jim was running so late in the first place.

“Come on,” Alvarez whined, tapping at his wristwatch. “You know Dalton ain’t as understanding as your boyfriend was about timekeeping.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim agreed dismissively, taking time out to kiss Babs’ cheek all the same, and then pressing one to Harvey’s own, taking advantage of the distracting thrill it sent through him to steal a piece of his toast and grab his coat from the peg by the door.

“I’m going to make you pay for that,” Harvey called, even as he narrowly avoided a fistful of Babs’ own half chewed breakfast.

Jim just gave him a cheeky parting smile, promising,

“I’m looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	78. First Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim in a nurse's uniform. This has no redeeming features!

“You really think this is a good idea?”

“It’ll do them good. Some inter-departmental bonding.”

Tuttle glanced doubtfully through the slats of the window blinds, and Harvey did his best not to let on that he was sharing the sentiment.

Covered his misgivings by going to the door of his office and barking at Alvarez to get moving or he’d be tempted to pre-empt the night’s festivities, and book them all for disorderly conduct before they got started. Jim met his gaze sullenly, still blaming him for being forced into accepting the invitation, and Harvey gave him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Jim just turned away in favor of talking to Lucius, and the sight went some way to assuaging Harvey’s nerves. With two finicky do-gooders in their midst, even the usual suspects couldn’t get into too much trouble.

Surely.

Except Harvey had been on the last three of McKenna’s bachelor parties and none of them had been pretty. If anything they had only become more outrageous with each failed marriage behind them, and with Alvarez put in charge of organizing he didn’t even want to think about the coming levels of drunken stupidity.

“Janet went on one of them bachelorette parties a while back,” Tuttle was telling him when the desk sergeant dropped off another armful of paperwork, and Harvey wondered if this was what old age was going to be like, staying in and doing respectable things while he slowly died of boredom.

“Hmmm?” He managed, out of politeness, and then spat coffee all over a pile of requisition forms when Tuttle went on,

“I had to take her to the ER for a tetanus shot. She had a bite mark right -”

Harvey gave in to the coughing fit and tried to drown out the rest of the story.

He would never be able to look at Janet in the same way again.

Jim rang him almost the second his scheduled break started, club music blaring in the background, launching straight into a litany of complaints that rounded off with,

“I’ve shown my face, can I go home now?”

“No,” Harvey answered firmly, giving an equally firm kick to the vending machine that was intent on eating all his spare change. “This is about integration. Communication. Team building.” He bent down to retrieve a candy bar in triumph. “And I bet Alvarez you would last longer than midnight.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like anything.”

“I can think of a few things you like.”

Harvey shifted his cell to the other hand and determined not to let that tone of voice to get to him. Jim was entirely too good at wrapping him around his little finger.

“Look, why don’t you have a few drinks, try to enjoy yourself? Stick it out past twelve and I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Sound good?”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Jim sighed heavily.

“I hate you.”

Harvey grinned. “I love you too.”

* * *

The call came at quarter to twelve and Harvey was all ready with his pep talk when he realized it was Lucius’ number, not Jim’s. Panic washed over him and Harvey didn’t think he was being dramatic.

Jim had once been literally buried alive after being let out of his sight for longer than five minutes, he was entitled to a little overreaction every once in a while.

“It’s nothing like that,” Lucius reassured quickly, “it’s just that I think Jim would really appreciate it if you came to get him.”

Lucius made it sound like Jim was about 12-years-old and had had a falling out with the birthday boy, and when he pushed for more detail Lucius told him all he needed to know with,

“Alvarez dared him.”

The club was really bumping when he arrived, and that description alone probably earned him the look of distaste on the face of the girl with the clipboard. He flashed his badge, taking petty satisfaction in the way she suddenly couldn’t do enough for him, and Lucius met him at the edge of the dance floor.

“I’m just going to, you know,” he said, inclining his head back towards to the club entrance after he had lead him to the door of the men’s room. “He’s not in a good mood.”

Harvey waved him off and braced himself for whatever it was he was letting himself in for.

There were a couple of guys making use of the facilities, but only one of the stalls was occupied so Harvey rapped on the door and called Jim’s name cautiously.

“Have you got your coat with you?” Jim asked and Harvey felt his eyebrows shoot up.

What exactly had Alvarez dared him to do?

Still, he slid out of his coat and bundled it up, passing it over the top of the stall door. Jim emerged a few seconds later, clutching the thing closed like some Victorian maiden. No upstanding Victorian lady would have been flashing that much bare leg though, and Jim glowered at him, his face and neck burning with embarrassment, along with the tips of his ears.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Harvey countered, not foolhardy enough to promise that he wouldn’t. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

Jim hesitated for a long moment, then let the sides of the coat fall away.

Harvey couldn’t help himself.

* * *

“He just brings out the worst in me,” Jim griped, staring out of the passenger side window as Harvey attempted to keep his own eyes on the road, and not on the length of Jim’s bare thigh. “He said I was too much of a chicken to go along with the fancy dress, and I. Well, you can see what happened.”

Harvey could. Really couldn’t quit looking at it, because at some point between Jim agreeing to put on medical scrubs and him stripping out of his suit, Alvarez had left him with nothing but a skimpy nurse’s dress to change into.

“I spoke to Williams,” he said, mostly for something to focus on, “he says your suit’s safe and you can go pick it up in the morning.”

“It better be! I like that suit.”

“You look good in it,” Harvey agreed, gaze sliding back over to where the edges of Jim’s boxer shorts were just visible below the flared hem of the dress, “but then you look good in anything.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Jim warned, “I look like an idiot.”

“You look hot. And you wouldn’t have to keep it on long.”

“I wouldn’t boast about that if I were you,” Jim shot back with the smirk that never failed to get his blood pumping, and Harvey gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He had always known Jim would be the death of both of them.

Was going to be the death of him at the very least, because he was determined to punish him for making Jim bond with his colleagues in the first place. Had to be, because he was fussing about with the fastenings of the dress in ways that were doing all manner of unhealthy things to Harvey’s blood pressure.

“Didn’t that thing come with stockings?” He heard himself ask as he finally pulled up outside his apartment building, and Jim was apparently getting into the spirit of the thing now. Had obviously followed his advice to have a drink or two, and was relaxed enough to smile slyly at him when he cut the ignition.

To lean in close and whisper in his ear, so that the damp heat of his breath made Harvey shiver.

“I’m learning a lot about you tonight.”

Harvey didn’t think it was at all fair. Jim was stupidly hot at the best of times, and if he was going to drape himself over him in something that could probably get him arrested for indecent exposure, what did Jim expect? He was only human.

He was never going to be anything other completely besotted when it came to Jim.

“I think I’m feeling a bit overheated. Perhaps you ought to take my temperature.”

Jim grinned at that, wide and playful, and Harvey was lost.

Was following him up the stairs with his heart racing twenty to the dozen, the excitement making his tread clumsy and over eager. Sex with Jim was always good, was never anything short of amazing, but Jim wasn’t the type to be adventurous. He had trust issues a mile wide, and found it hard to let go enough to simply stop thinking and be in the moment. So if Jim was up for this Harvey was going to make damn sure Jim enjoyed it.

He pressed himself against Jim’s back as he fished the door keys from the pocket of his coat, then started nuzzling at the back of his neck as Jim fumbled with the lock, knowing exactly what it would do to him.

Sure enough, Jim’s breathing went hot and heavy as he pushed back into his touch. As he succeeded in getting the door open and then shoving him up against it, shrugging off the coat and throwing his hat carelessly to the floor, so he could really get his hands in his hair as he kissed him.

Harvey let him, loved the tingling sensation it sent through him, and kissed him back passionately. Dropped his hands to wander up the bare skin of Jim’s thighs. To grip his backside and crush him closer to him, so that their dicks ground against each other through all the layers of clothing.

“Maybe you are ill,” Jim panted, mouthing at his neck and rocking into him, frantic, “that’s quite a swelling I can feel.”

“Yeah?” Harvey laughed, adoring the fact that Jim was willing to play along. Had to kiss him again, arms wrapping around him, because Jim made him just as happy as he got him horny, and he wished he had the words to explain it. Instead he nipped at Jim’s lower lip, teasing, and asked, “What should we do about it then? In your expert opinion.”

Jim pulled back a little and pretended to be giving the question serious consideration, even as his fingers feathered up and down the length of him, where he was straining against the confines of his slacks.

“I don’t know. I think I need a closer look at what we’re dealing with.”

“Sensible,” Harvey conceded, not caring that the word broke off into a groan when Jim sank to his knees right there and then, fingers making short work of his zipper and belt buckle.

He was so hard that the relief was instant, the pressure easing, and then there was pressure of a different kind, Jim’s hand wrapping around him as he looked up with his flushed cheeks and gorgeous blue eyes. Jim was so beautiful, was simply everything he had ever wanted, and when he licked lovingly across the head of his dick it was so intense Harvey could have sobbed with the painful bliss of it.

He thumped his head back against the wall, helpless, when Jim wrapped his lips around him, the wet heat of his mouth overwhelming. He couldn’t look, had to look, because Jim was moaning, one hand pushing up under the dress and into his own underwear, and it was so hot Harvey could hardly bear it.

Could feel his thighs quaking, because Jim was taking him deeper, his movements wetter, sloppier, and if Harvey didn’t stop him right now he was not going to be able to take advantage of the scandalously short skirt Jim was currently sporting.

Jim made a desolate noise when he pulled back, like he could have kept going all night, and Harvey hauled him up to kiss him. Ran his hands all over the tight pull of the uniform and then tugged at Jim’s underwear, enough that the material slid down Jim’s legs so he could step out of it.

“Oh God,” he groaned when he looked down, because Jim was hard and aching. His dick was jutting out between the pleats of the barely there skirt, and the sight of it was obscene. Was a desperate turn on, and he needed Jim spread out across his bed. Got him there with the bare minimum of tripping and stumbling, ridding himself of the rest of his clothing and tugging at Jim’s hips until they were resting on the very edge of the bed.

Until he could push Jim’s legs up onto his shoulders, run his fingers down his cleft, and the only thing that could have made it any better were those stockings. Maybe a garter belt. This was pretty damn perfect though, the flush on Jim’s chest disappearing down beneath the dress’ low cut neckline. The blatant want on his face stoking the flames of his vanity, even as he added more slick to his fingers.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one administering the internal examinations?” Jim asked shakily, his hand finding his own erection and stroking. Harvey was up for that, was up for anything, but Jim moaned when he made to pull away and admonished, “But don’t stop now though.”

“No?” He questioned, pressing his fingers in just so, and Jim whined. Shivered and shuddered, then scrambled about until he was on hands and knees and Harvey sent up thanks to the kindly deity who had chosen to reward him with Jim Gordon begging him to quit teasing already.

“Patience is a virtue,” Harvey chided, even as he ran his hands over all the gorgeous flesh on display. Even as he fumbled with the condom, hissing through his teeth as he rolled it down and got himself lubed up.

Jim looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing - just to drive him that extra inch out of his mind with want - and huffed,

“So is chastity, but I don’t see you practising that one.”

Harvey gave him a slap for that, just hard enough to make a satisfying sound, but not enough to hurt any. Jim yelped all the same. Pushed back looking for more contact, and Harvey thought he had to be the luckiest guy on the face of the planet.

Knew it for sure when he pulled Jim’s hips back and lined himself up, and Jim just went down onto his forearms and started chanting, ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘please’, and generally making so much noise Harvey could imagine himself some kind of Sex God.

Jim kind of deserved the accolade himself, rocking back into his movements and begging him to go deeper, faster, to not stop, ever, so that Harvey had to cling to the edges of the stupid outfit and pull him back against him for extra leverage. Until he was so desperately close that he had to work a hand around Jim’s dick, jerking him hard and fast, plastering himself across Jim’s back and sucking at the skin of his neck so that Jim moaned and whined even louder.

It was his name Jim wailed as he came, and just the sound of it, just the proof that Jim was so into him, was enough to send him over the edge. Jim sobbed through the aftershocks, so ridiculously hot that Harvey couldn’t move for long moments, just stroking his hands down Jim’s sides and nuzzling into the side of his neck, before he finally found the energy to shift enough that he could kiss him.

“The treatment seems to have been successful,” Jim managed, when they came up for air, and Harvey clutched him close and laughed, silly and breathless, because Jim never ceased to surprise him.

“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for making you go?” He asked when he had himself back under control, and Jim just flopped onto his back and smiled up at him, filthy yet oddly sweet at the same time.

“A few more sessions like that and I'll _think_ about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	79. virus!Jim angst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst with virus!Jim...

Harvey pulled his hand away from his side and felt faint at the sight of the slick blood dripping from his fingers.

“Jim,” he tried, attempting to keep his tone even, “It’s going to be okay. It's not your fault.”

The younger man’s eyes cleared for a moment, pitch black giving way to frightened blue and Harvey’s heart clenched at the sight of it. Jim was still in there, was still fighting against it.

He had to be.

Anything else was too hideous for consideration.

“Partner,” Harvey whispered, half desperate, “Buddy.”

He wondered, half hysterical, if Jim understood what the words meant in his own head.

Darling.

 _Sweetheart_.

Maybe Jim understood all too clearly, because his eyes went black again, his skin mottling, an ugly smirk curling across his face. He leaned in close, and Harvey hated the way he shivered in spite of himself. The way he wanted to push forward when he knew he should be shrinking back, Jim’s voice cold and mocking as he pressed his lips to his ear,

“Is this what you were hoping for? Is this why you wanted me to inject myself?”

The accusation cut even as he knew it wasn’t Jim’s fault. That it wasn’t really Jim who was doing this.

It wasn’t really Jim’s hand pressing against him, cruel and taunting, even as the pain in his side flared ever brighter.

“Did you seriously think it was going to be you I wanted?”

“This is the virus talking,” Harvey managed, his voice faltering. He was going to pass out soon. Was going to die if he didn’t get some medical attention. “You’ve got to fight it for me.”

Jim took a step back, the sudden absence of his proximity more painful than anything else Harvey had endured at his hands over the last few hours. The smile he flashed at Lee more final than the bullet in his gut could ever be.

“Don’t you get it?” Lee asked, and the blackness was creeping into the edges of his own vision now.

It was too late, he knew.

It was already over.

Lee just grinned at him, gleeful at the sight of his suffering, and delivered the parting blow with a lingering caress to Jim's cheek.

“Jim’s done fighting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	80. Sequel to Chapter 21 - more WW2 AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More WW2 AU. Sequel to [Chapter 21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22272725) in which Harvey is a disillusioned DI and Jim is just another yank causing him problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for period typical homophobia, etc.

Jim loved Gotham, that much had always been obvious, but he had never attempted to convince Harvey of its merits. In fact, the reverse was true. He had spoken of the city’s corruption. Of the poverty and the crime and the stranglehold of the mob on civic society.

What Jim didn’t seem to understand was that after years of living in a war zone, Gotham was a veritable paradise.

There were no bomb sites and no lingering barbed wire. No half collapsed buildings and absolutely no rationing.

The shops were full of shiny consumer goods. Washing machines and vacuum cleaners and actual working television sets that he stared at with such helpless fascination it was almost embarrassing. Not so much as the pointed suggestion he replace the wardrobe which had been perfectly serviceable back in Britain though, because Make Do and Mend wasn’t good for the economy, and he saw young girls out and about with single dresses made of what looked like more fabric than an adult annual allowance.

Of greater interest to him was the superabundance of food everywhere. Bread, sugar, sweets, fresh fruit. He joked with a stall holder at the market about the bunches of ripe bananas he had for sale on his first day shadowing a foot patrol, and the guy just looked at him blankly. Sold him an orange with equally as little fanfare, and that more than anything brought home the fact that Gotham was a truly different world.

It was a world he should have been overjoyed to find himself in.

He was - at first. Everything was new and exciting, and he spent his days meeting new people and seeing new places. Marvelling at all the differences and counting his lucky stars that here nobody seemed to expect any extra voluntary work of him.

Instead he went back to Jim’s apartment in the evenings and ate like a king. Listened to the weird and wonderful commercials on the wireless, and admired the fancy central heating and the electric refrigerator he had always imagined Jim owning. Jim just smiled at his enthusiasm, fond, and then they would curl around each other on the sofa he was ostensibly sleeping on.

From there they would end up spread across Jim’s comfortable bed, Harvey overwhelmed at the expanses of golden skin he was blessed enough to be able to explore. He charted the reminders of Jim’s military service, and the car crash that had killed his father. Lavished attention on the scars the Force had already gifted him, and raised a few bruises of his own, careful to keep them below Jim’s collar line though the way Jim tangled his hands in his hair, begging him to suck harder at the soft skin of his neck, sometimes made it difficult.

The sounds Jim made, the desperate flush in his cheeks, were enough to have him aching. Enough to have him trying for more, unsure how much Jim even understood of what two men might do together. There had never been another man Jim had confessed, quiet and stilted like the idea didn’t excite Harvey beyond reason, and scarcely any women either because he had always been a good boy who dated good girls with no interest in resorting to a shotgun wedding.

He stuck to hands that first night, and the nights that followed, until he couldn’t bear it any longer and settled between Jim’s legs, meeting dazed blue eyes as he finally sucked Jim’s length into his mouth.

They said at home that the yanks had a special taste for it, and Jim was no argument against the idea. He bucked up, helpless, and Harvey had to hold his hips in place, feeling drunk on the taste and the smell and the perfect stretch of his lips as he slowly worked Jim deeper.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Jim panted, hands clenching tight in the bedsheets, and Harvey reached out a hand to grip one of Jim’s, the intimacy of the moment as sweet as the frantic cry of his own name. Jim shook and trembled as he came, collapsing back spent and boneless afterwards, and Harvey moved to lie beside him, kissing him tenderly.

He had worried that Jim might turn away, put off by the taste of himself, but he only kissed him back passionately. Stroked his tongue into his mouth and pressed closer, one hand seeking out Harvey’s neglected hardness.

“I love you,” Jim pledged again as he touched him, tone so sincere it made Harvey’s heart clench. “I love you so much, Harvey.”

“I love you too,” he promised in return, willing Jim to understand just how completely, and they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace, every bit as devoted as any wedded couple might be.

Harvey had never known anything like it. Had only ever engaged in chaste courtships with women offset by frantic encounters with like minded strangers under cover of darkness. Else the kind of services you were expected to pay for, with women who flirted then imagined themselves elsewhere, and men who acted shameless but would beg and pledge anything they had to keep their activities a secret from their parents.

It put him on such a high that even being partnered up with a dour old misery like Dix could dampen his spirits any.

“You won’t last six months,” Dix said to him the morning of their first day, and Harvey refused to give him the satisfaction of arguing.

The stage was dressed differently, and so were the players. The characters were all familiar enough though and it didn’t take long before Harvey began to get into the stride of it. There were the foolhardy boys who wanted more than they could earn, and the silly girls who thought being asked to provide an alibi was tantamount to a marriage proposal. The greedy spivs who oozed their ways into peoples’ lives before slithering back out of them, and the pretty faces which hid souls as black as coal dust.

He did his best to talk sense into all of them. Tried to set the lads up with something more productive to occupy their time, and appealed to the girls’ parents and their high school principals. Made connections with the city’s charitable bodies, and its friendly societies, and endured Dix’s dismissive attitude on the subject, retorting,

“There’s more to the job than collecting your pay cheque.”

Dix just shook his head, disgusted, and Harvey couldn’t care less, not when the shift was done and Jim was already at home waiting for him.

Jim shared his feelings on the subject of rehabilitation. On the importance of knowing your patch inside and out, and putting the effort in wherever there was a real chance of making a difference. Harvey thanked him in actions where his words failed, slowly stripping him of his shirt and his trousers. Trailed kisses across his stomach as he divested him of his under shirt, and listened to the hitch in Jim’s breathing when he finally tugged at his underwear.

“Do you trust me to try something?” He asked, fingertips feather light along Jim’s erection. “If you don’t like it, just say so.”

Jim nodded, looking so beautiful with the flush in his cheeks and his bottom lip slightly swollen from the pressure of his teeth. Harvey gave a sucking kiss to the head of Jim’s length in gratitude, then moved to arrange them both more comfortably. Pressed kisses all along Jim’s inner thigh, then followed the same path with his tongue, carefully shifting closer and closer until he licked across Jim’s hole and the younger man gasped in shock.

Tensed up and cringed away, and Harvey stroked his hands over Jim’s heated skin in an effort to be reassuring. Murmured to him over and over that it was all right, that he wouldn’t do anything Jim didn’t want him to, and when he asked if Jim wanted him to continue, Jim could only nod silently.

He pushed at one of Jim’s thighs, encouraging him to bend his knee and give him better access. Kissed and licked and sucked as slowly as he could bear, Jim’s whimpers filling the air as he started rocking back into the sensation, losing himself to his arousal.

“That’s it, Jim,” Harvey praised. “You’re so perfect.”

Jim was. Was everything he could have ever wished for, and he pressed the tip of his finger to him, gauging his reaction.

“Please,” Jim whined, his own hand wrapping around himself now and moving. “Don’t stop, please. _Please_.”

The words sent jolts of lust through him, had him twitching and spasming and slowly pushing his finger into tight heat, groaning at the thought of maybe one day feeling Jim clench around his dick instead of his finger. Jim was getting louder now, twisting and begging and stroking himself faster and faster, all but sobbing when Harvey crooked his fingers knowingly and pressed in hard.

Jim arched up from the bed. Cursed and writhed and pleaded with Harvey to give him more.

Harvey obliged as best he could, squirming in sympathy when Jim came, lovingly working him through every tremor.

“I never knew it could be like that,” Jim told him in the aftermath, face buried in Harvey’s chest, overcome with the intensity of it. “I didn’t know anything could feel like that.”

Harvey only held him closer, too moved to explain verbally that it was how he felt about every moment he spent with Jim.

The problem was that no matter how much he loved Jim, the world at large was still convinced it was disgusting. The new Police Commissioner announced that stamping out filth and vice would be his number one priority, and the Captain interpreted the statement to mean holding increasingly thorough raids on every known brothel, gambling den, and pansy bar in the city.

It was nothing Harvey hadn’t done before, and he oversaw teams of uniformed officers as they arrested dozens of men who ought to have had the sense to know better. That was what he thought as he noted down preliminaries, until a young man he recognised from his meetings to set up links with some of the local youth groups burst into tears at the sight of him.

“You’ve got to help me,” he begged in whispers, thinking of his job and his sick mother, “You know how it is.”

The statement was like being doused in a bucket of ice cold water. The blood froze in his veins, the urge to be sick almost overpowered him.

“Watch your damn tongue,” he spat in response, and shoved him into the hands of a waiting officer.

Pushed out onto the street where he sucked in great lungfuls of cold air, realising with horror that his hands were shaking violently.

“These pervert raids make me sick too,” assured one of the younger detectives waiting for further orders, and Harvey felt as though he were waking up from a cosy dream to the harsh grip of reality.

He had been playing with fire, and if he didn’t do something both he and Jim were going to get badly burned.

By the end of the following day he had taken a furnished room at a boarding house not far from the precinct, joking loudly to anyone who would listen that Jim’s sofa was proving disagreeable to his matrimonial prospects. Jim’s jaw tightened, the pain visible in his eyes, but Harvey remembered the tears on the face of a guy whose life had appeared settled.

Remembered cutting down a man he had once arrested for buggery, who had preferred a slow death by strangling in a police holding cell to living with the knowledge that he had lost the respect of everyone he held dear.

“Is it something I did?” Jim asked him when he tried to explain later that night, the genuine hurt and confusion on his face making Harvey’s heart twist.

“I did it for you,” Harvey whispered and Jim said nothing as he collected his suitcases and walked out on him.

They could still be friends, Harvey told him. They would always be friends. Jim tried, that much was obvious, but their every interaction was shrouded with the loss of what they really wanted, and when word went around that they were looking for officers to pull temporary night duty at Arkham Asylum, Jim put himself forward.

It meant they never saw each other. Meant he had nothing to do but work and be criticised by Dix for his soft heartedness. For his incomplete knowledge of the local penal codes, and for his quaint foreign ways of working. He ignored it, mostly, until a murderer walked on a technicality on account of his confusion over the differences in procedure, and he didn’t fight back when Dix punched him in the face.

He deserved it.

He bumped into Oswald, the man from the bar, when he followed up a tip on some suspected mob involvement, and there were no tears this time. His face was hard, eyes cold, and Harvey could imagine only too well what he was being expected to do to earn whatever pittance they were deigning to pay him.

“You don’t need to do this,” he said, low and quiet when he caught the man alone. Oswald only shrugged, all false confidence, and told him with just a hint of accusation,

“I found my career prospects curtailed. I trust you don’t need me to tell you why.”

His relationship with the others at the precinct was just as fraught. He was an outsider, an interloper stealing away the job of an American, and he knew nothing about football and baseball, and cared still less to learn anything. Kept up with the cricket scores in the British newspapers instead, and went to the pictures night after night, watching the same handful of British imports, despite the fact he had already seen them back in the cramped fleapit he had habitually visited back home.

The reality, he conceded, was that he was homesick. Desperately homesick. Because the over stocked shops were no longer novel. His slips ups with the language no longer amusing. What was the point in having dozens of varieties of chocolate bar if none of it tasted like his favourites? Why should he be happy that he had easy access to every exotic fruit under the sun, if he couldn’t find a single decent tasting cup of tea in the entire damn city?

The closest he came was on door to door enquiries in a high rise, when a pretty young thing opened the door with a black eye and the fear that it might be her husband home early. He latched on to her accent like a lifeline and she reciprocated eagerly, offering him tea and then resting a hand against her straining baby bump while a toddler played at her feet. They talked of this and that, each seeing the other’s unhappiness yet too afraid to draw notice to it, and she said her goodbyes with tears in her eyes when he handed his empty teacup back to her.

He called back a week later, with copies of a British publication she had mentioned missing he had spotted at a news stand across town, but it was a neighbour who pulled the door open. Jane was in hospital, she said coldly. A slip in the night, she said pointedly, and Harvey didn’t need to be a detective to work it out, not when he knew how people gossiped and not when he had seen the fear in her eyes.

“Tell her I’m very sorry,” he managed, stilted, and dumped the magazines in the first rubbish bin he came across.

He wanted to see a friendly face. Needed it, even, and Harvey smartened himself up before going to call on Jim on what he knew was his day off. He chose the new jacket over the one Mrs Maguire had patched up for him, over and over, and his heart raced with nerves as he made his way to Jim's apartment. He had missed Jim so much. Loved him so desperately, and even if being in his presence was unbearable torture - being so close and not being able to touch him - it was still so very much better than not being anywhere near Jim. His smile at the sight of Jim faded away when he noted his uncomfortable expression though, and he heard a voice coming from the living room.

“This is Dr Leslie Thompkins,” Jim introduced nervously. “We work together at the Asylum.”

“Call me Lee,” she said with a smile, holding out her hand, and Harvey didn’t comment on the fact Jim had only previously mentioned her by that nickname. Didn’t let on what he was thinking, or what he was feeling, and was proud of the way he kept his voice calm and steady as he told Jim it wasn’t pressing, and that he’d leave him to the good doctor’s company.

It would do no good to get upset over it, or to feel hard done by. Jim hadn’t made him any promises, and if he had they were surely rendered worthless when Harvey made the painful decision to put some distance between them.

Perhaps they would have meant nothing to Jim, anyway, just like the other American servicemen who had promised the world and delivered nothing but disappointment.

He ran into Jane again, the toddler crying as she walked stiff and slow in the cold weather, the bruising faded but her eyes haunted.

“Why don’t you go back home?” He asked, unable to stop himself, and she looked away for a moment before meeting his eye with an understanding that tore through all his bluff and his bluster,

“Nobody wants to admit to being a failure.”

The weeks which followed were awful. Work was relentless, the crime rate in Gotham like nothing he had ever had to deal with, and no matter what progress he thought he made with the kids, every time he went to the precinct he saw one of them sat in a holding cell.

“You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped,” Dix told him, less bitter than usual, and Harvey began following the man’s lead, drinking the worst of it into submission.

The sights he saw and the sounds he heard. The bodies on the slab, and the bribes he was offered by a representative of one of the major interests, who warned him in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t be given much longer to decide whose pocket he was going to reside in.

The loneliness, marrow deep and unrelenting, because at home he had been a respected senior officer. A pillar of the community, someone who people turned to when they were in trouble, and chatted to in the street when they weren’t. Here he was a rookie all over again. A joke to his colleagues, and an imposition to his landlady. A stranger in a strange land, and he hesitated in the hallway of Jim’s apartment building for long minutes before changing his mind and making for the nearest liquor store.

He stumbled back to his lonely room with his purchases and replied to the Maguire twins’ latest letter, full of excited chatter about the welfare of his chickens and the news that their brother was getting married and that they were going to have a cake with marzipan and icing. Harvey laughed at the simplicity of it, wept at how much he’d give to share it with them, and his landlady banged on his door after he drained another bottle, demanding he stop singing that very instant.

She gave him his marching orders in the morning, and he stashed his suitcases in the GCPD locker room for the day, determining he would look for new lodgings in his lunch hour.

First he spent the morning day dealing with the brutal fallout of a mob war, and when he and Dix went to hear what the new ME could tell them, Harvey saw her brush her hand against Jim’s arm before he left the room, ostensibly on some message or other. Jim didn’t glance at him, he hadn’t even known he was back on regular duty, and when lunch finally rolled around he turned down Dix’s offer of a drink and shrugged into his hat and coat, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

The ticket wasn’t cheap, but it wasn’t bank breaking either. He was being foolish, foolhardy, but he would find something at home. Would have to because he couldn’t stay in Gotham. Couldn’t drink himself into a slow grave, never giving Jim the space he needed to be truly free of him.

He was still checking the paperwork as he walked away, mentally drawing up plans of who he would need to inform, and what would need to be done, and then he was swallowing thickly, attempting to keep calm.

“Hand it over,” a voice demanded, and Harvey struggled to process the knowledge that he was being robbed at gunpoint in more or less broad daylight.

Called upon rusty combat training and not so rusty home guard defence demonstrations, and slammed an elbow back into the guy’s stomach, wasting no time in retrieving the weapon and knocking his would be attacker to the floor, a triumphant knee on his chest as he cuffed him.

There was a whistle as he finished, and he looked up to find a small crowd gathered to watch the proceedings, a uniformed patrol officer already making their way over.

“That was impressive, Bullock,” the man admitted, hauling the guy to his feet, and Harvey played it off as nothing.

Nobody but he and the Lord needed to know about the way his knees still didn’t feel completely stable.

Back at the precinct word got around quickly, and Harvey enjoyed the banter and the good natured teasing. He wavered for a moment, even, over whether or not he had made the right decision. Then he saw Jim watching him, lips thinned and arms folded across his chest, and remembered why he couldn’t stay in Gotham.

Stood there stupidly as Jim turned away and wavered harder all the same, because at least if he were in the same city he could look out for Jim. He knew what a dangerous place it was, had witnessed over and over how willing Jim was to throw himself in the line of fire, and he didn’t want to imagine what it would be like, sitting on the other side of the world and receiving a letter to inform him that Jim had died on duty when perhaps, had he been there, he might have had a chance to save him.

The thoughts went round and round in his head as he made for the locker room, realising abruptly that he still hadn’t made any arrangements for the next few days. Had been somewhat distracted, truth be told, and he was debating whether or not to take one of the cases on the search with him when the door opened and he found himself alone with Jim for the first time in almost a month.

“You could have died today.”

Harvey turned to face him slowly, and his initial annoyance faded instantly into insignificance at the sight of the tears in Jim’s eyes.

“If you want to go back I won’t stop you,” Jim said, Harvey feeling his cheeks heating guiltily because Jim was more than clever enough to put two and two together, “but I can’t go another day without telling you this.”

“Not here,” Harvey interrupted, and it wasn’t just fear for being overheard. It was that he couldn’t bear to have his last memory of Jim be harsh words in the cold grey of the locker room.

Jim nodded, clipped and controlled, and they made the same subway ride they had that first day, when he had been so unspeakably happy to be in Jim’s company he had scarcely dared to look at him for fear of the whole world knowing. His gaze was downcast this time too, afraid his emotions would be written all over his face - the want, and the need, and the love he felt for him.

When they reached Jim’s apartment building however, Jim kept walking. Lead him two blocks over and up a couple of flights of stairs. Unlocked a door and gestured for him to go ahead, Harvey gazing about at the high ceilings and the light streaming through the windows.

“I wasn’t getting along with my neighbours,” Jim said, the lie tripping easily from his lips, “so I went looking for something else. This place is kind of expensive, but it’s got two bedrooms and I figured there’s bound to be another guy at the precinct who needs somewhere to stay.”

That was Jim’s story, he realised. It was what he had told his friends and his colleagues, because his hope was that Harvey would share the rent with him. Would be his flatmate as far as anyone else was concerned, until they were behind closed doors where they could be everything they wanted to each other.

Harvey had to sit. Dropped heavily onto the sofa and wished he could pull himself together enough to say something. Jim just moved to sit next to him. Looked at him with his big blue eyes and hooked his fingers under the chain around his neck, tugging it up and over his collar.

For a moment Harvey feared that he had misread the situation and that Jim was going to hand the ring back to him. Or, still worse, that he intended to give it to Dr Thompkins, and that perhaps they would write occasionally when he was safely across the ocean.

“When you gave this to me, I wanted it to mean forever. I still do, Harvey. I know what you thought when you saw Lee but it wasn’t like that. It’s never going to be like that. We can’t do it for real, we can’t tell people, but as far as I’m concerned this,” he gestured to the ring and the chain, “is the same as wearing it on my finger.”

“What are you saying, Jim?” He breathed, not quite daring to believe what he was hearing.

“I love you. I cherish you. In good times and bad, forever and always.”

It was a declaration he had never expected to hear.

A declaration he had fantasised about regardless, dreaming of what it would mean, to be that loved by somebody.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” Harvey stuttered dumbly. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”

“You’re the reason I have it in the first place,” Jim countered, stubborn. “It was the thought of you that kept me alive through the war. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too, but if you leave it won’t change who I am or what I want.”

“I need you,” he admitted, unable to fight it any longer. “I love you. I never want to be parted from you.”

Jim flung his arms about him. Clung tight while Harvey hugged him back. Stroked his hands down Jim’s sides, and kissed him tenderly, because this was where he was meant to be. The rest would fall into place - it was already getting there. Work, friends, colleagues. Jim was the most important factor.

“Stay with me,” Jim said, his hand coming up to cup Harvey’s cheek. “Please don’t give up on this.”

Harvey didn’t. Carried Jim over the threshold of the bedroom they were going to share, Jim torn between laughter and indignation, then pushed him down into soft clean sheets. Kissed him and touched him and stroked his fingers against the ring around Jim’s neck, the meaning Jim had ascribed to it making his heart ache with happiness.

If this was to serve as their wedding night, he wanted Jim to enjoy it. Spent hours slowly worshipping Jim’s body, teasing and teasing until Jim looked drunk on pleasure, his eyes unfocused and his movements clumsy. He pushed a finger inside Jim again, finally, when he knew Jim couldn’t take much more, and watched in awe as Jim came apart, his every muscle straining as he spilled over his chest and stomach.

Jim kissed him sweetly when he was done, delicate shivers still working through him, and then mouthed across his jaw. Up the side of his neck and then spoke into his ear, Harvey whimpering as Jim’s thumb circled the head of his length, sliding through the slick wetness.

“I want to feel this inside me one night. I want you to show me how good it can be.”

Just the suggestion was enough in the present, and Harvey reached desperately for Jim’s free hand, tangling their fingers together.

“I’m never going anywhere,” he promised, breathless and overwhelmed, and Jim squeezed his hand tightly, the message clear.

They were bound together.

There were still bad days. Awful, terrible days sometimes when Harvey wished he were back on home soil, and that Gotham was some distant memory.

He always wished that Jim were with him though, wherever he was, and Jim recognised that with soothing kisses and little gestures that made his heart feel full to bursting. The imported chocolate he somehow managed to procure, and the sweet tea he made in any and every time of crisis, pressed into his hands in lieu of the kiss propriety forbade them.

The letters he read aloud when he lay with his arms around Jim on the sofa, Jim’s head resting on his chest as shared the latest news from the twins, or Jane, whose hands Harvey had pushed his ticket into, Jim standing guard at her apartment door as he helped her pack her bags and get the toddler ready.

He was soft hearted maybe, just like Dix said, but the man was heading for retirement any day and Jim was already swotting for his detective’s exams. They were going to be partnered with each other, that was what the Captain had already told him, and though Harvey was careful he was no longer frightened.

Jim had his back and he had Jim’s.

No matter what happened in the future, they’d face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	81. R&R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey deserves a vacation... Jim just seems to be adding to his problems.

Out in the bullpen people were cheering.

Congratulating.

Celebrating.

The threat was over, done, and life was going to begin to return to normal.

In his office Harvey put his head in his hands and prayed to God he wasn’t about to give into the urge to weep.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t carry on living like this.

His back hurt and his shoulders ached. His eyes felt gritty from the lack of sleep, and he still felt like he was going to be sick, the nerves and the tension and the sheer unrelenting horror of the last few days refusing to leave him.

The City had been brought to its knees. The morgue was overrun with corpses.

All he could think about was how close Jim had come to being one of them.

The tears came, unwanted and unstoppable, because the fear he hadn’t been able to give into then was overwhelming now.

Jim had almost died down there, alone and afraid, while he stumbled about less than useless.

He would have had to dig him up. He would have had to stand there and watch as they pried the lid off the coffin. Would have had to touch Jim’s icy cheek and attempt not to break down as he came to terms with the fact that he was never going to see Jim smile again.

Jim was probably with her now, that was the worst of it. Would be holding her, and consoling her. Telling her that it wasn’t her fault for injecting herself with the goddamn virus, and that he forgave her for forcing him to do likewise.

Harvey hated her for it.

Hated her for taking Jim from him all over again, and hated himself for not being enough to make Jim consider staying away from her.

Harvey closed his eyes, determined not to give in to the bitterness. He had always known that Jim loved Lee more than him. He had plenty of experience at being the rebound guy. He knew the risks, knew the likely outcome, and he had still gone ahead and fallen desperately head over heels in love with someone whose heart wasn’t theirs to give away in the first place.

It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he had begun to think - to hope - that maybe, if it came to a choice between the two of them, he would win it. That what they had was real, special, and that one day Jim would think of Lee with nothing but distant fondness, because Harvey was succeeding in his mission to make him happy.

If he were a better man, he thought sometimes. If he were cleverer, fitter, smarter, maybe Jim would be proud to stand beside him. Would look at him with that soft wistful look in his eye, and flash him that blindingly happy smile, the one that made Harvey’s heart turn somersaults in his chest every time he caught a glimpse of it.

There was a rap at his door then, quiet but insistent, and Harvey was still swiping the evidence from his face when it opened. Gave Lucius a strained smile, and accepted the pile of paperwork with as much good grace as he could muster. He stared at it for long minutes, none of it making any sense, then gave in and popped another couple of pain pills.

Jim chose that moment to put in an appearance. Looked none the worse for his brush with madness, at least, and Harvey did his best to act as though everything were normal. Bluffed and blustered and bantered, and concentrated on keeping the pained grimace from his face as he put one foot in front of the other.

Sucked in shallow breaths and told himself it was all a case of mind over matter.

Managed a few more steps then had to give in, flinching helplessly as Jim wrapped a supportive arm around him and guided him first to a cab, and then up the stairs of his apartment building.

He did his best to fob Jim off with excuses. Told him to go home and let him get some rest, and that he would be right as rain again in the morning.

Jim was having none of it.

Tugged his shirt free of his waistband to get a look at the damage, and his handsome face went pale at the sight of the livid bruising spread across his skin.

“Did I do that?” Jim asked, voice strained, and Harvey wished that he could lie to him.

“It was the virus,” he said instead, and Jim hung his head. Touched tentative fingers to the flesh of his side, and it wasn’t the pain that made Harvey hiss through his teeth. It was that he still wanted Jim in spite of it.

He would take whatever Jim was willing to offer him. He would be second best, third best. Barely better than nothing at all, even, if it only meant that Jim continued to act as though he cared a damn. If only Jim never realised just how much more he wanted, and how desperately it hurt to know that he would never get it.

“You could track her down,” was what he actually said, because he could do heroic and selfless. “I meant what I said. You’re a damn good detective when you put your mind to it.”

Jim didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything. Just stared at him with those big blue eyes and Harvey couldn’t take it. Needed to be alone before he broke down and begged Jim to forget about her.

“I’m beat, Jim,” he sighed, carefully shifting his weight again. “I’m not going to be much company tonight.”

“I can leave if you want,” Jim offered, tone suggesting that it was the last thing he wanted.

“Probably for the best. You’re a terrible blanket hog.”

“I’m not,” Jim countered, the same as a thousand times before, but there was no life to the ongoing argument today. No spark and no fun, and Jim just pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before leaving.

Harvey swallowed down more pain pills and stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom for a long time, until his vision blurred and his cheeks were wet. Jim was whole and safe and alive, and when he had been trapped in that Godforsaken coffin, Harvey had sworn he would be happy with that.

He’d have to be.

* * *

Work was manic in the days that followed. Gotham needed to be pieced back together, and the department still hadn’t finished licking its wounds from the last round of crazy.

He could have found the time, all the same, had he wanted to. Would have made time if Jim gave the slightest indication he was interested. Jim was busy with his own projects though - finding out where Lee had gone, Harvey assumed, and making plans for their Happy Ever After.

For his part Harvey felt like he was subsisting solely on painkillers and whatever whiskey he could discrete about his person. The bruising was bad, sure, but he didn’t remember any previous beating leaving him feeling this awful. He felt sick with it. Faint and dizzy, and it was getting to the point where he couldn’t hide how much of a struggle it was simply to get in and out of his office chair, even when there were people around to comment on it.

The truth was that he was worried, just a little, because the pain seemed to be getting worse not better. He couldn’t sleep at night for it, and when he caught Jim studying train timetables and restaurant reservations, it gave his broken heart a run for its money.

Everything came to a head on the steps of the precinct, as some journalist shoved a camera in his face and asked if he was really up to the job of keeping the city safe. He was sweating, shaking, and then it was like things were happening in slow motion, sights and sounds muted and distorted, as though he were underwater.

“Bullock?” Someone tried, though he couldn’t get a sense of who they were or which direction their voice was coming from, and before he could try and respond he was slumping to the floor, nothing but pain and fear and a frantic wish he could see Jim’s face just one more time before he gave in to the darkness.

He woke up in hospital. He could tell from the smell and the sounds, and the scratchiness of the sheets against his bare arms. It took a few attempts to blink the world into focus. All of his effort to simply turn his head to his side, and then things began to come back to him, because Jim was so exhausted he had managed to fall asleep with his head in his arms, braced against the bedside locker. His brow was furrowed, worry obvious, and Harvey swiped a dry tongue against his dry lips, rasping out,

“Jim?”

It was scarcely a sound but Jim jerked awake in an instant. Looked terrified for a moment, like he expected the worse to have happened, and then he was all over him, fussing and fretting and pressing soft kisses to the side of his face.

“You could have died,” Jim said later, after the doctors had been around and he had been poked and prodded and made to recount everything he remembered. “You were bleeding internally. You told me you’d seen a doctor.”

The last was petulant, accusing, and Harvey couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

“You saying you’ve never lied to me about getting looked over?”

Jim had the grace to colour up a little. Carried on regardless, expression stricken as he reached for Harvey’s hand.

“Don’t you understand, Harvey? I almost killed you.”

The words were scratchy, earnest, and Harvey felt his own throat ache at the wet glimmer in Jim’s eyes. It had his own eyes stinging, the emotion welling, and he wondered what he would have done that very first day if somebody had told him he would end up so in love with his uptight new partner that his chief reason for being glad to be alive, was that Jim wouldn’t blame himself for his demise.

Punched them in the face, most likely, and Jim misinterpreted the strangled huff of laughter he couldn’t hold back. He asked him, panicked, where it hurt, and when the amusement subsided to leave nothing but the fresh burn of tears, Jim breathed brokenly,

“Please, Harvey. Please don’t cry because of me.”

It only made him cry harder, powerless to stop it. Jim just sat there, gripping at his hand in silence, until the exhaustion pulled Harvey back under.

* * *

The next time he woke Jim was long gone. Alvarez came to visit instead, dealing out hands of cards and complaining about the way Tuttle was lording it over everyone in his absence.

“Now Gordon wants to swan off on vacation leave. Impeccable timing, that’s typical Gordon.”

Harvey dredged up a hollow chuckle for the sarcasm, and hoped the disappointment wasn’t written all over his face. This was the first he had heard of it. Jim must have tracked Lee down already. Was going to go and make some overblown statement, then spend a week or so in bed sealing the deal.

He looked down to realize he was creasing up the playing cards, his grip was so tight.

Lucius filled in some of the detail for him. Said that Jim had been hassling the mechanics about when the car would be fixed, and Harvey was glad to know he was still capable of a real spark of anger. It was his damn car.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Lucius protested, holding his hands up, and Harvey wished he had one of his hip flasks.

“That boy’s a glutton for punishment,” Alfred commented when he came to visit, still feeling the effects of his own near death experience. “Haven’t you tried to talk some sense into him?”

“What can I do?” Harvey asked miserably. “Jim never listens to a word I say.”

Alfred just looked at him appraisingly, reading more of the situation than Harvey had ever intended. He put a hand on Harvey’s shoulder as he stood to leave, paused for a moment and then said quietly,

“He might surprise you.”

The words preoccupied him for the rest of the day. They made him question whether or not he was making the right decision, because Lee made Jim miserable. She had wanted him, if not dead, then to suffer long before the influence of the virus, and who was to say that they wouldn’t revert immediately to form, bringing out the very worst in each other?

It was his duty, surely, as Jim’s friend to prevent him falling back into a relationship that was doomed to failure.

Then again, perhaps he was just selfish.

He wanted Jim all to himself.

He wanted to give Jim yet another chance to choose her over him, in the hope that if he chose her at least it might finally be enough to prove to him that he needed to get over Jim Gordon.

Jim turned up right at the end of the allotted visiting hours, pulling the privacy curtain around the bed and dropping a paper bag stuffed full of candy to the table.

“I thought you’d appreciate it more than flowers,” he said with a shrug, and Harvey wanted nothing more than to pull him in close by his tie and kiss him in gratitude. A couple of weeks ago he would have done just that, certain that such a move would be welcome.

Now he didn’t know what Jim wanted, the memories of Jim kissing Lee on the platform all too vivid. Jim might come back to him if by some miracle she decided she didn’t want him. Or he might want a clean break, a fresh start, and suddenly Harvey couldn’t take the not knowing any longer. Brought up the car, and the request for leave, and watched as Jim’s face fell.

As Jim dropped into the seat beside by the bed and said, “I was going to tell you. I was planning to go by train, first, but then you, you know, collapsed and the car seemed a better idea.”

Harvey felt sure he was gaping. Was staring like a total idiot, because he had been hoping for an apology. Would have settled for Jim looking a little uncomfortable. Instead Jim was sat there admitting that him being in hospital was a fortuitous development that meant he wouldn’t have to slum it on public transport.

Jim kept talking, apparently oblivious,

“I wanted to go for a week but Tuttle says the best he can do is four days. It’ll still be good though. I mean, we’ll be out of Gotham, and that’s the main thing.”

“Hmmm,” Harvey managed, or something he hoped was approaching it. It was a tough ask, really, because Jim was smiling that soft happy smile, the one that he habitually bestowed upon him when they were lying wrapped around each other in his bed, warm and contented.

It tore at something deep within him, seeing it there for someone else entirely.

“Have you got a suitcase I can borrow?” Jim asked then, like it wasn’t the final indignity, and Harvey might have said something he regretted, if the nurse hadn’t come around and ordered Jim off her ward that very instant.

Jim pouted but did as he was told. Stole a piece of candy from the bag he had brought and said around a parting grin, as though he hadn’t kicked a broken man while he was down,

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Harvey discharged himself the following morning. It was only a day earlier than scheduled and, besides, he couldn’t spend the day alternately twiddling his thumbs and fighting back the urge to sob into his pillow.

He needed a distraction. Stopped off for a pint or two at one of his favorite dive bars, and it was a probably - definitely - a bad idea, because he was still on a lot of medication and he ended up sobbing messily into the shoulder of one of the girls he had once been a regular of.

“Come on, Bullock, pull yourself together,” she urged, clearly uncomfortable. “Call your boyfriend to pick you up or something.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he countered, because yesterday had been the clincher, and because they had never once discussed labels anyway. Had never really discussed their relationship at all, and maybe Jim didn’t even realize he would be upset over what was happening because he had made the mistake of not informing Jim he would get down on one knee right in the middle of the bullpen if he thought it was what Jim wanted.

Somehow that thought lead to him dialling Jim’s number, and that to slurring into his handset, Jim berating him soundly for being an idiot. He was still talking, still out of it, when he looked up to see Jim walking through the bar door, cell pressed tight to his ear.

“You’re here,” Harvey managed, dumbstruck, and Jim just curled his fingers tight in Harvey’s coat lapels and pointed out,

“I’ve been saying I’m on my way for the last ten minutes.”

The journey back to his apartment was a blur. One minute he was teetering on a bar stool telling Jim he had pretty eyes, and the next he was on his sofa with a glass of water in his hand and Jim knelt at his feet, tugging his shoes off.

“- can’t believe you’d be this stupid,” Jim was saying, clearly in the middle of a rant that had been going for some time. “Do you have a death wish, is that it?”

“You’re one to talk!”

It was the wrong move, Jim’s attention snapping to him in a way that suggested he hadn’t said anything that made sense for some considerable time.

“At least when I ignore doctor’s orders, I have a good reason. I don’t just do it for the sake of it.”

Jim was right, probably. Saving lives and busting bad guys were pretty good reasons for carrying on like he didn’t have a broken bone or a gaping wound, or a likely concussion to deal with. Still, Harvey thought he was entitled to the odd act of reckless stupidity. Just to balance the scales a bit.

“I drink to forget,” Harvey quoted and Jim looked so hurt he wished he had kept his big mouth shut.

He had pledged not to make Jim’s life difficult, no matter who he chose.

“I know you’re still angry with me,” Jim said quietly, “and you have every right to be. But I never meant to hurt you, I swear.”

It was too much. The very worst kind of platitude.

“I’ll get over it,” he assured, all the same. “It just might take me a while.”

“I’ll never hurt you again,” Jim said, those big blue eyes gazing up at him, and Harvey let his own eyes fall closed and his head tip back against the sofa cushions.

He didn’t want to think about what Jim could do that would hurt more than this did.

After that he spaced out again for a while. Must have done, because when he was once more aware of his surroundings he was in bed, stripped down to nothing but his underwear, shivering. Jim was curled up in the space next to him, all the blankets wound around him, and Harvey studied how relaxed, how peaceful, he looked even as his own head pounded.

Eventually the cold forced him into action. Had him tugging at the covers and Jim only groaned and burrowed in tighter. He played dirty, slipping icy fingers along the nape of Jim’s neck, and Jim squirmed and complained and finally woke up enough to realize what was happening.

“You’re freezing!” Jim chided, as though it wasn’t his fault, and instead of asking what Jim was doing in his bed, or what it meant for the future, Harvey just enjoyed the way Jim yelped when he tangled his cold legs with Jim’s.

Sighed happily when Jim all but draped himself over him, careful of the tender flesh on his other side, expanses of hot soft skin pressed against his own. He buried his nose in Jim’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. Jim was safe, whole, alive. He wound his arms around him and pushed all his worries, all their problems, aside.

If nothing else, he’d always have this moment.

* * *

Jim was gone in the morning, nothing but his lingering scent clinging to the pillows.

Harvey punched a fist into one of them, frustrated, then wished he hadn’t when it pulled at the tightness in his side. He didn’t want to end up back in hospital.

Didn’t want to do anything, really, but wallow in his own misery.

He was settling in to do just that when he heard the sound of the front door closing, and then Jim was standing in his bedroom doorway, sweat slick hair dripping in his eyes as he toed off his sneakers.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Jim summarily informed him and did just that. Re-emerged ten minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist and a pondering expression on his face as he held a couple of the shirts he kept in Harvey’s closet up for closer scrutiny.

“I like the blue one,” he offered, and Jim obliged, fingers working on the buttons as he filled him in on the details of his morning run. Rolled his eyes at Harvey’s standard protest that only a crazy person would willingly get up early to go _running_ , then finished getting dressed and handed Harvey pants and a shirt.

“Come on. If we get started now, we could be there in time for dinner.”

Harvey ignored the jibe about the slow speed at which he was moving and said calmly,

“I appreciate your faith in my devotion to duty, but I’m not going to work today. Doctor’s orders.”

Jim just frowned at him. “It’s not work, it’s fun.”

“To you, maybe. Me, I like something with more booze and less paperwork.”

“There’s no paperwork. I _might_ let you have one drink though, after yesterday, I might not.”

“I wasn’t wearing the badge,” Harvey pointed out. It wasn’t like he was bringing the GCPD into disrepute or whatever it was Jim was angling for.

“What difference would that make?”

Harvey looked at the genuine confusion on Jim’s face and felt the unease settle in his stomach.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page here. What do you want me to get dressed for?”

“Because you’re too distracting, and you’re still too ill for me to do anything about it.”

The shock must have shown on his face because Jim grinned widely. Slid a hand into his hair and kissed him sweetly, then went back to combing his own hair in the mirror.

“On the bright side,” Jim said, “this way we might actually see some of the sights. If you were well I don’t think we’d leave the hotel room.”

He really was at a loss now, mind scurrying in circles as he tried to work out what Jim was talking about. All he came up with Jim wanting him to accompany him on his quest to make things right with Lee. Wanted a shoulder to cry on when things went sour.

Wanted something substantially more x-rated by the sound of it, and it was too ludicrous. Even whacked out on the Tetch virus Jim wouldn’t expect something like that of him.

“I thought you were going to see Lee,” he said slowly. “That’s why you wanted the car fixed.”

Jim stopped what he was doing instantly. Searched his face as though he were looking for evidence that Harvey was being sincere. Crossed the room in hurried, awkward steps when he found what he was looking for, as frightened as Harvey had ever seen him.

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’d do that to her - to you?”

He couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t look away from the pain in Jim’s eyes, the anger in the set of his jaw.

“I tried to fight it. It might not have looked like it, but I did my best. It just wasn’t good enough, okay? I wasn't good enough. I can’t change that but I’m trying to make it up to you.”

Harvey gave into the urge he had had back in the hospital, taking hold of Jim’s tie and pulling him into a kiss, Jim resisting for a moment, startled, before kissing him back eagerly. Let Harvey muss his hair up all over again, and pressed a knee into the mattress beside him, his other leg between Harvey’s legs so that he was all but straddling his thigh.

It felt so good to have Jim in his arms. To taste him and touch him, and it wasn’t until he got over enthusiastic and winced visibly with the pain that Jim pulled back, flushed and panting.

“See,” Jim said, tone accusing but the blindingly happy smile spread across his face, “this is why you need to put some clothes on.”

* * *

There was plenty of time on the drive to hash over the details. How Jim had thought he was angry with him for losing control to the virus, and how he had been convinced that it was only breaking down the barriers keeping Jim from choosing what he really wanted. How they both had been making assumptions rather than simply talking to each other.

“I love her,” Jim admitted, keeping his eyes on the road, “I was going to marry her. But we’re not good for each other. She doesn’t understand me the way you do.” He glanced over at him, gaze flickering over his face before returning to the road ahead of them, “She doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

“You’re everything to me,” Harvey murmured, cheeks heating up, but Jim just beamed.

“And I’m the best cop you’ve ever worked with.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“No. I’m going to get it printed on my business cards.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You could be walking home.”

Harvey shook his head, grinning stupidly all the same. Jim wanted to be with him. Jim had chosen him. Jim had taken time off work to go on vacation with him, and it didn’t matter that it was freezing cold and their destination was only just outside the city.

It didn’t matter even that he was sickly and recovering, or that he wasn’t going to be able to drink for the duration.

He was going to spend some quality time alone with Jim, and everything else just paled into insignificance.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” Jim asked then, glancing back over at him. “More than anything.”

Harvey gripped his leg, just briefly, and slouched back into his seat feeling better than he had in a very long time.

“I’m never gonna get tired of hearing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	82. Jim's always had a thing for older guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the [commentfic prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/599693.html?thread=83615885#t83615885): _Gotham, Harvey Bullock/Jim Gordon, Jim's always had a thing for older guys._

Jim had always had a thing for older guys.

Liked guys who were taller than him, broader than him. More experienced - and not afraid to let him know it.

He had run the full gamut of inappropriate fixations too, from the boyfriend of his mother’s who was invited to Thanksgiving dinner one year, to his commanding officer back in the military. The former played dumb, awkward and faintly horrified, and the latter got him sent home in disgrace, ineligible for both benefits and entrance to the Police Academy while he waited for the decision of the review board.

Afterwards he packed his service medals away in a tin with his father’s wristwatch and his mother’s wedding ring. Stared at himself in the unflattering light of his bathroom mirror and pledged to stay away from the kind of guy who was only ever going to leave him heart broken.

Failed miserably, and had to be saved from himself by a classy blonde who handed him a champagne flute and asked if he realized he was gazing after his uniform training officer like a lovesick puppy.

“I’m flattered, really I am,” he assured later that evening, when she handed him her business card for the gallery with her personal number written along the bottom, “but I haven’t been on a date with a woman since college.”

She just waved a hand dismissively, sultry eyed and sweet smiled, and said, “I haven’t kissed a guy since high school, but I’m open minded. I like you, Jim.”

Somehow the card turned into a coffee date, which turned into lunch, then dinner, and before he knew it he was moving in to Barbara’s swanky penthouse and being asked for his input on table settings and the order of service.

He worried that it was too fast sometimes. Freaked out that he couldn’t even begin to help pay for it. Barbara simply fixed him with a look, understanding him better than he understood himself, and asked pointedly,

“Did you ever kick up a fuss when it was one of your sugar daddies picking up the tab?”

Jim felt his ears burning, embarrassed and maybe a little ashamed for being as worried about tradition as he claimed not to be. All he said was, “I’ve never had a sugar daddy.”

“With a face like yours?” Barbara commented, hands already reaching for him, “Now that is criminal.”

What really was criminal was the rampant corruption he was witnessing within the department. Bribes and bonuses and backhanders, and flagrant abuses of the system. He was going to make a difference, he told Barbara. He was going to clean up his father’s city.

They fast tracked him up from uniform. Gave him lip service that they supported him completely, then threw him to the wolves, stationing him at the worst precinct and partnering him with the poster boy for everything that was wrong with the GCPD.

The poster boy for everything he was pretending to no longer be interested in.

Because Harvey Bullock was larger than life. Had seen everything, done everything, and didn’t care a damn for his notions of personal space, resting strong arms around his shoulders and dropping to sit so close to him that their thighs pressed tight together.

It got him worked up. Got him frustrated and infuriated, because Bullock could be a good cop if he put the effort in. Because Bullock was going to be featuring in his filthy daydreams even if he didn’t. Jim couldn’t help himself. Flushed up like a lobster and squirmed about on stakeouts, telling Harvey his stories were disgusting even as he imagined the older man’s hand seeking him out to help illustrate them.

Even as he thought about being bent over the hood or pushed up against his locker. About sinking to his knees and letting Harvey use his mouth, or straddling his lap, Harvey’s fingers digging bruises into his hips as he fucked up into him.

Barbara wasn’t threatened by it. Knew it was about sex rather than love, and listened with a glint in her eye as she made him recount what it was he had been fantasising about. Repaid the favor in kind, and he was so desperately turned on that he scarcely managed to hold it together long enough to push inside her.

He made up for it with his tongue and his fingers, and Barbara writhed and moaned and told him to imagine that Harvey was watching, waiting to give him feedback on his performance.

The memory made him shiver when Harvey steered him through a crime scene with a hand at the small of his back, and Jim couldn’t remember ever being quite so infatuated, not even with the college professor he had been convinced was serious about them living happily ever after together.

The difference was that Harvey didn’t forget about him as soon as semester was over. Stuck by him even when he screwed up. Even when Barbara told him she couldn’t take any more, and when his next attempt not to fuck up his life with false promises ended even more disastrously.

He had lost himself to it - a vision of how his life could be. A vision of how his father would have wanted his life to be. He couldn’t play the role properly though. Couldn’t be what Lee needed him to be, and then she was gone and all he had left in the world was a man he had once believed hated him.

“We’re partners, Jim,” Harvey told him through a screen at Blackgate, “I’m never gonna give up on you.”

Harvey meant it, proved it, and suddenly it was more imperative than ever that Jim not fall for him. That he not let Harvey know it, at least, because he needed Harvey. Couldn’t cope without Harvey, and even if Harvey wasn’t appalled by the things Jim wanted him to do to him, he knew from experience that it would be weeks not months before Harvey grew sick of him.

Before Harvey was done with his issues, and his hang ups, and his inability to communicate.

Harvey was willing to be his friend, and Jim wasn’t going to push for more and ruin everything. Reminded himself of the decision constantly, because it would be so easy - too easy - to try in spite of it. Instead he made do with watching. Studied Harvey through lowered lashes in the locker room, and gazed openly at him when they had both been drinking, imagining what it would be like to kiss him.

To touch him, to taste him, and Jim took to thrilling every time they made bodily contact. Dreamed of being allowed to put his hands anywhere he wanted. Of slowly stripping Harvey out of his shirt and licking along the outlines of the tattoos Jim knew he was hiding under it.

He went home every night and stroked himself to the thought of it, muscles quivering and jaw clenching as he worked himself closer and closer, wishing all the while that it was Harvey’s hand instead of his own.

Harvey’s hand was bigger. Calloused in different places, and Jim swallowed thickly one lunchtime when Harvey ran a finger over the soft frosting on his donut, sucking it into his mouth like Jim wasn’t going to be replaying the image roughly every 30 seconds until he could be alone with a cold shower.

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Harvey questioned, misinterpreting the naked want on his face, and Jim just shook his head mutely, pulse racing as Harvey sucked and slurped and outright moaned through his dinner.

He came like a freight train at the memory, shaking and shuddering, and it would be all right if that was the end of it. If he wiped off his hand, rolled over and went to sleep. He didn’t though. Lay awake instead and built up a fantasy world in which Harvey was going to hold him close and kiss him. Was going to stroke those big hands down his back and tell him that he was his best friend.

That he loved him, was always going to love him, and Jim clutched at his pillow like a lifeline because nobody had ever said that to him and meant it, at least not once they realized what it entailed.

He was clingy, that was what the first guy he had ever fallen in love with had said. He wanted too much and never gave enough back. Couldn’t accept when something was over, and got overemotional instead of taking it on the chin and acting like a man. The others told him the same thing, more or less, and he was subdued and maudlin all through the following day, wondering what his life would have been like if he had shown this much self-restraint in the army.

If he had asked the head cheerleader to prom the way all her friends kept hinting she wanted, instead of trailing around devotedly after his track coach and spending the night at home nursing a broken nose for his troubles.

He never learned, never changed, and when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder at the end of the day, voice earnest and eyes kind, Jim couldn’t take it any longer.

Leaned in slow and steady, heart hammering and his breath coming shallow. Nosed against Harvey’s cheek for a moment, overcome at the heat and the scent and the closeness, before brushing their lips together.

“Jim,” Harvey breathed, and Jim couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. Moved back just enough to blink at him, and Harvey brought a hand up to cup his cheek. Gazed at him like he was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen and then they were kissing. Harvey was kissing him and Jim didn’t want it to ever end. Didn’t want to face up to reality.

But Harvey was the one who pressed close to him. The one who stroked fingers down the side of his face and acted as though he had been waiting an eternity for the opportunity. The one who asked in whispers if it was real, if he meant it, and then kissed him again, the hands Jim had spent so long thinking about roving over his back and pulling him still closer.

They broke apart at the sound of footsteps approaching the locker room, but it didn’t break the spell that had been cast over them. Harvey didn’t take back anything he had said, and he didn’t haul him off for some quick relief in a darkened corner either.

Instead Harvey took him home and lavished him with attention. Put all his experience to good use and Jim sunk his fingers deep into soft flesh, desperately turned on at having Harvey’s weight blanketed over him. At feeling pinned and vulnerable yet protected, and Harvey whispered secrets in his ear about how often he had thought of this, and how long he had wanted to be allowed to take care of him.

Jim knew he should rile at that. Knew that he would, again and again, even as he craved it more than anything because that was the type of the person he was. Because he couldn't quit destroying all the good things that had ever happened to him. Harvey only kissed the worry from his lips and said sincerely,

“There’s nothing you can do that will stop me looking out for you. No matter what, I’m gonna be here for you.”

It was everything he had ever wanted to hear. Everything he had never realized he had been waiting for. It was enough to have him feeling secure enough to lose control. To arch and writhe and whimper, and beg Harvey to kiss him, even as he tangled his fingers tight in Harvey’s hair and plead desperately for him not to stop moving.

Harvey managed both, cradling the back of his head with one hand and bracing himself with the other, rocking into him so perfectly that Jim nearly sobbed as he came apart. Harvey hitched his sweat slick thighs higher and Jim gave all the encouragement he could, petting at Harvey’s hair when the older man finally slumped against him.

“You sure you’re okay about this?” Harvey asked later, arms wrapped tight around him. “I mean, I’m not your usual type.”

Jim just smiled into Harvey’s chest and pressed ever so slightly closer.

“I don't think that's going to be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	83. Tetch Virus AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny AU ficlet where Harvey couldn't get through to Jim.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” the new ME warns and Jim does his best to brace himself.

Sucks in a shuddering breath and squares his shoulders. He has to do this.

He owes it to Harvey.

The sheet is pulled back and Jim sways. Presses a shaking hand to his mouth, just for a moment, before regaining control.

‘There sure as hell ain’t gonna be an open casket.’ That’s what Harvey would have said, were he here. ‘That’s not a parting image anybody wants to live with.’

Jim forces himself to take in every detail. The cuts and the bruising and the horrific skull fracture. The dead eyes staring but unseeing, and the memory of the gush of hot blood over his fist.

The tears on Harvey’s face and the sound of screaming all around him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” that’s what people keep saying, well meaning but ultimately unhelpful, “It was the virus.”

They forget that he chose to inject himself. That he chose to refuse the vaccine.

That he took the undeserved devotion for granted, over and over again, and that he would give anything to go back and assure the other man that he was truly grateful.

“He wouldn’t blame you,” that's what Harvey’s next of kin tell him, people he had never met and never once taken the time to inquire about, “He thought the world of you.”

Jim doesn’t know how. Can’t understand why.

Leans in carefully and brushes his lips against Harvey’s ice cold skin, a silent promise that some day, somehow, he will prove himself worthy of the faith Harvey placed in him.

Harvey would have forgiven him anything.

All Jim can do is hope that one day he’ll be able to forgive himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	84. Playing To Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP - Harvey is surprised by Jim's porn collection.

Jim Gordon’s porn stash was a revelation.

It wasn’t as though Harvey had been looking for it, not specifically, but he wasn’t exactly surprised to come across the collection either. Jim had been single for a long time now and even a boy scout needed some kind of stress relief.

Even Gotham’s golden boy had his secrets, apparently, because Harvey was trying to help. Had been hanging up the newly - mostly - blood free shirt Jim had left at his place in Jim’s closet, killing the time until Jim was back from his Police Union meeting, and it turned out Jim appreciated his helping hand more than he imagined.

At least that was the conclusion he couldn’t help coming to because Jim’s dirty magazines had a definite theme to them. Explained, perhaps, why Jim had turned down the advances of the pretty new desk sergeant in favor of watching TV and drinking cheap beer on his sofa.

Why somebody with a face like Jim’s was handing over a key to his apartment and telling Harvey to drop by any time.

It got Harvey hoping, praying, that the heated glances he had written off as wishful thinking had been real, and that he wasn’t completely misreading the situation.

He pushed one of the videos stashed with the magazines into the player, seeking further evidence, and the rush of blood southwards had his head spinning. Had him sitting heavily on Jim’s couch, overwhelmed at the idea of Jim in that very spot, legs spread wide as he worked himself to the sight and sound of an athletic looking blond begging a portly middle aged man with a beard to fuck him harder.

The tape was still running when Jim walked through the door and the flush that spread across Jim’s face only made him harder. Only made him want Jim more, and when their gaze met the temperature in the room seemed to notch up a few degrees.

Jim wanted this, wanted _him_ , and Harvey scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice as he managed,

“I thought you could use some company this evening.”

On the TV the guys were groaning, panting, and suddenly Jim was moving, shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it to the floor as he walked, like he wasn’t usually infuriatingly fastidious. Harvey didn’t pull him up on it. Just watched, slack jawed, as Jim dropped to his knees, those big blue eyes looking up at him adoringly as his hand sought out the erection straining against the front of his slacks.

“Oh God,” he groaned, helpless, as Jim’s thumb caught against the head of his cock, the touch almost too much even through the fabric, and then he was surging forward, capturing Jim’s mouth in a desperate kiss.

Jim returned his enthusiasm twice over. Moaned and whimpered and let out breathy little gasps, and if this was how Jim reacted to being kissed, Harvey didn’t know how he’d survive Jim’s response to his mouth on his dick.

He was going to have to wait to find out, it seemed, because Jim was tugging at his belt buckle like a man on a mission. Was kissing up the length of his dick like it was a religious experience, and Harvey could hardly bear it, couldn’t quit talking, because it was like all his fantasies come true, except better. #

“You gotta stop, Jim. You gotta get up here before I bust in that pretty mouth of yours.”

Jim whined like he was on the edge himself, his mouth only getting wetter, sinking lower, and Harvey had to physically haul him up and into his lap before it was all over.

“Please,” Jim begged against his lips as they kissed again, “touch me, Harvey. Please.”

He did his best to oblige. Yanked at Jim’s clothing in a frenzy and smeared his thumb through plentiful pre-come, working it in teasing circles around the head of his dick as Jim tipped his head back and made just as much noise as any porn video. The video that started it was still going, and Harvey shivered when he caught sight of the screen over Jim’s shoulder.

Had a fair idea what it was Jim liked so much about it, and was plenty happy to re-enact the details, stroking his hands up Jim’s neck and tenderly holding his head in place as he plundered Jim’s mouth like it belonged to him. He held Jim close, his touch adoring and possessive, and Jim was so worked up he was visibly struggling to control himself.

Was frantic and frenzied, and Harvey was swept away by the force of it, bodily manoeuvring Jim until the younger man was thrusting into his mouth, wordless cries filling the air as he sucked and fondled and pushed a spit slick finger into Jim.

Jim was coming apart at the seams, cursing and writhing and begging, and neither of them had even got their damn shoes off when Jim decided he had been tormented enough and straddled his lap with new found purpose. Harvey was the one who fumbled in his wallet, who shook and panted as he tore open the condom wrapper and rolled it down, because Jim was so far gone he couldn’t manage it.

He was just intent on kissing him, one hand tangled tight in his hair and the other holding Harvey steady as he pushed back against him. Harvey clutched at his hips, attempted to slow Jim’s progress, and Jim only bit down at his lip and clung to his back. Moved before either of them were ready for it, and Harvey was lost, his heart racing and his breathing strained as he plead with Jim to come for him because he couldn’t last much longer.

Couldn’t hold back and couldn’t hold off, and Jim twitched and shuddered in his lap, tensing up so hard it was painful as he came messily all over the pair of them.

Jim slumped against him when he was done, his eyes so dark and so glassy he looked drugged, and his shirt sweat sodden and missing half of its buttons. Harvey kissed him gently and petted at his dishevelled hair. Checked carefully that they hadn’t done any lasting damage, and shivered all over in sympathy when Jim moaned at the sensation.

The TV was playing static now and for a moment the situation seemed surreal. It was too much to wrap his head around, the whole experience too perfect to have really happened. But Jim was starting to come back to himself. Was smiling at him sheepishly and apologizing for being demanding.

“I like a man who knows what he wants,” Harvey assured, thinking about how what he wanted was a lie down in Jim’s bed and a drink and a shower - not necessarily in that order - and Jim sighed happily, stretching out a leg that was cramping,

“Good, because I like a man who can give it to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	85. Horoscopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Misunderstanding' fill for my 15 kisses prompt table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the embedded images will work - if not I've put the horoscopes in the alt img tags. Jim's birth date is Jan 5th according to Wiki, making him a Capricorn. Harvey's DOB is unknown as far as I know, but his first appearance in the comics was in June / July. I rolled with that because he is _such_ a Cancerian.

“We all know that you can achieve your goals alone, but it’s no bad thing to ask for a helping hand every once in a while. You might be surprised by what others have to contribute.”

“You know that it’s all complete rubbish,” Jim scoffed, grimacing as he took a sip of his coffee.

Harvey shrugged without looking up from the newspaper. Jim had no time for horoscopes and astrology, and Harvey credited it to the fact that Jim was a textbook Capricorn. He was ambitious, logical, stubborn. Liked to be in control at all times and struggled to trust anyone.

Acted cold and reserved but was really terrified by the strength of his own emotions, forever afraid that if he let his guard down he was going to end up being hurt badly.

It didn’t help that that could serve as a summary for all of Jim’s relationships, and Harvey knew how much it sucked to fall hard only for it to end in heartbreak. He had been doing it his entire life - was doing it right now, truth be told - and all he hoped was that when Jim found out he didn’t judge him too harshly.

“You don’t want to hear the rest of it then?”

Jim swallowed another mouthful of bitter sludge and conceded, “I didn’t say that, did I?”

Harvey allowed himself a hint of a smile and finished reading the day’s predictions. Watched Jim wander back to his own desk, shaking his head, then devoured his own horoscope.

Harvey sighed and reached for his own coffee.

It sounded about right.

* * *

“I can do it myself!”

Harvey sucked in a calming breath and counted to ten in his head. Itched to take the key from Jim’s fingers as he struggled to get the cast, and the sling, and the angle of his body to co-operate. Jim got it on the third attempt, was probably gearing up to smirk with satisfaction, then dropped the whole bunch as he fought to get the door open. They looked at each other for a moment, Harvey forcing himself to stay still and Jim battling with his stubborn streak.

“Will you get them?” Jim asked finally, voice small, and Harvey didn’t even gloat about it. Just scooped up Jim’s keys and steered him inside with a hand on his shoulder. Settled him down on the sofa and made for the kitchen before Jim changed his mind and decided he was perfectly capable of wielding a sharp knife and a saucepan.

Because Jim had had to play the hero. Again. Had been beaten black and blue for his troubles. Again.

Had fought tooth and nail to avoid a trip to the hospital, and then tried to argue that his arm couldn’t be broken because he had too much work to do.

Harvey didn’t make Jim ask again, all the same. Stuck a straw in his drink and rustled up something he could eat one handed without too much indignity, because even his good hand was in a bloody mess.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Jim said, even as he ate like he was half starved, “I would have called out for pizza or something.”

“I don’t mind,” Harvey said in turn, the words so sincere he was afraid Jim could see how desperately afraid he had been that this time it was going to be worse than broken bones and bruises. “You’d do it for me.” “

I thought you didn’t like my cooking,” Jim grinned, conjuring memories of granola and salad and chickpeas.

“Nobody likes your cooking,” Harvey assured, gently jostling Jim’s shoulder, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Very magnanimous of you.”

Harvey wished he dared reach out and stroke back the unruly strands of hair falling across Jim’s forehead, making do instead with a long pull of his beer.

“That’s just the kind of guy I am.”

* * *

 

Harvey thought of his horoscope’s advice as he checked his reflection for roughly the twelfth time that evening. He looked just the same as he had last time he peered in the mirror, and the time before that.

A grizzled old cop who had seen better days. A graying middle aged guy straining out of the confines of his rumpled suit.

An idiot who couldn’t quit dreaming, the breathless hope that this was something more than an invite to talk shop and watch sports written clear all across his face.

It sounded like a date, that was the problem. It felt like a date, even, and Harvey switched the wine bottle from his right hand to the left, banging at Jim’s door and stifling down the urge to fidget as he waited for an answer.

Jim beamed at him when he pulled the door open, taking the wine bottle graciously and ushering him over to the dining table he was sure Jim had forgotten even existed.

“I can manage,” Jim pre-empted, though his one arm was still in plaster, “just sit there a minute.”

Harvey watched openly, admiring Jim’s tenacity even as he ached with the need to be allowed to help him. To make things just that little bit easier, and offer his shoulder for Jim to lean upon. Mindful of Jim’s pride, all he did was take the proffered plate from him and sniff dubiously.

“It’s lentil curry.”

It was… something. That was all Harvey could say about it. He tried a forkful anyway, always willing to give Jim the benefit of the doubt.

This was one of those times he really shouldn’t have and at least he had had the foresight to bring alcohol. Drained practically the entire glass and let Jim pour him another one, certain that it was going to be necessary.

“I really wanted to say thank you,” Jim said earnestly, swallowing down a mouthful from his own plate like it wasn’t something that ought to be classed as a noxious substance, “I know I’ve been hard work the last few weeks.”

He had been almost unbearable the last few weeks. Had complained ceaselessly about being stuck at his desk, only to follow up a lead without sanction and almost immediately get himself tied up and beaten, the entire precinct running around like headless chickens trying to get a location on him.

Harvey secretly swore that one day he was going to get Jim chipped like a goddamned dog and save the city - and himself - a lot of stress and aggravation.

In the present he just felt his heart kind of flip flop about in his chest. Hoped Jim would blame the wine and reached a hand across the table, touching Jim’s skin just for a moment.

“You’re worth it,” he said simply, and the smile Jim gave him in response was so beautiful that rather than see it falter, Harvey scraped his plate clean and thought about the insight into Jim's psyche he had read earlier.

 

* * *

It was a stupid thing to do. It was something the fates had explicitly warned him against. Harvey got his hopes up all the same, and began taking any and every opportunity to get closer to Jim. To sit closer, to stand closer, to listen to Jim open up about what he was thinking, what his motivations were, and he started to think about outright telling Jim how desperately he loved him.

Jim wouldn’t spend all his time with him if he didn’t like him. Wouldn’t let him kiss his cheek and wrap his arm around his shoulders if the idea of their being intimate disgusted him.

Surely.

Maybe.

Harvey couldn’t help but think of it constantly. Almost cracked when Jim was shot at during a raid, and Harvey cupped Jim’s face in his palms, frantically checking him over to ensure that the graze to his side was really the full extent of the damage.

“I’m okay,” Jim told him, voice strained like he could feel the electric tension between them just as well as Harvey, “trust me.”

“Always,” Harvey breathed, not bothering to hide the tears in his eyes, and if Alvarez hadn’t blundered over at that moment and told them to get a move on, Harvey was beyond certain he would have kissed Jim.

Jim would have kissed him back, he daydreamed when they returned to the precinct. Jim would have looked up at him with those criminally pretty eyes and told him he loved him, right about the same time the pigs flew past his office window.

Still, he went to Jim’s apartment that night, beer and take out in his arms, but Jim was awkward and evasive when he opened the door. Rubbed a hand at the back of his neck when Valerie Vale appeared behind him, and Harvey stuttered his apologies and spent a long time sitting in the car, too numb to do anything.

Vale was back in Jim’s life, and it looked like he was about to be pushed out of it.

* * *

 

It was a nice sentiment. It wasn’t something he was going to be taking on board though.

Jim was out with Vale. Harvey had seen them with his own eyes, laughing over some shared joke at a swanky restaurant that wouldn’t dream of serving anyone Jim’s approximation of lentil curry.

She wouldn’t make that kind of sacrifice for Jim, Harvey thought viciously as he drained another beer bottle. She wouldn’t be thrown against two trains or sit through the annual general meeting of the Gotham Police Union.

She wouldn’t love Jim the way he did and that was the real crux of the matter.

He loved Jim.

Adored Jim.

Lived for Jim, and if Jim was going to continue spending every evening in somebody else’s company Harvey didn’t know how he was supposed to cope with it. He couldn’t even bear to hear Jim talk about Vale.

Jim kept trying regardless. Brought her up again and again, tone increasingly plaintive, and every time Harvey made some excuse as soon as her name was mentioned. Took imaginary calls and went to splash cold water on his face in the bathroom of the diner they ate lunch at the following day, rather than listen to a single detail about the time they were spending together.

He could imagine it well enough. Vale was stunning, accomplished, already knew all about the dangers of Jim’s job, and it was only natural that Jim should want her. That she should want Jim in turn, and Harvey tried to console himself with the fact that at least Vale had never attempted to kill Jim.

“You up for a drink?” He asked at the end of their shift, despite already knowing the answer, and Jim had scarcely began his apology before Harvey cut him off. He didn’t want Jim to see exactly how bad he had it. Went home instead and read Jim’s horoscope, as though it could offer him a light at the end of the tunnel.

It only made him feel worse because no matter what Jim did, no matter how bad things got, Harvey couldn’t envisage a world in which he was capable of turning his back on him.

He tried though.

Gave it his very best shot, because the alternatives were weeping into his pillow or slowly drinking himself to death.

It was a little over dramatic, maybe, but it was how he saw things.

How he imagined the future panning out, so when Jim asked him if he was busy that evening Harvey did his best to be happy when he told him that he actually was for a change. Thought of the day's horoscope and forced a smile.

He was going on a date. Had been asked on it, even, and the look of startled shock on Jim’s face cut him deeply, because he hadn’t needed to know how improbable Jim found such a prospect.

“Who? When?” Jim managed, and Harvey hated himself for the way his heart clenched at the sound of disappointment in Jim’s voice. Jim wanted some company, not his stifling attentions. “Is it serious?”

“Maybe,” Harvey lied, because Cheryl seemed nice enough, ideal in another life perhaps, but she wasn’t Jim and he was under no illusions as to how long he would be able to stop caring about that for. “I don’t want to be a third wheel to you and Vale, do I?”

The joke fell flat, or it would have done if another catastrophe hadn’t demanded their attention, and when he made stilted small talk with Cheryl later that evening he couldn’t stop thinking about what Jim was doing.

* * *

 It was still early when he called it a night. When he played dumb at the blatant invitation in his date’s voice, and kissed her chastely on the cheek.

When he crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if this was his punishment for every blind eye he had turned, and every Sunday morning service he had chosen to sleep through.

The next day he went through the motions. Washed and dressed and chewed a piece of toast without tasting it. Made it through his morning briefing then sat at his desk unable to remember a single word anyone had spoken.

“You read the paper yet?” Jim asked when he brought a pile of paperwork in that he needed to sign off on, and Harvey shook his head though it was long past the time he’d have usually covered it in pastry crumbs.

“Why? Any developments I should know about?”

Jim didn’t meet his eye as he swept his notes back together.

“No reason.”

It piqued his interest all the same and he quickly scanned the pages. Sneered at the column written by the city’s latest Mayor, and boggled at the idiocy of the regular letter writers. Shook his head at the sensationalist headlines penned by the crime reporters, and pretended not to be moved by a tale of an injured child and a plucky animal.

He was going to ignore the horoscopes. Jim was right. It was nothing but rubbish.

Except it was either that or start on the latest inter-departmental budget report, and he gave in easily. Frowned in confusion because he had been turning to this page first in the Gazette for years, and never once had he seen a horoscope encouraging readers to seek out a specific part of the paper.

Page thirteen wasn’t particularly interesting, at least not at first glance. Closer inspection revealed a by line by Valerie Vale and, though he riled at the idea, he read the article, understanding slowly settling over him as he made his way through an expose of the illegal trade in drugs and imported antiques at the city’s high class restaurants.

Jim had been working with Vale, not sleeping with her. Had been trying to tell him so from the very beginning and Harvey looked up to see Jim stood anxiously in his office doorway.

“I didn’t realize you thought me and Vale were,” he inclined his head, “you know. I thought you were just upset I kept bailing on you.”

“When am I ever upset at you?” Harvey asked, still attempting to process what was happening. To work out whether it could mean what he wanted it to. “Enough to let you know it, anyway.”

Jim smiled at that, the expression transforming his face.

“I told her she owed me a favor.”

“Yeah?” Harvey queried, wondering if the time he had almost got her killed had come up in retaliation. Jim just closed the door and came over to lean on the edge of his desk. Reached out determinedly and watched the movement of his own hand intently, pushing Harvey’s hair back behind his ear.

“I thought it would be romantic. You’re supposed to like that.”

Jim sounded so earnest. Looked so very serious.

Harvey could picture him poring over some astrology handbook, making copious notes and not grasping any of the fun of the thing, and he had to catch Jim’s retreating hand. Had to press a kiss to his knuckles, his own thumb rubbing over a faint scar, because he was so happy and needed Jim to know it.

“You know that I’m ridiculously in love with you, right?”

Jim beamed at him. Glanced over at the window blinds and pressed a hurried kiss to his lips in acknowledgement.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Harvey grinned stupidly, besottedly, and didn’t give voice to the cheesy line about it being written in the stars.

He had to save something for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	86. AU - Jim refused the virus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - _If you're ever short on Gordlock material, think about an AU where Jim doesn't take the virus and Harvey finds him and they dig him up and Jim isn't breathing and Harvey spills all of his feelings and surprise Jim is alive and he maybe heard a little of what his partner said?_

“Jim? Jim! Speak to me, please, buddy.”

There was still nothing, no response, and Harvey prayed to God it meant the batteries in the walkie talkies were dead because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Because Jim was refusing to use the only escape route available to him, and Harvey couldn’t dwell on that because he had to keep it together. He had a bomb due to go off in less than twenty minutes, a missing child, and holding cells crammed full of deranged and dangerous criminals. He was in charge, the responsibility rested on his shoulders, and the idea made him feel so sick it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

To not break down and sob into someone’s - anyone’s - shoulder, because this was his fault. He had never realized what she was capable of, had never believed anyone who felt the way he did about Jim could willingly hurt him, and now he was facing the prospect of paying the ultimate price for it.

“I’ve got something!” One of the dog handlers yelled, and Harvey ran like he wasn’t overweight and over the hill, exhausted from the ground they had already covered.

The earth was freshly turned over and the bloodhounds were excited, panting hard and thumping their tails, and Harvey knew that this was their only chance. If this wasn’t it, if this wasn’t the right spot, they would be resuming the search with cadaver dogs.

“Jim!” He yelled, as though Jim was about to answer him, and when the guys with the shovels weren’t quick enough, he went at it with his bare hands like a man possessed. Clawed and huffed and dripped with sweat, breath billowing in the freezing winter air.

There was no time for niceties, no time to make a clean job of it, and when they finally hit wood Harvey just smashed the blade of the shovel into the edge of the coffin over and over again, prying the opening wider as soon as it fractured.

Jim was too young to die. Jim had too much he still needed to do. Had too many people who were still relying on him.

He was the first thing Harvey thought about on waking, and the last thing he thought about at night. He was the sole reason he continued to breathe in and out, that was how Harvey felt most days, and a world without him wasn’t one Harvey wanted to be part of.

“Is he?” Someone asked, the sound distant and somehow unreal, and Harvey stared dumbly for a moment. Watched as his fingers left behind smears of dirt on the unblemished skin of Jim’s neck, his entire hand trembling as his mind struggled to process the fact he had failed to find a pulse. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t make himself move, even, and somebody else had to guide him up and out of the hole, to give the guys enough space to lift Jim’s body free.

It hit him then.

Jim was dead, gone, nothing but an empty shell left behind, and Harvey didn’t understand how he could still look so beautiful when all the things that made him who he was were lost forever. His dry humor and his pig headed stubbornness. His sense of right and wrong, and the smile that could brighten the very darkest days.

He was crying, he realized. Sobbing, helpless, and he didn’t know what he was saying as he helped lay Jim out on the frozen ground, only that words were spilling from his lips unbidden. That the guys around him were looking away, uncomfortable, in an attempt to give him some degree of privacy.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t care who knew what Jim meant to him.

Had meant to him.

He had never had the courage to tell Jim himself, and now he would never get the chance anyway.

“If you leave now there’s time to get to the station,” someone said, a pitying hand on his shoulder, and Harvey nodded. Paused only to scrub his sleeve across his face and brush his lips against Jim’s forehead.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he managed, his throat raw with emotion, and walked away without looking back.

There was nothing more he could do for Jim.

* * *

He was too late for a second time, the virus rampaging through the city, and Harvey didn’t think he could withstand another delivery of bad news. Glanced up at Lucius’ approach with wary eyes, waiting to hear how bad it was, but the other man was struggling to say whatever it was he needed to, visibly fighting for composure.

“Just spit it out,” Harvey consoled, noticing for the first time that the knees of his pants were caked in mud. “We’ll deal with it.”

Lucius shook his head, frantic, managing finally, “It’s Gordon.”

Harvey felt his heart seize, the horror of it hitting him all over again, but Lucius was still talking.

“He’s alive.”

The journey to the hospital was a blur. The explanations of the harried medical staff only so much noise in his ear. All he could focus on was Jim. He was so pale and so silent, hooked up to tubes and monitors and God only knew what. Harvey ignored every warning he was given not to get his hopes up, dismissed all the worst case scenarios.

Jim was alive. Everything else was just details.

They got through the outbreak of the Tetch virus. Not as quickly as they might have with Jim on their side, perhaps, but they managed it all the same. Distributed the vaccine and dealt with the clean up, and moved on to the next crisis, and the next and the next, and the one after that.

Jim lay stagnant through each of them, an unresponsive audience to Harvey’s daily visits. He was at Jim’s bedside every moment he could spare, not caring what anybody said or thought about his faith in the idea that Jim was listening to what he was saying. That one day he was going to walk into the hospital and find Jim awake, gaze focused and aware of his surroundings.

The doctors continued to advise against it. Pointed out the prolonged lack of oxygen and the delay in medical treatment, because he hadn’t been the only who had given Jim up for dead. They told him that if Jim did wake up he might not walk again. Might never speak and might not even be capable of feeding himself. Harvey shrugged it off and told them that it didn't make any difference.

He would have stood by Jim if he had injected the virus and become a murderous monster, and he would stand by him if he needed his care for the rest of his life.

“He would do it for me,” he said simply, when questioned on the subject, and people began to abandon their attempts to discourage him. Left him to his improbable fantasies, and Harvey talked it all out with Jim instead. Assured him that no matter what, no matter how bad the damage was, he would be there for him.

Cracked bad jokes about the day’s events and kept him up to date with the gossip from the precinct. Read aloud from tedious GPU circulars because he knew Jim would be interested, and left cassette tapes for the times he couldn’t be there, because he didn’t like the thought of Jim lying alone in silence.

“I love you, Jim,” he promised at the end of each and every visit, petting at Jim’s hair and brushing the backs of his fingers along Jim’s cheekbones, “all you gotta do is wake up for me.”

* * *

The day Jim squeezed at his fingers Harvey knew his hope had been justified. He didn’t have the words to explain it, not when there was still such a very long way to go, but he slept better than he had in weeks anyway. Got out of bed in the morning with a new found sense of determination, and started working with HR to recruit his own replacement because Jim was going to need a lot of support to get back on his feet again.

It was all in place by the time Jim blinked at him, eyes focused, and attempted to get his voice to co-operate.

“Take it easy,” Harvey soothed, even as he pounded at the call button, “it’s okay, I’m got going anywhere.”

It was slow going, Jim’s frustration obvious even before he could begin to verbalize it. Moving exhausted him, and the twitching and the tremors in his limbs infuriated him. He threw his breakfast to the floor when he couldn’t get the spoon to his mouth, and then shed hot angry tears when he couldn’t remember the words he needed to apologize for it.

“If it tastes as bad as it looks,” Harvey said easily, and scooped the mess onto the overbed table, “I don’t blame you. I’ll sneak you in one of those birdseed bars you like tomorrow.”

“Not. Birdsssd.” Jim managed peevishly, slowly forming the words, and Harvey beamed at the glimpse of the Jim he had fallen so desperately in love with. Went about the rest of the day with renewed vigour, happy and joking and supportive, and Jim reached for his arm when it was time for him to leave.

Gripped at his hand tightly and looked at him with wet eyes as he carefully sounded out,

“Thank you, Harvey.”

Harvey pulled him into a crushing hug. Held him close for long moments, swallowing back his own tears, and couldn’t help the kisses he pressed into Jim’s hairline. Stroked his hands gently up and down Jim’s back and had to force himself to finally pull away, and let Jim get some rest.

That night Harvey dared to make concrete plans for the first time since he had broken the lid of Jim’s coffin open. Began to think about bringing Jim home and everything it would entail. Started to hope that Jim really was going to make a full recovery, and that one day they might be working alongside each other again at the precinct.

One day he might finally - _finally_ \- work up the courage to tell Jim how he felt while the other man was conscious. How he was always going to feel, because every step Jim took only made Harvey fall that little harder for Jim’s drive and his determination. Every obstacle Jim overcame, every victory he secured, just served as validation for the unwavering faith Harvey had chosen to place in him.

He still broached the subject carefully, afraid Jim might resent his interference. Jim smiled though. Agreed to move in with him without hesitation, and Harvey rambled about how it would get Jim out of hospital sooner, and how much money it would save Jim. 

“I like spending time with you,” Jim said simply, and Harvey didn't trust himself to speak without giving away exactly how much it meant to him. 

Jim was making clear progress. He argued stubbornly with the doctors about his treatment plan, and complained bitterly when the new Captain refused to provide him with any of the official files for the case he had been channelling his energy into from his hospital bed. Harvey called in a few favors and got him them anyway, and it was worth having to sit through a three hour update on Tuttle’s latest problems if it meant Jim smiling up at him.

It was still hard going, all the same. Jim’s temper was closer to the surface than it had been before, fired up with the constant frustration of not being able to live up to the high expectations he placed on himself, and his short term memory seemed to come and go at random. He tired easily and had panic attacks. Didn’t want to be alone, not even for a moment, for days at a time, then just as suddenly couldn’t bear company, demanding Harvey stop smothering him.

He had nightmares and blackouts and even with the physiotherapy wasn’t always steady on his feet. Occasionally lost his balance for no apparent reason, and almost gave Harvey a heart attack when he collapsed down a flight of steps at the City Park, his legs giving out from under him.

“I’m fine,” Jim snapped, embarrassed when Harvey fussed and flustered, and for once Harvey couldn’t control his own response, his tone harsh as he countered,

“You don’t know what hidden damage you might have done. I thought you were dead when I opened that coffin, Jim. We all did. I had already said goodbye to you. Don’t you understand that?”

Jim fell quiet, went still, like all the fight had drained out of him. Leaned heavily against him all through the short walk back to the apartment, and didn’t argue when Harvey guided him over to sit on the couch, hands lingering because he needed the proof that Jim was safe and secure and whole.

“You told me you were sorry when you pulled me free,” Jim said from nowhere, “like it was your fault somehow.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone,” Harvey said, voice strained with the honesty, “I should have realized how far gone she was.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jim stated, clearly appalled at his reasoning. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here now.” He fidgeted and then met his gaze, jaw set like he was going into battle, “If you hadn’t promised you’d be waiting, I don’t know if I would have tried so hard to wake up from it.”

Harvey frowned at that. He sure as hell hadn’t told Jim about how soppy and sentimental he had gotten on those hospital visits. He hadn’t wanted to put another burden on Jim’s shoulders. Jim swallowed thickly, but didn’t look away.

“Do you still mean what you said? I’ll understand if you don’t - I know,” he trailed off, tried again, “I know I’m not the person I used to be.”

“You are,” Harvey countered, drawn closer to Jim like a magnet, “you might not think it, but you haven’t lost any of the things that make you who you are. You’re still the best friend I’ve ever had, Jim. You’re the best cop I’ve ever worked with. And your career isn’t over. Far from it. You're gonna end up Commissioner one day and you'll be giving speeches at fancy dinner parties about the time you came back from the dead.”

Jim’s face softened, the smile that curled across his face pulling hard at Harvey’s heart.

It made his pulse speed up, his stomach fluttering, because Jim was reaching for him. Was touching his face, fingers tender, and it was like a scene out of one of Harvey's favorite daydreams. Except better, so much better, because Jim brushed their lips together and whispered solemnly,

“If I do, it'll only be because I want to tell everyone about the man who saved me.”

That, he decided, was a compromise he could live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	87. No Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More misunderstanding fic - I was toying around with the idea of Harvey having grown up step-kids again. :)

Harvey had to be home, he just had to be. That was what Jim thought as he made his way through the darkened city streets, hands pushed deep into his pockets. The air was freezing, filthy puddles of slush everywhere, and all Jim could think about was the warmth of Harvey’s apartment.

The warmth of Harvey himself, because things had finally shifted between them. Harvey had kissed him. Had held him close and stoked his ego, and told him that he had been waiting years for the chance to do so.

It made Jim pick up his pace, eager to be back in Harvey’s arms where it wouldn’t matter that he had failed to find a single witness willing to talk to him. Where it wouldn’t matter that he ached all over, the after effects of his latest beating making him wince with every step.

Harvey would do his best to kiss it better. Would offer him drinks and ointment for the pain just the same as he always had, except now he might rub it in for him. Might coddle him, just a little, and Jim wasn’t too proud to admit that right now that was exactly what he wanted.

The elevator in Harvey’s building was out of order, again, and Jim trudged his way up the stairs, heart rate picking up as he got closer to closer to his destination. But when he knocked at the door there was no answer. Dialling Harvey’s number resulted in the same outcome and he hesitated for a long moment in the hallway, wondering how desperate it would be if he slumped against the door and waited.

Instead he tried knocking again, louder this time, and he was about to leave when the sound of the chain being pulled back caught his attention. When the door opened and Jim felt his cheeks flame, even as a sick feeling pooled in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah?” A young woman asked, all dishevelled red hair and an oversized GCPD t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. “Can I help you?”

Jim shook his head, taking in the details of the scene even as the realization of why Harvey had been too busy to answer both the door and his cell hit him. The freckles visible on the woman’s collarbone and the length of her mostly bare legs. The drinks and the take out strewn over the coffee table in the background, and Harvey’s coat and hat flung over the back of one of the armchairs.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim managed, suddenly frantic to get away. “It’s nothing.”

He didn’t waste time. He had no intention of hanging around to hear Harvey’s justifications, and he didn’t wait long enough to hear his partner’s voice call out and ask who was at the door.

He had misread the situation. Had messed up, just the same as usual, and Jim drained a large tumbler of whiskey when he finally made it home. Curled up on his side under his blankets and refused to acknowledge the dampness of the pillow under his cheek.

At least this way he wouldn’t have chance to ruin everything there could have been between them.

* * *

Harvey rang him in the morning. Had been calling him all morning, judging by his missed calls list, but Jim just let it ring through to voicemail. It was his day off, Harvey’s too, and while normally he would be counting down the minutes until he could be in the older man’s company, today he didn’t want to deal with it.

He didn’t want to hear about how Harvey had changed his mind, or how their arrangement was only ever meant to be casual. He didn’t want to think about how many other people Harvey had slept with in the short time they had been together, and whether or not he had paid all of them for the privilege.

He didn’t want to do anything, but he forced himself to wash and dress anyway. Forewent breakfast and left his cellphone on the kitchen counter though he couldn’t remember the last time he had been willingly parted from it.

It was strangely freeing, liberating, and Jim stared out over the City Park and thought about how the precinct could be burning, the entire city crumbling, and he would still be none the wiser. Not until it was too late, at any rate.

A sudden burst of laughter pulled him from his maudlin thoughts, and Jim watched as a couple passed him by, hands tangled together and adoring smiles on their faces. It was what he had always wanted - all he had ever wanted, really. To love and be loved in return, safe in the knowledge that their partnership made them stronger, rather than having no choice but to watch as he destroyed the traits he had fallen in love with the first place.

He had loved Barbara’s commitment to doing what she thought was right, and he had loved Lee’s sweet nature. He loved Harvey for his honesty and loyalty, and perhaps it didn’t matter that the intimacy between them was new - his influence was already evident, the creeping tendrils of sickness chipping away at Harvey’s better nature. A virus for which there was no cure.

With that he couldn’t keep away from the topic any longer. Tormented himself instead with comparisons and outlandish speculation, because she had been everything Harvey liked in a woman. She wasn’t likely to have thrown Harvey into a train carriage, or forgotten to mention there was a hitman with a mark on her head either. She wasn’t a needy mess who freaked out every time their relationship geared up a notch because she didn’t have the first clue what she was doing.

There was no contest, really, and Jim threw his untouched coffee into the first bin he came across.

Walked aimlessly until his morning painkillers had completely worn off, and he couldn’t ignore the biting pain in his legs and his sides. He went home then, though it had never felt much like a place which deserved the title, and some part of him was disappointed not to find anyone waiting for him.

Not to find a note stuck to his door, or a card pushed under it as an apology. He supposed it wasn’t an occasion Hallmark provided for -

_Sorry for breaking your heart. Better luck next time._

His phone was where he had left it and he deleted the messages waiting for him without reading them. He would get to hear it all from the horse’s mouth tomorrow.

* * *

“Jim, don’t go AWOL on me like that again,” was how Harvey greeted him the following morning, the concern in his eyes hurting more than outright indifference, “I thought you were going to come over yesterday? I even bought some of that God awful juice you like.”

“I was busy,” Jim managed, voice strained, and willed the conversation to be over. He wasn’t ready for it.

Was never going to be ready for it, probably, because he was in so much deeper than he had first realized. It hadn’t been long, perhaps, but he had been certain things would be different this time. He had been sure that what he had with Harvey was going to go the distance.

He loved Harvey, needed Harvey, and as the day wore on Jim’s stance on the subject began to waver because maybe he would be willing to share, if only it meant he didn’t have to go back to being on his own again. He couldn’t give it up, now he knew what it felt like to have all of Harvey’s devotion trained upon him. To fall asleep with Harvey’s arms around him, and to wake up to find their legs tangled together.

Harvey kept finding excuses to approach his desk. Kept giving him easy ins to talk about what was bothering him, but Jim played on his own innate stubbornness and ignored each and every one of them. Resolutely talked shop and ensured that his in-tray was never anything but overflowing.

“Can we talk, Jim?” Harvey asked finally, despondently, and Jim’s insides squirmed with trepidation even as he agreed to meet up when they were done for the day.

He wished he hadn’t when the end of his shift was imminent. He didn’t trust himself not to say something he would later regret. Not to do something that would drive a truly permanent wedge between them, like begging to know why he wasn’t enough, or offering to be part of a threesome he likely wouldn’t manage to perform in.

Harvey filled the silence with nervous chatter, all the way back to his apartment, and Jim had a moment of deja vu as he stood in the hallway waiting for Harvey to open the door, wondering if it would be better if he had never found out and was still living in blissful ignorance.

He would have made the connection sooner or later, he thought numbly, because there was the faintest hint of perfume lingering in the air, and across the room he could see a glass with lipstick stains Harvey hadn’t yet bothered to wash up.

“Do you want something to drink?” Harvey asked, clearly procrastinating. “You hungry at all?”

“I didn’t think you’d be busy Wednesday night,” Jim said, desperate to get it over with, “I’ll make sure I ring first in future.”

“You know you’re always welcome, Jim,” Harvey countered, as though he hadn’t alluded to anything, “you don’t have to make an appointment.”

Jim blinked at him, anger beginning to mix with the despair in his chest because Harvey wasn’t even apologizing.

“I don’t like to interrupt,” Jim pressed, and he focussed on the pain in his side to power his speech, rather than the ache in his heart, “two’s company and three’s a crowd, isn’t that the saying?”

Harvey had the good grace to look away at last. Raked a hand through his hair and sighed, “You don’t have to try and sugarcoat it, I know what the real issue is. It’s okay, Jim, I don’t blame you. It is a big age gap and,” he shrugged, all the fight apparently drained out of him, “Neave said you didn’t look exactly thrilled at the reminder.”

It was too much. Hit him everywhere it hurt and he was on his feet before he could stop himself. Couldn’t help the way his throat constricted or the stupid tears burning in his eyes, and he couldn’t help the vicious way he shoved at Harvey’s chest either, right up in his face as he hissed,

“She’s not that much younger than me. It’s bad enough that you brought her here, and now you’re telling me it’s because I’m too old for you!”

He was breathing hard, shaking, fighting back the urge to hit something, break something, anything to put an end to the raging swirl of confusion in his head. He didn’t understand how he could have been so wrong, how he could have so fundamentally misunderstood the man in front of him.

Harvey was just frowning at him, shock at his outburst slowly giving way to something else, and Jim didn’t know what to do when Harvey started laughing. Couldn’t deal with the rejection and the humiliation, couldn’t stay a moment longer - but Harvey was tugging at his arm. Pulled him down onto the couch, almost in his lap near enough, and questioned bluntly,

“Did you not listen to any of the messages I left you? Wait until I tell Neave about this.”

That was just charming, really. The final indignity. Except Harvey’s hands were tender where they were stroking at his neck. Where they were cupping his jaw and rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his back.

“I’ve done some questionable things in my time,” Harvey said, a smile on his face and a glint of amusement in his eye, “but I have never wanted to sleep with my own step-daughter. I really hope you trust me on that.”

“Step-daughter?” Jim echoed and it wasn’t as though it was news to him. Jim knew Harvey had one. Knew her name even, and had seen plenty of photographs. It was just that in most of them she tended to be a gap toothed kid or a surly faced teenager. He had never thought to make the connection.

“She broke up with her boyfriend,” Harvey explained easily, “and because her Mom was out of town I served as a suitable replacement shoulder to cry on. She stayed here the night and called him every name under the sun. It was kind of impressive.”

Jim could feel the heat spreading across his face now. Down his neck and up to the tips of his ears, fuelled by guilty shame and awkward embarrassment.

“So what did you think was happening,” Harvey went on, expression kind even as he pressed his advantage, “I wasn’t satisfied making it with a gorgeous guy every chance I get, I had to bring someone else into the mix? I appreciate your faith in my stamina, but I’ve got everything I want right here.”

Jim flushed harder. This was why his relationships failed. This was why everybody he had ever met ended up repulsed by the sight of him. If he wasn’t nearly getting them killed, or ignoring them in favor of work, he was accusing them of things they would never do rather than acting like an adult and talking to them.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, “I just - I don’t have an excuse. I’m an idiot.”

Harvey nodded. “True. You’re lucky you’re a hot idiot.” He brushed his thumb over Jim’s cheek, smile softening, “It doesn’t say anything good about me, I’m sure, but I like that you were jealous.”

Jim dared to make eye contact, losing himself in the other man’s gaze. He could see how much Harvey loved him, could _feel_ it, and he pushed closer, soaking up the other man’s warmth and shuddering with relief when Harvey wrapped his arms about him.

“I can’t believe you’d think I care that you’re older than me,” he said into Harvey’s chest, loving the way Harvey held him tighter for a moment. He curled his hand around Harvey’s side, feeling the heat of his skin under his palm, even through his shirt, and confessed quietly, “Maybe I do care - I like it, Harvey. I like it a lot.”

Harvey kissed him for that. Tilted his chin up with his fingers and kissed him tenderly, accepting his apology and letting him know that he was forgiven. That he appreciated Jim being honest with him, and assuring him that he hadn’t ruined everything.

Jim was going to make it up to him. He didn't know how yet, or how long it would take. He just pledged that he would put his all into it, because he couldn't afford to mess this up. Couldn't lose Harvey, not now he knew what it meant to be with someone who truly understood him. Who was willing to accept him, sharp edges and all, and who could make light of his failings even as Jim strove to do better, to be better, just because he wanted Harvey to be proud of him.

“With age comes wisdom,” Harvey quoted, breaking his reverie, and Jim gave him a cheeky smile,

“But not stamina?”

“I have plenty of stamina.”

Jim beamed wider, feeling giddy with the mixture of relief and happiness, and stole another kiss before asking,

“How do you feel about a practical demonstration?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	88. 'Don't Ask Me That'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Don't ask me that.'
> 
> (Or, random smut.)

Catching Jim in a state of undress was a precise science. It required patience, persistence, and an abundance of legitimate sounding excuses as to why he needed to be loitering in the vicinity of his locker.

It was worth it though, all of it, because Jim was ridiculously gorgeous. Looked fantastic in his suit and tie, and looked even better out of it, the definition of his biceps and the strength in his thighs never failing to get Harvey’s blood pumping.

Just a glimpse of Jim’s bare skin was enough for words to begin failing him, and if he was very lucky Jim would change out of his undershirt as well as his day wear. Would smile at him, those big blue eyes so earnest that Harvey would feel ashamed of the way his breath stuttered, and the desperation with which he drank in the sight of Jim’s torso.

Because the things he would do to Jim if he had the opportunity were criminal. Probably literally so in some states, and still Harvey couldn’t help himself, stealing glances every chance he got and stroking himself into a frenzy in his bed at night, the thought of touching Jim, tasting Jim, completely destroying him.

Occasionally, just occasionally, Jim would brave the ancient showers at the precinct. Would arch his neck under the spray like it was a religious experience, and then wander around the locker room with nothing but a towel slung low about his waist, Harvey’s brain short circuiting at the expanses of smooth flesh on display.

Jim would glance over at him sometimes, no doubt curious as to why he was simply standing there, and Harvey would fluster with his own clothing, embarrassed to have been caught staring at his partner. To have been caught fantasizing about his best friend in the whole damn world, a guy so out of his league Harvey couldn’t even see that far into the distance.

Even better than sneaking peeks at Jim in the locker room was being able to drink his fill of Jim’s near nudity at his apartment. Jim was an early bird, up and washed and dressed while Harvey was still fighting with his alarm clock, but he had roused Jim from his bed on a few occasions. They had crime scenes to go look at, corpses to examine, but Harvey still swallowed thickly at the vision of Jim in his underwear.

Still dreamed ceaselessly of what it would be like to wake up with Jim in his arms, his hair mussed and his smile soft as Harvey slowly made love to him, worshipping every inch of Jim’s sleep warm skin.

The tipping point came, finally, when they ended a shift covered in dirt and dust, and the plumbing at the precinct was still in the process of being restored to something approaching working order. He had invited Jim over to drink beer and watch television earlier on, and Jim only grabbed the change of clothing from his locker and proclaimed himself ready.

Put up a nominal argument before showering first, and Harvey did his best to remember how to breathe when he was treated to the sight of Jim disappearing into his own bedroom practically naked. Did his best not to think of the fact Jim had just been standing where he was as he took his own shower, his hands wandering all the same before he forced them away and reached for a towel.

Jim was still in the process of getting dressed when he went to track down some clean clothes, clad only in his own underwear, and Harvey stared dumbly at the combination of Jim’s perfectly groomed hair and his crisp white socks and boxer shorts. Felt the flush spread across his face even as the rest of the blood in his body seemed intent on rushing southwards.

The problem was that Jim couldn’t understand what such a sight was always going to do him. Jim was too much of a boy scout to have spent his formative years watching bad quality VHS tapes full of guys dressed the exact same way. Clean cut looking young men with acres of golden skin who gasped and groaned, and committed all kinds of sin under cover of cheesy background music.

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, concerned because Harvey’s brain was playing second fiddle and he couldn’t quit staring. Couldn’t control his stupid mouth because he meant to say that he was fine, that it was nothing, but instead he heard himself asking,

“Do you have any idea what you look like?”

Jim’s cheeks colored up, face falling as though he had just been insulted, and if there was anything worth being humiliated and rejected for, it was not having to see the hurt clear in Jim’s pretty blue eyes a moment longer than he had to.

“I try not to look, Jim, I swear. I just can’t help myself.”

Jim didn’t punch him, at least. He didn’t yell either, or turn away disgusted. He swiped his tongue across his lips instead, like he was gathering his thoughts, and Harvey shivered involuntarily, imagining all the better uses Jim’s tongue could be put to. They stared at each other for a long moment, Harvey’s heart hammering fit to burst through his chest, and then Jim seemed to come to a decision and asked simply,

“What are you going to do about it?”

The words hit him like something physical. Knocked the breath from his lungs and had him steadying his balance.

“Don’t ask me that. Please. Not unless you really want to know the answer.”

Jim took a step closer, and the tension was so thick Harvey could hardly think. Couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move, and then Jim’s gaze was flickering from his eyes to his mouth and Harvey had to reach for him with a hand he would later swear wasn’t shaking. Had to slide his fingers into the close cropped hair at Jim’s nape, before letting them cup his jaw, his thumb brushing over Jim’s slightly parted lips, a shudder of arousal working through him as he felt the damp heat of Jim’s breath against it.

For a moment Jim just looked at him, eyes dark as he observed what was happening, and then suddenly Jim was surging forward, hands clutching at the back of Harvey’s undershirt.

He had slipped in the shower and cracked his head on the side of the tub. Else he had taking a tumble down the precinct steps, or been the target of one of the city’s more violent nutters. He had to have been because there was no way this could be reality. No way that Jim’s erection was pressed hot and hard against his thigh, and no way that Jim was licking passionately into his mouth, making breathy little noises that threatened to completely rob Harvey of his senses.

Except, in his own fantasies Harvey was pretty sure that Jim had never been so insistent about getting him stripped off. Jim was the one worth looking at, not him, but nobody seemed to have passed Jim the message because he made a kind of desperate sound when he finally succeeded in parting Harvey from his undershirt, mouth following the trail of his hands as he stroked them over his chest and his stomach.

“You don’t have to,” Harvey tried because Jim really didn’t, not when Harvey was so acutely aware of the differences between them. Not when his own palm was skimming over Jim’s toned abdomen, and Jim’s fingers were sinking into the flesh of his sides, so deep he almost wished he had attempted a sit up or two over the last decade.

Almost.

“I want to,” Jim countered, and Harvey had never had any luck dissuading Jim not to throw himself head first into the path of certain death. He was hardly likely to talk him out of whatever it was he was planning right now, especially not when it already felt so good he was struggling to form sentences.

Not when Jim was pushing him down onto his bed, gasping and grinding down against him, before changing his mind and switching their positions, pulling at Harvey’s arms until he got the idea and Jim clutched and clawed at his back until he gave in and stopped bracing his weight up and off of him. Jim whined, apparently happy, and squirmed underneath him with a fevered kind of determination, fingers gripping at his backside as Harvey alternated between kissing him and sucking at the mottled flush spreading ever further down his neck.

It wasn’t exactly how he had envisaged this turning out - wasn’t something he had ever truly considered plausible - but he really couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. Jim was pushing up into him, frantic and desperate, and Harvey just cradled the back of Jim’s head so he could kiss him more easily. Stroked the curve of Jim’s ear between the fingers of his other hand, revelling in the frustrated whimpers it elicited, Jim’s own fingers leaving marks down the sweat slick skin of his back while the scratch of socks raised goosebumps all down the backs of his thighs.

That really shouldn’t be a turn on, Harvey was sure. Shouldn’t have him going at it with renewed fervour, muscles straining as he finally just held Jim still and rubbed off against him. As he watched the way Jim clenched his eyes tight shut, expression twisting with want as he pleaded and chanted, and then Jim was coming, fingers tangled so tight in his hair Harvey couldn’t help but follow his example.

Couldn't help but collapse on top of Jim, incapable of doing anything but pant for breath, his leg twitching involuntarily as Jim worked his fingertips in circles against his scalp, seemingly in no rush to clean up, or move, or talk about what the hell had just happened.

“I think we're gonna need another shower,” Harvey managed finally, finding the energy to flop onto his back and stop suffocating Jim. Jim just moved with him, pushing heavily into his side, and draping a strong arm around him. Smiled at him, relaxed and content, then confessed happily,

“And I won't even have to pretend I'm not watching you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	89. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You tell yourself, ‘I’ll just do this one bad thing. All the good things I’ll do later will make up for it.’ But they don’t."_
> 
> Or, Jim finds out new things about Harvey.

Jim didn’t notice at first and he didn’t need anyone to tell him how awful that was.

He knew it.

It wasn’t as though he had an excuse, even, because he might have been buried alive and turned into a bloodthirsty monster, but Harvey was there to pick up the pieces. Harvey took him out for drinks to take his mind off Lee leaving, and Harvey let him sleep on his sofa for almost three weeks straight before making him talk about it.

Harvey was the one who sat with him when he woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, terrified that he was still six foot below ground in a coffin, or else trapped again in the rubble of a bombed out building in Afghanistan. Screaming for help in the wreck of his father’s car, even, and Harvey didn’t judge him.

Didn’t pronounce him unfit for duty or tell him he ought to get professional help. He just pulled him into his arms and Jim was so lost in his own problems that the way Harvey winced in pain never registered.

He was so focused on the mess he had made of his own life that he was oblivious to the fact Harvey was suffering. Saw but did not observe the way Harvey was struggling - the lines of exhaustion on his face, and the awkward stilted way he was moving, like every step was agony.

What he did pay attention to he misinterpreted. He acted standoffish when Harvey turned up for duty drunk, because that was the only reason he could imagine for the glassiness in his eyes and the tremor in his hands. Acted like a self-righteous prick because he had done far worse, and he didn’t have the responsibility of running the department on his shoulders into the bargain.

He thought uncharitable things about Harvey’s fitness levels when the older man tackled the steps of the precinct with a death grip on the handrail, and cracked tactless jokes about his laziness when Harvey invited him over for beer and pizza only to struggle to keep his eyes open, his speech slurring together when he tried to apologize.

Harvey didn’t call him out on it. Just carried on doing the job and looking out for him, ignoring a seemingly never ending stream of colds and flu and unspecified aches and pains, until finally even Jim expressed concern about it.

Now, with Harvey’s cool hand pressed between his own, Jim wished he had done more than suggest Harvey take a sick day. Wished he hadn’t accepted Harvey’s explanations without question, and that he had put Harvey to bed himself, and stuck around until Harvey gave in and told him what the matter was.

Instead he bought Harvey some ginger tea, told him it would do more good than the precinct’s interpretation of coffee, and promptly forgot about everything other than the case he was working until the lunchtime when he got back to the station to find his colleagues watching on as their Captain was carried out on a stretcher.

That was when it hit him. When the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his case files fell to the floor. He refused to take no for an answer, gripping Harvey’s hand too tight in the back of the ambulance and demanding the paramedics tell him what was wrong, and that Harvey was going to make a full recovery. That he was going to be okay because he had to be.

Because Jim had been taking Harvey for granted for almost the entire time he had known him, and if Harvey never woke up he was never going to get chance to tell him that he loved him.

He did.

Desperately.

Perhaps he hadn’t always realized it. Maybe he had written off the smile Harvey put so effortlessly on his face as friendship, the feelings of safety and contentment he inspired as familiarity. What mattered was that he was certain now, knew beyond all shadow of a doubt, and he pleaded with Harvey’s unconscious form to give him a second chance so he could make it up to him.

The doctor took in the tears on his face and how close to the bed he had managed to work the plastic chair and started talking as though he knew exactly what the problem was. Frowned at Jim’s confusion and started over again, revelation after revelation leaving Jim shocked dumb, because the prescription medication Harvey was taking was news to him, without the increasingly large number of painkillers he had been getting through on top of it.

“I told him he needed to get some real help,” Tuttle said when he put in an appearance, “I said he was going to end up addicted.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alvarez told him in a clumsy attempt to be comforting, eyes haunted by his own actions under the influence of the virus, “nobody thinks you would have thrown him against a train if you could have helped it.”

Jim reeled from the horror of it because he had known he had hurt Harvey. Had seen the way Harvey grimaced as he hauled himself to his feet in the days afterwards. He had never imagined the damage had been lasting though and he must have looked wretched when Lucius arrived, because the other man touched his shoulder tentatively and said,

“I know you must have seen this coming but at least he’s going to get the help he needs now.”

He managed a grimace of a smile. Held it together just long enough for Lucius to offer more platitudes, and then he staggered to the nearest bathroom and threw up everything he had eaten since waking up that morning. Heaved and retched and finally slumped against the door of the stall, face wet and hands shaking.

Harvey was supposed to be his best friend. Harvey had told him he was the best friend he had ever had, and he hadn’t even paid him enough attention to realize he was on the verge of liver failure. He sobbed for a long time, unable to stop himself, and when he was done he splashed cold water across his face. Stared at his reflection in the mirror and came to a decision.

He went back to Harvey’s bedside then, and stroked his fingers across the older man’s forehead. Took his hand in his own and settled in for the night, silently promising that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It was going to take time. It was going to be hard going.

Jim didn’t care.

He was going to start being the kind of friend to Harvey he always should have been.

* * *

The Commissioner brought in a new Captain from outside the department. Stood in the middle of the bullpen and told them all it was a temporary measure, then released a statement to the press assuring that Moore would bring the city’s crime rates under control while dragging the GCPD into the 21st century.

Moore called him into her office even as they were still replacing the name plates, her upright posture and severe hairstyle reminding him of his CO back in the army. She was just as forthright too, demanding to know why he hadn’t intervened sooner and reported Harvey for his behavior.

Jim felt ashamed, admitting that he hadn’t known there was a problem, and she was shrewd enough to be able to tell the truth of what he was saying. Mandated him back on an embarrassingly entry level observation refresher course, but gave him the rest of the afternoon off and told him Harvey would doubtless appreciate it if someone went to keep him company.

Harvey scarcely seemed aware of his presence, and for all the times Jim had seen the effects of withdrawal, he had never truly appreciated the power it could hold over someone. Had never thought about how much it must hurt, to see someone who meant everything to you in such obvious pain.

“Do you want me to bring you anything? Are you sure you don’t want me to ring anybody?” Jim tried again when the nurses came around to turf him out for the evening, and Harvey just shook his head, sweat damp hair clinging to the pillows. Changed his mind and asked him to bring his appointment diary so he could let people know he wouldn’t be coming.

Jim nodded, reassuring, and decided he would go one better.

He’d save Harvey the trouble and do it for him.

The book was easy enough to find, and Jim glanced around Harvey’s empty apartment. Ran his fingers over the discarded jacket still slung over the back of Harvey’s armchair and returned his keys to his pocket, wondering why he had never thought to return the favor and give Harvey a set of keys to his own apartment.

He had just never thought to do anything, that was the problem. He had been too self-absorbed, too lost in his own head, and it wasn’t the done thing but he started rifling through Harvey’s cabinets, overcome with the need to know what other aspects of his partner’s life he had failed to register.

Harvey was sentimental, he had always known that, but he still managed to be surprised by the extent of it. He flipped through piles of photographs with neat names and dates inscribed on the back of them, and he sifted through bundles of case notes Harvey clearly returned to periodically, new leads getting pinned to his notice boards in the hope it might lead to resolution for some grieving family member.

There were xeroxed circulars about missing people dating back decades, and carefully transcribed lists of personal possessions found with John and Jane Does Harvey had never been able to identify. In one drawer there was even a folder of newspaper clippings about Jim’s own supposed heroics, and Jim went back to the task he was meant to be focused on because it was a sudden struggle to breathe around the aching tightness in his throat.

He made notes and searched out telephone numbers. Slowly came to the conclusion that maybe it would be better if he just turned up and delivered the news in person, and stubbornly refused to admit that he simply wanted to know more about what Harvey did when he wasn’t with him.

That he needed to know that Harvey had people in his life who cared enough to notice the things he had missed, no matter what Harvey said about him being the best thing that had ever happened to him.

When he was done he knew he ought to go home and leave Harvey some privacy. What he actually did was gravitate to Harvey’s bedroom, telling himself he was just going to tidy up a little. Gave in and stripped down to his underwear and crawled under Harvey’s bedclothes, breathing in the scent of his partner and imagining, not for the first time, what it would be like to be in bed with Harvey.

What it would be like to soak up Harvey’s body heat and feel his arms around him.

It would be more than he deserved, he felt sure of that, and when he dreamed that night, it was of the catch in Harvey’s voice as he begged him to go ahead and inject the virus.

* * *

“I know who you are.”

Jim fought down the urge to fidget, launching instead into the explanation he had been giving all of Harvey’s contacts. The guy just cut him off again, unstacking chairs and shifting tables like Jim was nothing but an obstacle in his way,

“Look, Bullock might be convinced the sun shines out of your backside but he’s not here and I am. We all know where he is, and we know who put him there.”

“That’s not very charitable,” another voice broke in and the first guy muttered something under his breath as he moved on to another stack of chairs Jim was certain it was better he didn’t hear. “Sorry about that,” the newcomer said, holding out his hand, “Captain Bullock is a popular figure around here.”

Jim was getting the same impression all over the place because Harvey was keeping all kinds of appointments Jim had known nothing about. He was making regular visits to Dix, though the older man’s memory was failing badly, and he was helping out the other residents of the complex, if the amount of baked goods pressed on Jim by the old dears in the rec room was anything to go by. He was doing the shopping for his own elderly neighbors too, and slipping his informants more cash than he could afford, so that Jim’s cheeks flamed when one of them took him to task over the presumption that she was giving Harvey anything more than information in return.

This was down in Harvey’s diary as ‘poker night’, and Jim figured Harvey derived a great deal of amusement from the way Jim had complained and bitched about it over the years, lecturing him on the evils of gambling and wasting money while all the time Harvey was committing himself to the Lord’s work and assisting with soup kitchens and the city’s needle exchange program. That was how Father Declan described it, at least, and Jim had never pegged Harvey as religious in the slightest, though the man in front of him seemed convinced that for all Harvey’s bluster he was a true believer.

“He talks about you all the time,” the other man said kindly as the other volunteers started trickling in, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jim sighed and admitted, “He never told me about any of this. I feel like I hardly know him.”

The priest raised an eyebrow at that, read him with a practised gaze and said,

“Sometimes the face we show to the world is the one we think people expect to see. Sometimes it seems easier that way.”

Jim nodded, not quite able to make eye contact, and said his goodbyes in favor of the cold night air. He simply stood for long moments, reflecting on how long it had taken him to first open up to Harvey. How stubbornly he had battled against sharing any of the real thoughts in his head, or what he was feeling, because he had been afraid of losing Harvey’s friendship.

His respect and his understanding.

Perhaps Harvey didn’t want to challenge the conclusions he had clearly come to. Didn’t want Jim to feel sorry for him, or realize that he was in just as much need of Jim’s help as vice versa. He didn’t know, couldn’t be certain, and he made for the hospital early, flashing his badge and then utilising his rusty charm until the nurse waved him through, just to be rid of him.

Harvey was more aware today. Aware enough to take exception to what Jim had been doing with his diary, and Jim saw no point in offering up a false apology.

“You could have told me,” he said instead, trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. “Did you think it would ruin your reputation, me knowing that your life of vice was all a sham?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Harvey told him in turn, dismissive, and Jim couldn’t quit pushing. Never knew when to leave anything alone, and Harvey snapped at him like he never had before, going so far as to hit the call button and instruct the nurse to get rid of him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jim argued, obstinate as usual, and Harvey crumpled in front of him. Broke down completely, so completely that the nurse threatened to call security, and Jim didn’t know what to do but go back to Harvey’s apartment and pull the place apart looking for something - anything - to help him make sense of what was happening.

There was nothing, nothing but items he had never taken the time to ask the significance of and photographs of people he hadn’t wanted to appear too nosy by asking about. In the end he simply fell into Harvey’s bed again and mentally tallied how many nights he had spent at his partner’s apartment already that year, rather than his own.

It wasn’t much of contest.

* * *

“Here’s Tweedle-Dee but where’s Tweedle-Dum today?”

Alvarez sniggered beside him and Jim glared. Pulled his cuffs from his pocket and hoped it was clear that he meant business.

“No matter,” Tetch went on, “you’ll do just as well.”

“You’re under arrest,” Jim countered, not in the mood, and he was more violent than he should have been. Had trouble keeping the anger at bay, and he recgonized the haze and how it made him want to scratch at his skin, wanting relief from the burning. After effects of the virus even now, and it made sense because it was all Tetch’s doing in the first place.

Moore’s voice crackled over his radio, demanding an update, and Jim just switched the thing off and wondered whether Moore was starting to realize that there was more to policing Gotham than adherence to the handbook.

He was beginning to appreciate just how much work Harvey had put into the role, at least, because he had seen the hours Harvey put into drawing up rotas that catered for kids’ birthdays and spouses who were on the verge of walking out for good. The hours he gave over to providing a listening ear and ensuring that the paperwork for injury pensions and insurance payouts was submitted well before the deadline.

Moore didn’t seem to care about any of it, detailing fresh faced rookies to Arkham transport convoys, and refusing to budge on the ruling that the department couldn’t be held financially responsible for anything that happened as a result of the outbreak of the virus.

Jim remembered the way the anger had thrummed in his veins, white hot and all consuming, and when Tetch made for yet another escape Jim wasn’t proud of the bullet he put through the man’s ankle. Cuffed him roughly all the same, and waited until he saw the man back into a cell with his own eyes before reporting to Moore the way she wanted him to.

“You don’t like me,” she said bluntly as soon as her office door was closed, “and I can’t say I think much of you either. We have to work together though, so I suggest we both try to make the best of it.”

He nodded tersely and went back to his desk. Submitted his latest complaints about the way in which she was handling things to the Union, and when the day was done went to sit with Dix for an hour because the guy had nobody in the world other than Harvey, and it was his fault Harvey was recovering from his second round of surgery.

“What’s he done this time?” Dix asked, forgetting the explanations he had already provided and pouring cold water into a teacup, “I keep telling him, Gotham is no place for playing the hero.”

Jim just shook his head politely at the offer of milk and sugar, sipping at the water and wondering if one day it would be his own fate, not knowing where he was or what year he was living in. Except maybe Dix was more with it this visit than most, because he grimaced when he took a sip from his own cup and said,

“He puts this boy on a pedestal but nobody can live up to that. It’s better to go in with low expectations and that way you’re not going to get disappointed, that’s his own damn motto. What did you say your name was again?”

Jim changed the subject. Let his mind go over and over the statement in the background, because it seemed that Harvey had spoken about him to everyone he knew. People he had never met were keen to shake his hand and tell him how much they had heard about him. People he never knew existed looked at him with concern and asked how he was holding up, because from the way Harvey spoke about him, there was no question that he was going to be beside himself.

He didn’t know if Harvey even realized it. If he was aware of the conclusions his family and friends had drawn, or how he would feel about it. For the first time he considered the idea that maybe they had good reason to think there might be more to their relationship. He steered the conversation back to the topic, carefully because he didn’t know how Dix might react, but Dix was only too pleased to complain about Harvey’s reluctance to act on the common sense advice he kept giving him.

“He’s going to say yes or he’s going to say no, it’s not rocket science,” the man shrugged. “You tell him I said that.”

“I will,” Jim promised, and left with a spark of hope he hadn’t felt since Harvey had had him kicked out of his hospital room. He had been back since, much to the nurses’ annoyance, but Harvey was still acting strangely around him. Was full of banter and wisecracks one day, and completely silent the next. Looked like he wanted nothing more than to ask him to stay one minute, and then looked pointedly at the clock and asked him if he shouldn’t get going.

Like he was pushing before Jim had chance to walk away, he thought for the first time. Like he was steeling himself for the worst case scenario. Bracing himself for rejection.

Jim bounced up the stairs with a lightness he could hardly remember feeling. Smiled at the nurses so widely they seemed bewildered, letting him go without their usual warning against upsetting their patient, and Harvey was so surprised to see him he attempted to sit up further, as though he wasn’t under strict instruction not to move without assistance.

“How are you feeling?” Jim asked, carefully arranging the pillows for him, and Harvey tentatively smiled back at him, genuine even through the pain, and offered,

“Like I got run over by a bus.”

“It was a train, Harv,” Jim countered and Harvey looked worried for a moment, like perhaps he had said the wrong thing, then the dumb smile Jim couldn’t shift did the trick and he was laughing. Actually laughing though he winced at the movement and cursed worse than a sailor.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Harvey sighed later, glancing instinctively at the bedside locker and the correspondence with the insurance company and the department. Jim scowled at the reminder of the problem but forced the expression from his face.

Gripped at Harvey’s hand the way he had that very first day they had brought him in, and after a moment Harvey squeezed back, confessing in a rush that he had put off getting help for so long because he didn’t want to be out of action. Because he was worried about the money and the department and a hundred other considerations that had only ended up suffering more for the way he had gone about things.

Jim told him in turn of Tetch’s latest escape attempt and how Moore hadn’t had the first clue of how to deal with it. How the entire precinct was counting on his return, and that he had been watering Harvey’s sole house plant so he’d have something welcoming to come home to.

Flushed all down the back of his neck but finally admitted that he had been spending most nights at Harvey’s apartment, in Harvey’s bed, and that there was even a note to that effect on his file at the precinct in case someone needed to contact him.

“You’re welcome any time,” Harvey said without judgement, “I gave you a key, didn’t I?”

“I wish I’d given you a key to my place,” Jim managed, and somehow he had pressed closer throughout their talk. Was so close he was gazing in to Harvey’s eyes, watching the way the older man’s smile lit them up as he assured softly,

“There wouldn’t have been much point. You’re always at mine anyway.”

* * *

Harvey had been speaking the truth, Jim couldn’t dispute that. He liked the company because he didn’t want to be alone. Because he liked the way Harvey made him feel, at ease with himself like nothing and nobody else could.

Because he had wanted more from Harvey, always, and now he was aware of it Jim began to hope that one day he was going to get it.

He helped Harvey up the stairs of his apartment building when he was discharged from the hospital, and instead of digging out the spare blankets Harvey just lay gingerly atop the sheets Jim had changed in readiness and said,

“If you want to stay, Jim, the bed’s plenty big enough. My back aches worse just thinking about you on that sofa.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture in the world, Jim had ample proof, and the offer was just too much to turn down. Too perfect for him to be able to keep his cool, even, but Harvey didn’t seem put off by his enthusiasm. Encouraged him instead to push closer, and Jim didn’t think he had ever slept so well as he did with his head pillowed on Harvey’s chest and Harvey’s arms wrapped around him.

Back at the precinct Jim kept up the pressure on Moore and the Commissioner, and when IA began their investigation into Tetch’s attempt to wreck havoc once more, he made the most of the opportunity. Got on his soapbox and ensured he was a persistent thorn in their side, until the day came when the department capitulated and people who had never been willing to give him the time of day thanked him, and told him that he’d have their vote, if he decided to run for the GPU again.

Harvey told him he was proud of him, more importantly, and because these days Jim was watching him like a hawk he could see what a difference it made, to have the stress over insurance payouts lifted off his shoulders.

It was still difficult, he wasn’t blind to that fact. Harvey was still fighting it, was always going to be fighting it, and Jim might not have been around to help him kick the drink, but he did his best not to give Harvey chance to dwell on how much less everything would hurt if he could take a few extra pain pills.

He got Harvey to go with him to visit Dix, and all the guy’s neighbors put in an appearance, just to fawn over Harvey and press yet more cake and cookies on him. Jim wasn’t averse to polishing off a fair portion of them, and when he looked up to find Harvey watching him eat he made to defend himself. It wasn’t like he ate nothing but sugar and take out, unlike people sat not a million miles away, but Harvey the intensity in Harvey’s eyes kept him silent.

It spilled over, finally, everything they still hadn’t spoken because Harvey was really getting better. Had been for a meeting with HR about the first steps towards returning to work, and had started helping out again at the soup kitchen and catching up with his informants. Harvey invited him along to the former, apparently mindful of his outburst at the hospital, and Jim pointed out that he didn’t think he was particularly well liked there.

Recounted the conversations he had had there, and Harvey looked away uncomfortably. Accepted that Jim wasn’t going to let the sudden awkwardness between them drop the way he once would have, and admitted stiltedly,

“I’ve done some terrible things, Jim, some really terrible things. You can’t wipe the slate clean, no matter what you do. I didn’t want you to think that I was somebody I’m not. I might do good deeds but I’m not a good person.”

“But because you’ve done something terrible you’re a terrible person? That’s just bad logic.”

Harvey didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile even and Jim shifted so that they were sitting facing each other. So that he could see the mixture of their stuff in the background, because after that first night in Harvey’s bed he hadn’t left it. He hadn’t pushed further either, not yet, and this proved that it was long overdue.

“You know about all the things I’ve done, good and bad, and you don't think less of me for it. Do you?”

“That's different,” Harvey offered, stubborn, but if there was anything Jim could do better it was being stubborn. It was setting his sights on something and doing everything within his power to make it happen. 

“It's not. If you accept me as I am then you have to accept that I'm going to do the same for you.” He kept pushing, heart hammering even as he captured Harvey's gaze, “If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't be sharing your bed, would I?”

“I don't know, Jim,” Harvey breathed. “I thought I knew it all once, but those days are long gone.”

Jim thought of all the things he still didn't know about Harvey. All the things he was determined to find out, even if it took decades before Harvey trusted him enough to share them.

“I'm willing to take a chance if you are,” Jim said, his words thick with a confidence he didn't quite feel, and Harvey just pulled him in close and held him the way he had that first night he had woken shaking from a nightmare. Held him until Jim hugged back, too tight and too desperate, and Harvey said nothing. Just kissed him, finally, and Jim knew this was something he was going to have to work at, endlessly, but he didn't mind.

He had always been a workaholic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	90. Harvey gets infected with the virus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey gets infected with the virus. What darkness does it bring out in him and can he be cured before he does something he can't come back from? 
> 
> TW for non-con themes.

He doesn’t feel at first or, if he does, it doesn’t register.

Because he feels strange, off balance, but it’s been a tough few days and he’s drank too much into the bargain. Popped too many pain pills and spent too much time pressing too close to Jim, the arm sneaking its way around the younger man’s waist saying all the things he can’t bring himself to verbalize.

How relieved he is that Jim’s going to be okay and how terrified he was that he would have to dig up Jim’s dead body. How nothing - not Bruce, not the bomb, not the imminent threat of widespread death and destruction - had mattered to him more than getting Jim out alive.

Jim has been his number one priority for months, years even, and when he wakes hungover and unsettled, he simply stares at him. Rakes his gaze up and over his sleeping form and dares to reach out with tentative fingers, memorising the features of Jim’s face through touch as well as sight, wondering what might have happened had he offered Jim his bed instead of a night on his sofa.

“We’re going to be late,” Jim says when he regains awareness, rather than ask why his partner is looming over him, and Harvey plays along. Swallows down a cup of coffee though it tastes all wrong, and puts on a clean shirt and tie, the cotton feeling rough and uncomfortable against his skin.

He drives to the precinct, grip too tight on the steering wheel, and Jim watches him as he makes his way up the steps, asking if his bruised back and ribs are still hurting.

They aren’t, not at all, and Harvey fobs Jim off with some joke or other even as suspicion forms in his mind. Even as he heads for the locker room and prods hard at expanses of black and purple, hissing through his teeth not with pain but how good it feels.

How alive and how focused, and when he looks up into the broken mirror it’s not the surprise he supposes it should be to see dark, soulless eyes staring back at him.

He hadn’t been careful, and had taken only minimal precautions. He had never once quit pawing at and fawning over Jim, not even when Jim was attempting to kill him, and he hadn’t bothered with gloves or a face mask. It was inevitable, really, and a long hidden part of him wonders if perhaps he hadn’t counted on that.

Jim doesn’t notice anything unusual when he closes the door of his office, or if he does he doesn’t comment on it. Neither does Tuttle, nor Alvarez or Lucius, and Harvey drains the emergency bottle of whiskey he keeps at the back of his desk draw, relying on it to help him think clearly.

He needs to seek help. Needs to get down to the labs and get them to scrape together yet another does of the antidote. He needs -

“I’m going to check out a lead on the Yardley case,” Jim says, eyes narrowing at the sight of the empty bottle on his desk, and Harvey knows exactly what he's going to do.

“I’ll go with you.”

He’s dripping with sweat by the time they reach their destination. His hands are shaking, ever so slightly, and he’s breathing like he’s been running, like his lungs can’t draw in enough oxygen. Jim looks over at him, concern evident, and Harvey knows he’s overestimated his ability to control himself. Jim made it look, if not easy, then doable. Harvey feels as though his skin is on fire, as though the blood in his veins is burning, and the only thing that can relieve the ache is stood right in front of him.

“You need to get out of here right now,” he tries, teeth gritted tight together and his fingers rubbing over the silver of his badge, desperately seeking something of the person he wants to be to cling onto. “Now, Jim.”

Jim is just as stubborn as usual. Refuses to move, and is too obstinate to radio for back up. They’re out in the middle of nowhere. Nobody is going to look for them here. Nobody will notice them missing, not for a good long while, and Harvey crushes Jim’s phone and his radio with his bare hands.

Shoves him up against the wall with a strength that isn’t natural, then gives him a full pat down, stripping him of his gun and his asp and his pepper spray, all while Jim tries to talk sense into him. He reminds him that they’re partners and that they’re on the same side. That Jim isn’t out to cause trouble for him, and that there is no need to put the bracelets on him.

Harvey does it anyway. Fastens them just a little too tight and kicks Jim’s legs apart. Presses himself into Jim’s solid form, and he can feel the moment Jim realizes what is happening.

“You don’t want to do this,” Jim offers, voice not as steady as he clearly hoped it would be, “Harvey, this is the virus not you. Just let me go, yeah?”

It is, of course, but it also isn’t. Really really isn’t because he has wanted this from the first moment he laid eyes on Jim. Has been lying to himself about friendship and brotherhood and being satisfied with whatever Jim is willing to give him.

“Don’t fight it, Jim,” he whispers instead, the heat almost unbearable though Jim shudders under him, “don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Jim, naturally, does the opposite. Starts twisting and writhing and yelling, and when that gets him nowhere he kicks instead. Bites and curses and refuses to just give in and let Harvey make it good for both of them.

He could, that’s what he tells Jim as he pins him firmly in place. If Jim would just stop being so stubborn it wouldn’t have to hurt either of them.

“Please,” Jim begs finally, broken and terrified, and it’s not the badge or the appeal to his better nature that does it. It’s the tears in Jim’s eyes, the knowledge that Jim is genuinely afraid of him, and he snaps the speedcuffs clean down the center. Puts as much distance between them as he can manage, and the frustrated roar in his ears is drowned out only by the sound of his own sobbing.

“It’s all right,” Jim promises from somewhere behind him, the words sounding too close and yet distant. “It’s going to be all right.”

It isn’t, that’s what they both hear, because Jim is pulling the tattered mess of his shirt around him and Harvey can’t risk more than a fleeting glance at him, not trusting himself to stay away.

Who he is is a choice, maybe, but he can see it in Jim’s eyes, in his posture - as far as Jim’s concerned, he already made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	91. Size Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Size Kink' (or, BDP and porn...)

Bigger wasn’t always better.

That was the conclusion Harvey came to at an early age. If his feet wouldn’t keep growing his Mother wouldn’t have to keep finding the money to buy new shoes. If he wasn’t so tall he could have worn his cousin Patrick’s cast off uniform, and it wouldn’t have been a problem that his old man hadn’t sent child support again.

If he didn’t have such a big chip on his shoulder maybe he wouldn’t have been on the verge of expulsion every semester, and if the first girl he was serious about hadn’t pushed him off in pained tears perhaps it would have taken longer to realize that people who said that size didn’t matter had no idea what they were talking about.

It wasn’t always bad, he couldn’t pretend otherwise. There were times when it was fucking fantastic. When he had been younger he had loved it, or at least had found enough advantages to make up for the downsides. Had had absolutely no problem with strangers wanting to buy him drinks in exchange for sticking their hands down his pants. Had had no issues whatsoever with going home with people who couldn’t be less interested in his looks or his interests or his personality.

Then he wasn’t in his 20s anymore. Suddenly wasn’t in his 30s either, and he wanted somebody to make a real connection with. He wanted to wake up to somebody whose name he remembered - who smiled at the sight of him, rather than winced and grimaced and asked him sardonically why they had thought the night before a good idea.

He wanted more than sex and when it didn’t work out, again and again, he turned to the bottle and the services of men and women who were happy to pretend the extra time they had to spend on foreplay was because they liked him, and not because he was paying them for it.

That was when he could get it up in the first place. When he wasn’t too drunk and too done in from the job. When he couldn’t see the trepidation on his partner’s face, and when he didn’t feel like some kind of freak, as though he had made a conscious decision to be the size he was.

It was the reason he put it off with Scottie. Said that he wanted to take things slow, to do things right, and he supposed that he couldn’t fault her for interpreting it as a declaration. She was hardly the kind of woman who had men finding excuses not to sleep with her. Scottie was funny and kind and beautiful, and she tried for his sake - tried so hard that he didn’t see at first how little it was doing for her, and that only made him feel worse because it was one thing to have a big dick but quite another to act like one.

He shifted the focus then, kept it on her and off him, and it wasn’t as though it was a hardship. It wasn’t as though he didn’t enjoy using his mouth and his fingers, his own hand more than enough in exchange for the intimacy.

Scottie was stubborn though, and it was a trait he had always found appealing. A trait that infuriated him all the same because it really didn’t matter. He was happy enough, he thought she was happy too, and perhaps his early experiences had fucked him over good and proper, but he didn’t want to see someone he loved in pain for a moment because of him.

It drove a wedge between them, slowly and insidiously, and by the time Jim tracked him down to the bar, things were already falling apart around them.

Later, he thought he should have seen it as an omen, a warning, because the truth was that he had been half in love with Jim before he had ever met Scottie. Working with him again, spending time with him again, all it did was push him on to ever greater heights of devotion. Jim didn’t care that his feet were still too big or that he had started growing out when he quit growing up. He didn’t care either that he still had the chip on his shoulder, showering him with praise for his new found work ethic instead and cracking jokes when that didn’t quite cut it, even though he had once believed Jim completely lacked a sense of humor.

As for the other thing, Harvey didn’t much suppose it was ever going to be an issue. Jim was his friend, his best friend, and he would do well to thank his lucky stars for that. Because the truth was that Jim was out of his league, entirely too good for him, and he wasn’t the type of guy to waste time comparing cock size at the urinals either.

Jim was too focused, too driven, and if Harvey couldn’t be quite as disciplined at least he could take solace in the fact that Jim never seemed to notice it. Jim was oblivious about everything to do with him, had to be, because Harvey wasn’t exactly subtle. He pressed as close to Jim as he could, every single chance he got, and when Jim didn’t appear to mind he began wrapping an arm around Jim’s waist or his shoulders, and planting kisses on his cheek like that was the way he had treated all his previous partners.

Dix would have punched him in the face, and Anderson would have laughed himself sick - right before he put him in the hospital. Amanda, well. The less said about Amanda the better. Office romances never worked, that was what Amanda taught him, and he tried the line on Jim hoping it would help himself believe it.

It did nothing to stop Jim asking Lee to marry him, and it did nothing to stop the news breaking his stupidly over sentimental heart either.

“You put too much faith in him,” Falcone said when he went grovelling, and Harvey only shrugged because he might not want to admit it to himself, might feel guilty and ashamed, but if Jim had murdered Pinkney he would still be doing everything in his power to get him out of Blackgate. That was how it was, how it was always going to be, and he didn’t even begrudge Jim taking his car to go and track down his chief rival for Jim’s attention, because he was such a lovesick fool that anything which put a smile on Jim’s face was more important than his own happiness.

When things between them finally shifted, when Jim clung to him and confessed in stifled whispers what he wanted, it had been so long Harvey had all but given up hope of it ever happening. Had resigned himself to loving Jim from arm’s length for the rest of his life, willing to accept whatever crumbs of affection Jim was willing to bestow on him.

Instead Jim woke from claustrophobic nightmares in his apartment, eyes half wild in the darkness as Harvey offered him what comfort he could.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Jim asked him, strands of hair falling into his face so that Harvey ached to reach out and touch them, even as he smiled softly and gave Jim an easy out,

“What, that you’re the best cop I ever worked with?”

Jim smiled in return, the fear leeching from his posture. The haunted look receding to the very edges, and Jim inched closer on Harvey’s busted up old sofa. Lay his head against his shoulder, palm coming up to rest over his elevated heart beat, and said quietly,

“I’ve never done this before, Harvey. I’ve never wanted to.”

He didn’t need to ask what, not when Jim exhaled shakily and brushed his lips against his collar bone. When he followed it with another kiss and then another, chaste yet thrilling, travelling up the side of his neck. Harvey’s pulse was racing by the time Jim reached his jawbone. His breath coming in shallow excited pants and his skin tingling all over. Jim was going to kiss him, was really going to press their lips together, and then it was happening and Harvey cupped Jim’s face gently.

Touched reverent fingers to the pretty flush spreading down Jim’s throat, and let their mouths move together, the contact barely there but tender. Coaxed a dazed moan out of Jim when he deepened the kiss, just slightly, and his own head was swimming, overwhelmed with the heat and the taste and the teasing slide of Jim’s tongue against his own.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jim confessed, fingers bunched tight in the back of Harvey’s t-shirt, and Harvey stroked his own thumb over Jim’s cheekbone. Gazed into his big blue eyes, huger still in the limited light filtering through from the city streets, and whispered promises that they would take it at Jim’s pace. That he wouldn’t push for more than Jim was ready to give, and that what they had just done was more than he had ever dared believe he could have.

Jim kissed him again, soft and sweet and slow, and they fell asleep curled around each other in his bed, wrung out with emotion. He woke up in the morning to find Jim still in his arms, his face more relaxed than Harvey had ever seen it. He spent long moments just watching, simply committing the sight to memory, and when Jim eventually opened his eyes it was to smile at him, happy and honest, like he was exactly where he wanted to be.

It was perfect, even as it was perfect torture, because Jim took him at his word and moved glacially slow. Drove Harvey crazy with strictly above the belt touching and passionate kissing, so that he had to push into his own fist in the shower, desperate for release and wishing it was Jim’s hand wrapped around him. Wishing that it was Jim’s dick in his hand but the first time they tried Jim freaked out, hung up on everything it meant, and Harvey was glad he was fully dressed and not giving Jim more reason to doubt whether he could cope with the situation.

“I’m sorry,” Jim managed, still worked up and frustrated, and Harvey supposed he ought to be thankful for all the practice he had at getting so far only to accept that it wasn’t happening.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, “there’s no rush, Jim. We’re not working to a deadline here.”

“But I want to,” Jim countered, and the color in his cheeks was doing things to Harvey that were outright sinful. “I just - I don’t know. I don’t know, Harvey.”

Harvey bit at his lip, doing his best to think with his brain and not with his dick. Jim’s problem was that he couldn’t stop worrying, couldn’t stop over thinking, and Harvey groped for the words to tell Jim that it was his life, his business, and if he was hot for another man’s hand on his cock it only had to matter as little or as much as he wanted it to.

“Come here,” was all he actually said, and pulled Jim into his embrace. Concentrated on kissing him and giving Jim the freedom to decide how far he wanted to go with it. Responded eagerly to Jim’s growing enthusiasm, building it up and up and up until Jim was panting and frantic, grinding down into his lap without finesse or rhythm.

“I’m so close,” Jim whined, breath hot and damp against his ear, and he sounded so startled, so overcome, Harvey had to clutch at his hips. Had to rock up into his movements and suck desperately at the skin of his throat, Jim’s fingers tightening in his hair as he gasped and begged, finally tensing up and shuddering as he clung to him. As he sobbed out Harvey’s name and then blinked at him with ridiculously pretty eyes, shivering as he began to come back to himself.

It was so hot, too hot, and it was all he could do to control himself when Jim asked awkwardly if he should get his hand in on the action.

“I’m good,” Harvey lied, and distracted Jim with filthy kisses.

Now was not the time to spring more surprises on his boy scout.

Because good things came to those who waited, and sure enough now Jim had proof that nobody was about to bang on his door and demand his service medals back, that the sky wasn’t going to fall in or that anybody was even going to be interested in who he got off with beyond idle precinct gossip, he started to relax. Was becoming increasingly comfortable with him, confident even, and Harvey was happy to go without for as long as it took.

Was more than happy to work himself through his underwear, hand moving frenziedly as Jim agreed to lay back and let him suck his dick, the scent and the taste and the breathy sounds completely overwhelming. Jim arched up under him, muscles quivering and nonsense slipping from his lips, too far gone to control it, and Harvey could have kept him there all day, just watching Jim come apart for him over and over again.

Jim was the one to instigate things the next time. He was the one to focus on Harvey’s shirt buttons, and maybe it was the weeks of doing nothing more than necking, maybe it was just the effect Jim usually had on him, but Harvey felt as flustered and nervous as he had been the very first time. More so, maybe, because that had been more about getting it over with, about proving something to all the kids who laughed at him, and this was about being naked and intimate with the man who meant more to him than anything.

“Just let me. Please,” Jim breathed, forestalling his protests, and Harvey let Jim slide the shirt from his shoulders. Let him press gentle kisses along the skin of his shoulders, and co-operated obediently when Jim tugged at the hem of his under shirt.

This was going to be the turning point, he thought, because he had never imagined seeing that look on Jim’s face directed at him. Had scarcely dared fantasize about that heat in Jim’s eyes, and to know he was the cause of it, to watch Jim get excited as he ran his fingers through his chest hair was such a turn on he barely knew what to with himself.

Jim seemed okay with that. Had that determined air about him that signalled he had made a decision, and was intent on going through with it. Harvey was up for that, was really really up for that, and then Jim was fiddling with his belt buckle. Was popping the button and pulling at the zipper of his slacks, and sinking down to his knees between Harvey’s legs, gaze fixed on his own the whole while.

Then - then - Jim was sat back on his heels looking slightly stunned, and Harvey could feel the heated excitement giving way to something much colder. He knew that look, knew that response, and he didn’t know why he had been expecting anything different when Jim had told him that he had never so much as kissed another guy before. This wasn’t some dirty movie where Jim was just going to start moaning and groaning, and revealing himself to be a secret size queen.

In fact, now he had had a moment to process it, Jim just looked kind of terrified. Like Harvey was going to bend him over and simply shove it in, and that stung, the idea that Jim might trust him so little.

But Jim was stubborn, ridiculously so, and Harvey frowned at the tell tale set to his partner’s jaw before he realized that Jim was still going to try and see this through.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jim,” he said, hand reaching for Jim’s cheek and Jim just caught hold of it. Turned his head so he could press a kiss to his palm, so tender it made Harvey’s heart clench, and said steadily,

“I want you. It might just take some practice.”

Jim smiled at that, bashful, and Harvey grinned back like an idiot. Could have burst into relieved laughter, and settled for pulling Jim up and into his lap. Anchored one hand at the back of Jim’s head and kissed him senseless, moaning in encouragement when Jim’s hand sought him out, unsure and tentative.

“That’s it, Jim,” he murmured, not having to play it up at all. He had dreamed of Jim touching him for years, had been head over heels in love with him for almost just as long, and it didn’t matter if Jim’s grip was a little awkward. It was Jim’s hand, Jim’s fingers, and Harvey pushed a hand between them so he could return the favor, thrilling at the way Jim’s touch grew bolder with every press of his thumb to the head of Jim’s dick.

Jim was really starting to get the idea, his own thumb teasing and tormenting, and Harvey had to tip his head back in an attempt to get some air into his lungs. Had to screw his eyes tight shut, the sensation entirely too much, and Jim just pushed his forehead into the crook of his neck, watching as his hand brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh, God,” Jim groaned when his muscles began quivering, strained and tensing, “you’ve got to come for me. Come on, Harvey.”

He had never been the best at following orders, but Jim had hardly finished speaking and he was coming, completely lost to it as Jim worked him through every last tremor. As Jim kissed him down from the high, his forearm bumping rhythmically into his abdomen as he brought himself off, Harvey shivering as Jim finally stiffened and then collapsed against him.

“Is it okay if I freak out now?” Jim asked after a few moments, so plaintive that Harvey did laugh. Stroked Jim’s hair back from his forehead when he raised his head, all his own worries dissipating at the embarrassed smile on Jim’s lips, and he pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple.

“You haven’t got anything to freak out about.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jim said incredulously, eyebrows raised, and they both ended up giggling stupidly. Ended up warm and comfortable in his bed, Jim’s head on his chest and his fingers tracing patterns down the skin of Jim’s arm.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, practically able to hear the cogs whirring in Jim’s head, and Jim shrugged. Stayed silent for a long moment while he weighed up the merits of answering. Gave in, finally, and said,

“You. Me. _Us _.__ ”

Harvey turned the words over, this way and that, before asking for clarification, heart hammering with anxiety, “And is there an us, Jim? I’m no good at this, not when there’s no train for you to threaten me with,” he squeezed Jim’s arm, in case he had missed the fact he was joking, “but I’m crazy about you, you gotta know that. I’m not trying to rush you, I just -” He swallowed, glad for once that he couldn’t see Jim’s face, “I love you.”

Jim shifted about, squirmed until he was braced above him, and Harvey had no choice but to look at him. To lose himself all over again in Jim’s eyes, and the fiery intensity that made Jim who he was.

“This isn’t some kind of experiment for me,” Jim said, so earnest it bypassed Harvey’s insecurities, “I wouldn’t have started this if I didn’t love you.” His delivery was so matter of fact, so certain, and Harvey was still trying to process that as Jim went on, “I’m just worried that I don’t measure up,” his lips quirked, helpless, “if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Harvey shot back, so happy - so punch drunk on the idea that Jim loved him. That Jim worried that he wasn’t good enough for him, as though he were just as deep in this as Harvey was. “I once climbed eighteen flights of stairs for you, Jim. If that doesn’t tell you what you mean to me, nothing will.”

Jim beamed at him, humor slowly giving way to something else as they gazed at each other. The need to touch Jim all over again, to taste him again, and Jim seemed every bit as affected, straddling his waist and leaning in close to kiss him. It ratcheted up quickly from soft and sweet to frantic and frenzied, Jim grinding against him through their underwear. He was so hard, so achingly desperately hard, and Jim demonstrated a little of what he must have been like in the army, positioning him and directing him and generally expecting him to do what he told him to.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whined when Jim went down on him, brow furrowed with concentration as he dropped sucking kisses over the head and then swiped his tongue across the palm of his own hand, to make the slide of it easier. Harvey alternated between raising himself up on his elbows and begging Jim not to stop, and throwing his head back against the pillow and pleading with Jim to keep going.

Jim wasn’t overly adventurous; he stuck to what little he was certain he could take, but Harvey didn’t care and he hoped that Jim wasn’t going to worry about it either. He was touching him, he was clearly - vocally - enjoying it, and that in itself was enough to have him writhing and panting.

Maybe one day Jim would want to go further, perhaps it would be sooner rather than later, but Harvey wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. Could scarcely spare a thought for it, not when there were other things they could do that weren’t likely to set off all of Jim’s neuroses.

“Do you want to try?” He asked into Jim’s ear, and Jim had to visibly fight for self control as he nodded. Had to kiss him, slick and wet, as Harvey reached a hand over the side of the bed until he found what they needed.

Jim went slow. Too slow. So slow Harvey felt like he was dying, the need for more stimulation, more anything, all encompassing. Jim ignored his pleas, afraid of hurting him on the one hand, and obviously getting off on being in charge on the other. It did for him too, if he were being honest, and Harvey tried to rock back against Jim’s fingers, moaning wantonly when Jim worked them against his prostate for a moment before returning to his previous tempo.

“Please, Jim,” he begged, his hair plastered to his neck and his voice hoarse, “please. I need you so badly.”

“I know,” Jim said in turn, though his voice wasn’t exactly steady. “I can see that.”

Harvey supposed that he could. He was past shame, past self censure, and his dick was leaking against his stomach, so wet that he might have been embarrassed if Jim wasn’t intent on making him cry with how painfully pleasurable the build up was.

“I love you,” he managed then, in case he couldn’t later, and Jim rewarded him by pressing deeper, harder, leaning over him to bring their mouths together. He kissed back with everything he had, an outlet for years of devotion and hours of frustration, and then Jim was working his fingers free and fumbling for a condom. Was barely holding himself together so that Harvey pulled him into position. Talked him through it, hands tugging at Jim’s hips, and the slack jawed bliss on Jim’s face was more than enough recompense for the twinge of discomfort.

It wasn’t going to last long. Jim’s movements were already stuttering, helpless, and Harvey had been on the verge for what felt like an eternity. He hauled Jim down, close enough to kiss, and Jim worked a hand into the heated space between them. Gave up on trying to stroke him off and focused on teasing the very tip of his dick with his thumb instead. It was too much, more than he could bear, and he was coming so hard it felt like he was going to do lasting damage, Jim making noises that could probably get him off untouched if he put his mind to it.

Jim, for all his balanced diet and his early morning jogging, collapsed on top of him. Appeared completely incapable of moving, panting like he had just tackled a few dozen stairwells of his own, and Harvey decided he could tease him about it later. Chose to just roll them both to their sides so that Jim wasn’t crushing all the air from his lungs, and then let Jim cling to him.

“I hope you're not expecting me to go home now,” Jim offered up eventually, words muffled into his shoulder, “I don't think I can walk straight.”

There was a lewd joke to be made there. More than one, if Harvey was any judge of such matters, but he restrained himself admirably and settled for hugging Jim still closer, loving the way he felt pressed up against him and the way he snorted, tired and amused, when he said,

“How can I let you go home? I'm nowhere near done with you!”

“Dreaming big, huh?” Jim asked, the smile audible, and Harvey only grinned in response.

Maybe sometimes big really was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now a sequel to this one [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25940838).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	92. Definitions of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt - 'Everyone has their own definition of happiness. I'd like to see it for as many characters from the show as you please (Gordlock welcome, naturally but can also be gen) <3'

Happiness meant different things to different people.

If there was anything life had taught Harvey, it was just that.

He encountered it daily on the job, and saw it in the faces of the people he passed in the street.

The people he worked with were diverse enough, because Alvarez sought happiness in the embrace of strangers while Tuttle refused to look outside himself. Essen had seen it as achieving something approaching a work life balance, and Barnes told him once that he was happiest when he was sat at his desk, knowing his officers were following his orders.

The villains they fought to put behind bars were not that much different. For some, like Fish, happiness was simple; a quest for money and power that would never quite be satisfied. For others it was more complicated. The Penguin might have emerged from Fish’s shadow but it wasn’t enough for him to be wealthy and powerful, he wanted to be respected along with it. Wanted people to believe that he deserved the position he was in and, in Harvey’s experience, there was nothing anyone could do to guarantee that.

Some people found happiness in sweeping concepts - Bruce and the pursuit of justice, or Selina and the need for freedom. Some found it in the mundane and everyday. He saw the look on Alfred’s face when he looked at Bruce, the pride of a parent for a child, and it didn’t matter whether family ties were made in blood or forged without it. For every person he came across whose family was the source of all their woes, there was another for whom it was their only solace.

Happiness was a life long process according to Dix, even if it was one he rarely cared to work at, whereas for Lee it was a fleeting moment. Lucius said he felt happy when he solved a problem, while Nygma tackled the puzzle all wrong, wanting validation for a project he had yet to finish.

Jim was still trying to figure it out, that much was obvious, but Harvey had faith he would find it. He was too stubborn, too driven, to go through life without wringing the most out of it.

When it came to his own happiness, he knew all the pitfalls. Understood why some people pitied him, and why others told him he deserved all the heartbreak heading his way. Harvey was every bit as stupid as they said he was, maybe, but his happiness wasn’t entirely dependent on Jim loving him back.

To have Jim’s company, Jim's friendship, Jim’s trust -

Sometimes it was almost enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	93. Tell Me More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a [commentfic prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/621791.html?thread=85650399#t85650399) \- Harvey tries to turn Jim on by talking about his trysts with women.

Back when they had first been working each other out - when he had been convinced that Harvey was a good for nothing slacker and Harvey hated him on principle - their stakeout talk had consisted almost entirely of stilted silence and total filth.

Harvey had been trying to get a rise out of him, figuratively as well as literally, and Jim had been forced to pretend his words had no impact on him. Had shifted and squirmed in his seat, as unobtrusively as he could manage, then would go home and kiss Barbara in fevered desperation.

Would hitch her up into his arms and gasp and groan and grind against her, loving the way her fingers slid through his too short hair and the smile she gave him, amused and knowing, when she pushed him back against the soft sheets of their bed and climbed on top of him.

That was Harvey’s favorite position, or so he had never seemed to tire of telling him in ever more explicit detail. He liked it when a woman knew her own mind. When she rode him like he was nothing more than a means to an end, and made him wait until he was half wild with it before lifting a finger to help him get off.

“You’re just lazy,” Jim accused one night, when Harvey again set about trying to discomfort him so much he would just give in and request a transfer. “You want somebody else to do all the work.”

Harvey was drunk. Jim could smell it on him, could see the glassy sheen in his eyes, and for once it was a relief because it meant Harvey probably wouldn’t notice how ridiculously turned on his stupid stories got him. His dick was already aching in his slacks, knowing what was coming, and Harvey just shook his head, the movement way too distracting, and argued,

“That’s not it at all, Jimbo. It’s about power. It’s about having it and handing it over, and letting them take as much or as little as they want from you. Let me tell you about this guy I was with - ”

Jim startled at that, turning to stare at Harvey though the older man just carried on talking, oblivious. He really was drunk, Jim figured. Three sheets to the wind, maybe, because the department was worse than the army, and the so-called banter those cops who had nailed their colors to the mast were forced to endure made him sick to his stomach.

He hadn’t heard Harvey take part, at least, and Jim had the uncomfortable sensation that he was going to have to reassess his first impressions of his partner. Harvey was still just as crass, just as boorish, but perhaps he wasn’t quite the bigot Jim had initially pegged him as.

“It’s so fucking hot, Jim,” Harvey was saying, and Jim couldn’t look away from his dark gaze, “watching someone’s face as they lose control. Listening to the noises they make when they find just the right position. That’s when you gotta help them out, yeah? Get your hands under their thighs, on their ass, tell them how good it feels, whatever does it for them, you know what I’m saying?”

He made a noise of his own at that, involuntary and embarrassing, but Harvey was just slouching down into his seat. Was speaking in a tone Jim had never heard from him before - a tone he hoped he was going to hear again.

“This is how I like it best,” Harvey said, gesturing at his sprawling posture. “You ever try it, Jim, back in the army maybe? Let some guy work himself on your dick while you took him in hand? Bet they all wanted you with a face like that, didn’t they?”

“I’m not gay,” was the best Jim could manage, feeling the flush spreading across his cheeks.

“Never said you were,” Harvey countered easily, “but everything’s black and white in your world, huh? I toss one off thinking about you in my lap and I’m queer. I imagine it’s because your girl’s going to sit on my face afterwards and it’s all good. I got plausible deniability.”

They stared each other down, one moment, two, and then Jim was shifting carefully. Was reaching for his stone cold coffee and looking anywhere but at Harvey as he said gruffly,

“You’re drunk, Bullock.”

“Not drunk enough,” Harvey muttered, and that would have been an end to it. Would have been if this wasn’t Gotham, and his life wasn’t already turning into one long bout of crazy.

“What are you doing?” Jim demanded, wincing at the shrill note in his own voice. Clenching the fingers of his free hand into a fist because he didn’t trust himself not to touch otherwise. Himself, Harvey, anything. It was all out of bounds.

It had to be.

Because Harvey wasn’t listening. Clearly didn’t give a damn what he had to say about the situation, his own fingers making short work of his zipper, drawing his thick cock out through the placket of his boxer shorts and spitting into his palm, the sound obscene in the enclosed space of the car.

“Fuck,” Harvey hissed quietly as he started stroking and Jim wanted to look away. Wanted to get out and walk off. Report the man for indecent behavior and partner with somebody who was interested in actually getting some work done. “I got to, Jim,” Harvey groaned out and Jim knew he wouldn’t do any of it. Watched rapt instead, his breathing growing unsteady as Harvey pushed up into his hand, biting down at his lower lip as his grip tightened.

“This is completely unprofessional,” Jim heard himself say, just as prim and proper as people made him out to be, but Harvey just tipped his head back into the seat and met his gaze, shameless,

“If you’re not going to join in, make yourself useful and keep talking. Come on, show me what that pretty mouth of yours is capable of.”

Jim swiped his tongue across suddenly dry lips. Shivered in spite of himself at the obvious way in which Harvey followed the movement, and couldn’t stop his own gaze dropping to Harvey’s lap, the slow sure strokes making him ache in sympathy.

“Do you?” He tried, brain lagging behind his mouth, “Think about me, when you do this?”

“Do I think about you?” Harvey asked, more to himself than to his audience, his thumb wringing a shudder from him. “I can’t take my eyes off you. The things I’d do to you, Jim. The things I want you to do to me.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Jim breathed, even as he felt the tips of his ears burning. Even as his heart hammered and his pulse throbbed, his head spinning with the heat and the scent and the proximity. “We work together, that’s it. That’s all there is ever going to be between us.”

“I know,” Harvey bit out in turn, body tensing and expression twisting. “Oh God, I know that.”

Then he was coming, panting and shaking, and Jim fought to think of something, anything, other than how badly he wanted to touch himself. How easy it would be to take hold of Harvey’s hand and press it to his own straining erection.

How it wasn’t even the first time he had thought about Harvey touching him, tasting him, and how hard the idea invariably made him come, when he finally gave into it.

Instead he said nothing, did nothing, not as Harvey slowly sobered up, and not when Harvey searched for something to dispel the tension between them at the end of shift. Not even when he went back to Barbara’s empty penthouse, choosing to stand for long minutes under the cold spray of the shower rather than admit the effect the display had really had on him.

It would be better all around if they just went on as though it had never happened.

That was what they did. They never spoke of it, never alluded to it even, not directly, but Harvey didn’t tell him stories of his exploits with other guys again. Only shared what he had been doing with women very occasionally, and then quit that, telling him instead that he was going to get clean. Was giving up the booze and the hookers, and Jim surprised himself by just how much he meant it when he told Harvey he was proud of him.

Because somewhere along the way Harvey had become his friend, his very best friend, and perhaps the only person in the world he truly trusted not to sell him out no matter how great the prize. Harvey was his partner, his brother, and his sole visitor in Blackgate, their short conversations the only thing Jim had to look forward to.

Later, on Harvey’s sofa, wrapped up in blankets that smelled of Harvey’s cologne, Jim began to question exactly what it was he wanted from Harvey. More than he could ask the other man to give, that was the conclusion he came to, because he knew full well the effect he had on other people.

He had seen it ruin Barbara’s life, Lee’s too, and Harvey had fought so hard to claw his own back from the grip of the drink and the despair. Jim had seen him do it, watched the constant battle between doing the right thing and finding a way not to care a damn in the first place, and Jim wouldn’t take that from him.

“How did your date go?” Jim asked instead, when Barnes had Harvey on stakeout duty and Jim was along, because for all his refusals to return to the department he had nothing better to do. The look Harvey gave him in response made his breath catch. That wasn’t why he had asked, wasn’t what he had been searching for, but now it was all he could think of.

Harvey was in the same situation, Jim just knew, and when the other man licked his lips, nervous, this time it was Jim who followed the movement.

“Okay - good,” Harvey managed, voice lowering instinctively, “we went back to her place.”

“Yeah?” Jim pushed, and Harvey’s eyes looked huge in the dim light of the dockside. Jim could still remember the heat in them as they looked at him, the flush that had disappeared down his neck and under his collar as he outright admitted that he wanted him. That he thought about him when he touched himself. That he’d do whatever Jim wanted, if only he gave the go ahead.

“Yeah,” Harvey responded shakily, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, “she got me on my knees and I did as I was told.”

“Do you like that?” Jim asked and the air around them felt so thick it was as though he was swimming in it. As though they were shut off from the rest of the world, trapped in a dream somehow, and that had to be why he was pursuing the subject. In the real world he wouldn’t dare to. “Is it better than having some guy fuck himself on your dick?”

“Jesus Christ,” Harvey murmured, like he wasn’t even aware he was speaking, and Jim could feel the heat coursing over him. He had thought about that night too many times. He had dreamed about it over and over, and how different his life might be if he had reached out then and replaced Harvey’s hand with his own.

If he had kissed Harvey, hot and slick, and gone home with him afterwards, fingers tangled tight in his hair as he made Harvey promise to never go looking elsewhere again.

In the present Jim scarcely knew himself, drunk on the tension between them - drunk on God knows what he had had lying around his apartment - and the hand he was resting on his own thigh was sending tingles along the length of it, his whole body desperate for some kind of attention.

“Do you still think about me, Harvey? Is that what you want me to do - put you on your knees and tell you what you’re allowed to do to me?”

Harvey made a noise at that, helpless and inarticulate, and it was such a rush Jim couldn’t help himself.

“Or do you want me on your lap, so you can see my face when I lose control of myself?”

They were Harvey’s own words, Harvey’s own fantasy, but Harvey didn’t reach for him. Didn’t touch him or kiss him or any of the things Jim might have been angling for. Instead he raked a hand through his hair and looked away.

“Please, Jim,” he said quietly, the words loud in the otherwise silence of the squad car, “please don’t do this to me.”

Then Harvey was gone and Jim was on his own, though he had no badge and no jurisdiction. No idea what the hell he had been thinking, but the apology died on his lips when Harvey returned half hour later with strong coffee and a shuttered expression.

So they didn’t talk about his slip up either, not when Harvey dropped him home, and not when Jim returned to the force, realizing perhaps for the first time that it wasn’t justice that had got him through Blackgate and the ordeal with Tetch. It was his partner.

It didn’t help that Harvey was more open with his affections than ever. Hugged him and kissed his cheek, and Jim didn’t understand why Harvey hadn’t wanted more, not even when he had been offering it so brazenly. The idea hit him in the wake of the Neo Maniax that perhaps Harvey never had wanted it.

Maybe it had all been a lie, a game to try and get rid of him, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. He had believed what he wanted to because he was stupid and proud, and all the while Harvey had never been interested in anything other than his friendship.

Except he saw the way Harvey looked at him. Felt the tender way he handled him when he was helping him get ready for another stay on Harvey’s sofa. He touched Harvey’s hand one night, just as the other man was about to pull away, and the flash of hurt in Harvey’s eyes made him let go as though he had been burned.

It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t see - he wasn’t going to force Harvey into anything.

He couldn’t quit looking though, couldn’t quit hoping, and it wasn’t until he had seen his life flit before his eyes, six foot below ground in his own damn coffin, that Jim realized what should always have been obvious.

Hesitated over what to do about it, still afraid that he was drawing the wrong conclusions, and it was Harvey’s invitation to join him for a drink or two, arm heavy around his shoulders, that made his decision for him.

Harvey clung to him after a couple of drinks, nowhere near drunk but happy to use them as justification, and Jim only encouraged it. Pressed too close and clutched too tight, and dropped down to sit beside Harvey on his beat up old sofa when they made it back to his apartment. They laughed and joked, and moved closer still, until levity gave way to something else and Harvey’s voice wasn’t quite steady when he said,

“You can’t do that to me again, Jim. I thought I was going to have to dig up your dead body.”

“You’ll never get rid of me that easily,” Jim countered, the ache in his own throat audible, and Harvey’s gaze was dark and glassy, not with drink but with emotion.

Jim didn’t give himself time to think about it. Moved, clumsy and graceless, until he was straddling Harvey’s lap, his hands holding Harvey’s head in place.

“What are you doing?” Harvey whispered, his body reacting even as his hands seemed torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

“What does it look like?” Jim said in answer, moving so that he could rest their foreheads together. So that he could turn Harvey’s own words on him. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re the reason I’m not dead a thousand times over.”

Harvey’s hands went to Jim’s hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles against the fabric of his shirt rather than trying to still him, and it was that more than anything that made him certain. This was where he wanted to be, where he was meant to be, and he stroked his own thumbs through the scruff of Harvey’s beard.

“We were never just two guys who worked together, were we?” 

“I was out of order,” Harvey said, eyes never leaving his own, “I should never have done that to you.” He smiled, bitter and self-recriminating, “Someone came to me now and said their partner had pulled a stunt like that on them I'd have the sleazebag out on their ear faster than they could get their hands out of their pants. You gotta believe that, Jim.” 

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to gather his thoughts together. “I liked it,” he confessed, so close their lips almost brushed together as he spoke, “I wasn't mocking you that night in the squad car. I just - I couldn't make the move myself. I wanted you to do it for me.”

“Oh God,” Harvey groaned, lost to it, and when he finally - finally -  closed the gap between them Jim kissed back eagerly. Licked past the taste of the whiskey and into something more intimate, and maybe Harvey had known exactly what he was talking about. No maybe about it, even, because Harvey was looking up at him, adoring, and his heart was racing, his entire body burning as he ground down into Harvey's lap. 

Then Harvey was pushing him off him, had him falling to sit beside him, and the rejection hurt so much Jim didn't know what to do with himself. Didn't know where to look, or what to say, but Harvey only cupped his cheek, touch tender as he encouraged Jim to meet his gaze.

“I'm not the man I was then,” he said, and it was all Jim could do to try and make sense of what he was saying. To not flee the room, to better deal with the humiliation sitting like lead in his stomach. Harvey sounded just as much of a mess as he felt, voice scratchy and desperate, “I won't throw away everything we have for sex. I can't, Jim. If that's all this is to you I can't do it. Please don't ask me to.” 

“What if it isn't?” Jim asked slowly, the declaration - the implication - turning his whole world on its head again. Had him thinking about how he had changed too, how stubbornly he would have fought against then what he was going to fight for now. “What if I want it all from you? What if I just want you?”

Harvey sucked in a shuddering breath. Looked at him like he couldn't quite believe this was really happening, and when Jim didn't back down, didn't look away, Harvey kissed him again, a touch frantic as though he was afraid the chance might be slipping through his fingers. 

“I'd be lost for words, Jim. I wouldn't know how to tell you how happy I'd be.”

“You'd have to show me,” Jim offered, helpless grin stealing across his face, “You think you could manage that?”

The way Harvey hauled him in close told him everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	94. Hair Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Porn Battle prompt - Jim/Harvey, hair-trigger.

It was something you grew out of, that was what people had said when he was young, but decades later Harvey felt fully vindicated in his skepticism. He had learned ways to deal with it, for the most part, and he had enough experience to avoid being totally humiliated.

Usually.

But it was one thing to pay someone who didn’t care how long he lasted - who saw a quick transaction as a positive advantage of his company - and quite another to be pressed up tight against the hottest guy in the whole of Gotham.

And Jim was hot, that wasn’t even a lack of objectivity on his part. Jim was toned and gorgeous. Wore suits that set off his coloring and cologne that made his head spin. Was looking up at him with apology in his big blue eyes as the subway car jostled again, knocking him face first into Harvey’s chest because there was no room to manoeuvre in the crowded space.

“Sorry,” Jim offered, struggling for balance, and the squirming wasn’t helping. Jim’s hands, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Jim’s breath, hot and damp on the skin of his throat. Jim’s body, sinfully beautiful where it pressed up against the length of his own -

It was too much. He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t help himself, and if the strained grunt didn’t give it away, the desperate flush in his cheeks and the shameful tremors as he fought for composure did the job for him.

Jim’s eyes went wide, startled, and his hand began drifting downwards, instinctive, before he realised what he was doing.

“Harvey?” He questioned, gaze flickering between his face and the tight press of their bodies. The car jostled again, Jim’s legs shifting so that there could be absolutely no doubt of the mess he was in, and Harvey couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t stand to see the disgust painted across Jim’s handsome features or, worse, the pitying amusement.

The name of the upcoming stop sounded then, Jim rocking into him one last time as the train came to a halt, and then the doors were opening and Harvey was moving without a backwards glance.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, tonight would be the night he succeeded in drinking himself to death.

* * *

Luck wasn’t on his side. Never had been, truth be told, and Jim was banging at his apartment door almost before he had even had chance to consign the incriminating evidence to the laundry hamper.

“It’s an involuntary reaction,” Jim started up when Harvey caved to the inevitable and let him in, tone distant like he was reciting a lecture he had once heard on some training course, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

The high color in Jim’s cheeks suggested otherwise, and the bitterness in his own tone surprised him when he countered with,

“People have been telling me that my whole life - and not one of them believed it any more than you do.”

“Don’t tell me what I believe,” Jim argued, trademark stubbornness on full display, and Harvey didn’t want to see that determined tilt to his jaw. Didn’t want to look at the intensity in his eyes or the contrast of his skin and his crisp shirt collar.

Just once, he didn’t want to have to pretend to be unaffected by Jim’s proximity.

Because Jim was closing the gap between them, expression earnest, and Harvey’s pulse was pounding. His dick was aching, the desperate need just as undignified now as it had been when he was a teenager and blaming it on hormones and lack of practice.

“You don’t want to do this, Jim,” he said, voice scratchy, because no breathing exercise in the world would stave it off if Jim were to actually touch him, and there was no way Jim was going to be interested in sticking with him long enough to work through the learning curve.

Not when it had been so long since he had been with anyone else. So long since he hadn’t been so pathetically hung up on the man in front of him. A man who deserved better, and wasn’t ever likely to look at him twice in that light in the first place.

Except Jim wasn’t listening, just the same as usual, and then Jim’s fingers were touching his jaw. Were sliding to curl around his neck, possessive and tender like Harvey always imagined Jim was with his girlfriends, and he had to shut his eyes and try to think of anything but how ridiculously turned on he was by the simple act of Jim reaching out for him.

“Would it be the same if anyone was touching you?” Jim asked, voice hushed and a little awed with how obviously affected Harvey was, “Or is it because it’s me, specifically?”

Harvey shuddered, the words stealing over him like a physical caress, and Jim had to understand that while it was a problem he had never quite managed to solve, he didn’t have to bite hard at the inside of his cheek to avoid embarrassing himself every time Alvarez or Tuttle perched on the edge of the desk in his office. He didn’t spill in his pants because just anyone stroked their fingers along the side of his neck, or leaned in so close their breath was intermingling.

All he could do in the moment was reach for Jim. Close the gap between them and press their lips together, his heart hammering frantically as Jim kissed back. As Jim’s tongue swiped against his own, perfect slick heat that threatened to fry his brain cells, and Harvey clung to him. Kissed and clutched and gasped helplessly, the climax hitting too soon and too hard, but Jim didn’t stop or slow down or give any indication he had noticed that Harvey had just come all over again beyond kissing him with still greater enthusiasm.

Jim just kept going, noises of his own filling the air as his erection dug into Harvey’s thigh, and it was so hot. So stupidly unbearably hot, but he wasn’t in his 20s any more and even Jim’s hands stroking down his back and gripping at his ass couldn’t get his body going again that quickly. Instead he lead Jim into his bedroom. Got him stretched out across his bedcovers and went to town in mapping each patch of newly bared skin.

Spoke endlessly, desperately, of how long he had wanted Jim, how badly he wanted him, and Jim was all but incoherent by the time he took his dick into his mouth. He was shifting and twitching, and seemed at a loss at to what to do with his arms, flinging one forearm across his eyes one minute, then twisting his fingers down into the bedsheets the next. He was so loud, so frantic, and when Jim switched their positions Harvey knew he was in danger of busting early again because Jim was so eager, kissing and sucking at his balls, his own hand a blur on his dick as Harvey whined out frenzied filth about how beautiful he looked.

“Come on, Jim,” he begged, “that’s it, come on, please,” and it was the please that did it because Jim was shaking and panting, and he was coming too, totally overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

Jim collapsed next to him once he was sufficiently recovered to move. Was so flushed and gorgeous that Harvey’s dumb heart tore at the sight, reality already starting to filter through the temporary insanity. He had to make the most of the few remaining moments of whatever spell had convinced Jim to go to bed with him. Had to brush a tender thumb over his cheek and kiss him softly, trying his best to commit the taste of him to memory.

“I didn’t come here planning to do that,” Jim said and Harvey nodded. Forced his expression to stay neutral and didn’t give voice to how much it hurt, to have all his suspicions about what was going to happen next confirmed. But Jim wasn’t getting up or freaking out. Instead he lay his head on Harvey’s chest, comfortable like it was something they did all the time.

Harvey let his fingers pet at Jim’s hair, the way he had wasted many long hours thinking about, and Jim sighed contentedly and went on,

“It was just so hot, you know, watching you lose control of yourself.”

“Let’s hope the rest of the train didn’t think so,” was the line he went with, for once not able to feel overly embarrassed at the idea, not with Jim in his arms talking about how maybe this wasn’t going to be written off as a crazy mistake, and he could feel Jim’s smile against his skin.

“They can think what they like, I know I’m right.”

Harvey just grinned up at the ceiling.

It was convictions like those that had always been destined to make him fall for Jim Gordon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	95. IKEA Fic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IKEA fic. :)

Harvey was being punished. For what, he didn’t know, but it must have been something heinous.

Awful, terrible, _unspeakable_.  

They had been wandering around the store for over an hour now and Jim had yet to show any signs of nearing burnout. Harvey could sympathise to some extent - was really doing his absolute best to - because Jim’s apartment had been given a thorough going over by some of the city’s goons, and replacing the busted furniture was just the start of it.

His crockery had been smashed up and his soft furnishings torn to pieces. The bathroom mirror had been left in shards all over the floor, and Harvey couldn’t blame Jim for wanting to replace everything that reminded him over and over of being woken up at three in the morning, startling into awareness as one guy pressed a knife to his throat while the other trampled all over his personal belongings.

He just wished that Jim would be quicker about it.

There were other guys suffering the same fate. Wandering about with the same blank eyed gaze and morose expression, and occasionally he shared a commiserative look with one of them, Jim rambling on and on (and on) about color schemes and the merits of open space.

He zoned out for a while, enjoying the sight of Jim’s gorgeous face and his equally gorgeous backside, leaning heavily on the handle of the cart as the sound of Jim’s voice washed over him. When he was forced back to himself it was to Jim’s impatient glare, two equally hideous bedspreads being held out for his opinion.

“Er,” Harvey started, shrugging helplessly, and Jim huffed and pouted and launched straight back into some one sided discussion about how many tubs of spackling paste he ought to get to fill the bullet holes, and what shade of paint he should put up over the top of it.

Another forty minutes and Harvey was reaching the end of his tether. His back hurt and his feet ached. He was bored out of his mind and while he wasn’t the type to cry - a few manly tears over Jim’s various near death experiences notwithstanding - he wasn’t ruling out the possibility of curling into a ball and sobbing if they didn’t make for the checkout soon.

“I think I will get another tub,” Jim said, just as the end was in sight, “come on, it’s back this way.”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear it.

“I don’t care what color it is,” some guy further down the aisle exploded, “just please, for the love of God, pick one so we can get out of here!”

Harvey knew the feeling.

Still, he trudged back the way they had come. Silently prayed for the forbearance to get through this test he had been set and, when that didn’t work, cursed under his breath, thinking longingly of all the more enjoyable things he could be doing.

Like gouging a fork into his own eyeball.

But then Jim hesitated in front of a display of door chains and home security measures, and the irritation fizzled into insignificance. Jim was safe, Jim was with him, and if he wanted to drag him around home-ware departments every Saturday morning Harvey would deal with it.

“What is it?” Jim asked when he turned to look at him, brow furrowed in confusion, and Harvey just carried on gazing dopily at him. It felt like his heart was going to burst, like he was on some kind of sugar high, and when Jim’s frown deepened Harvey simply abandoned the cart to put a hand on Jim’s shoulder.

To lose himself in Jim’s big blue eyes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

They didn’t often touch like that in public, didn’t want to invite speculation that they might be anything more than best buddies and work partners, but Jim could have been killed that night and suddenly the solution to all his problems seemed obvious.

He loved Jim, desperately. Wanted to be close to him, always, and he really _really_ wanted this shopping expedition to be over.

“You should move in with me,” he said simply, heart hammering as Jim processed the suggestion, afraid it would send Jim running for the hills, even as he began dreaming up a future where he woke up to Jim’s face every morning.

“Do you mean it?” Jim asked finally, breathlessly, and Harvey had to content himself with a lovesick smile, mindful of the curious glances being cast in their direction.

“Does this place sell 47 different kinds of glass jar?” He joked, just because it was one of those important moments he always had to ruin, and because he didn't understand what Jim needed one for let alone half a dozen, but Jim wasn’t fazed. Didn’t care that there were still people watching either, pushing in close enough to kiss him again, the fingers of one hand tangling in his hair as they both got swept away in the moment.

They both grinned at each other when they pulled apart, a little bashful and a lot openly adoring, and Harvey covered over any lingering awkwardness with,

“I think this calls for a celebration.”

A drink would be good about now. Some dinner maybe.

Or they could skip to dessert because Jim never looked more beautiful than when he was sprawled across Harvey’s bedsheets.

“It does,” Jim agreed, so perfect it was almost overwhelming, and then -

Then Harvey was casting an accusatory look up to the heavens, wondering yet again what it was he had done that was so very objectionable, as Jim continued happily,

“But first we should pick out some new stuff for _our_  apartment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	96. Heat Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some pointless fluff - Jim gets what he wants.

It wasn’t fair. Really and truly wasn’t fair because Jim was trying his best not to destroy the one relationship that kept him going. Harvey was his partner. His brother and his best friend. The guy who had his back no matter what, and the one person on the face of the planet who Jim knew would never deliberately hurt him.

Accidentally, unwittingly, though - that was a different problem altogether.

Because summer had hit Gotham with a vengeance, and Harvey was dealing with the heat by wandering around his apartment in a t-shirt and his boxer shorts. Was answering the door to him fresh from yet another shower, and Jim could have happily fallen to his knees right then and there, desperate to trace his tongue along the same path as those rivulets of water.

In the morning, after a long night of uncomfortable tossing and turning in his own bed, Jim let himself in with his key when Harvey didn’t answer. Had to just stand there for long moments, drinking in the sight of Harvey sprawled out in sleep, the twisted lightweight sheet scarcely covering him.

“What time is it?” Harvey frowned when he cracked an eye open, words running together, and Jim wanted so badly to crawl in beside the other man he ached with it.

“Time for work,” he said instead, and watched openly as Harvey hauled himself into a sitting position, the bedsheets sliding further. Pretended to be busy with his phone when Harvey turned his broad back to him, swinging his legs over the far side of the bed and fishing for something clean to put on.

Jim wanted to peel the shirt back off again. Wanted to stroke his fingers along Harvey’s morning wood until Harvey couldn’t keep still. Until Harvey met his gaze, wanting, and begged for him to keep going.

Until -

“Come on, boy scout,” Harvey said, voice rough in a way that wasn’t a million miles from Jim’s helpless fantasies, and if Jim didn’t do something ridiculous like find a t-shirt Harvey might not miss for a while to sniff at, it was only through a display of willpower.

It was no easier at the precinct. The building was old, ill equipped for a heatwave, and Jim found himself eyeing up short sleeved uniform shirts with envy. Tuttle looked half dead, sprawled heavily in his office chair and mopping at his face with a handkerchief.

Alvarez had sweet talked his way next to one of the few electric fans, and Jim allowed himself to shed his suit jacket before focusing on the mantra that it was all a case of mind over matter. He had patrolled in far worse conditions. Had been out in the glaring midday sun, weighed down by his flak jacket and his rifle, trying to convince himself that his presence was making a difference.

He still had that last burden, at least sometimes, but it wasn’t as much of a worry as it had once been. If he wasn’t there for the criminals, he was there for his brothers in arms. He was helping seed changes in the way things were done, was spending his evenings at GPU meetings and butting heads with the Commissioner. He was there to support Harvey, to be there for Harvey, and it wasn’t until he felt the older man’s hand on his shoulder that he realized he had spent the last quarter hour or so daydreaming about all the many and varied ways he would like to offer his assistance.

Back in the real world they went out to follow up a few leads, Harvey huffing for breath and complaining as they climbed narrow fire escapes in the old slum district, and then collapsed down to sit on the first low wall they came across, scattering teenage drop-outs with a look that could curdle milk. Jim sat happily beside him, willing to put up with the discomfort of his own sweat sodden shirt if it meant he got a front row seat to the way Harvey’s was clinging to him.

“It’s too hot,” Harvey told him plaintively, yanking at his tie and pulling it looser, “I can’t take another day of this.”

Jim had seen the weather forecast and knew full well that they were expecting it to hold out until the end of the week, at least. He also knew that Harvey wouldn’t appreciate the reminder, and he hesitated for the briefest of moments before putting a hand to Harvey’s shoulder in comfort. He was burning up under his touch, and when Harvey turned to look at him questioningly Jim couldn’t help but fixate on the flush in his cheeks and the visible freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Jim?” Harvey tried, tone tinged with concern, and Jim might have said something stupid. Might had done something stupider, driven past the point of no return by the unrelenting heat and the much wanted proximity, but the radio chose that moment to crackle into life and they were making their way to the scene of yet another homicide.

It was a bad one. Ugly - messy - and when they arrived one of the new recruits was busy emptying the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. Jim’s own gut squirmed, bile rising in his throat, and there was nothing like a mutilated corpse to take the mind off thwarted arousal. Perhaps it was just as well because Harvey fell straight into Acting Captain mode, issuing commands and taking charge of the situation, and without the distraction Jim was liable to get carried away with what an inevitable turn on that display of competence was.

Instead Harvey waved him off to help make a start on the door to door enquiries, and Jim wondered when exactly he had stopped riling at the idea of Harvey giving him orders. Probably around the same time he had started noticing how good Harvey smelled, and how much he looked forward to their unspoken invitations to hang out together when their shifts were over.

He had been falling for Harvey long before he ever realized it, Jim thought - in between taking notes and asking questions - because somewhere along the way he had quit worrying about what all the time he spent with his partner was going to do for his love life. Had begun looking for excuses to press closer, to stay longer. Had finally found himself curled up on Harvey’s sofa one night, surrounded by Harvey’s scent and the soft sound of his breathing coming from the direction of the bedroom, and been forced to acknowledge that he knew exactly why he was hard and aching beneath the borrowed blanket.

If the revelation had come at the beginning, back when Harvey was reporting for duty drunk and screwing anything that moved, perhaps he could have worked it out of his system. He could have shoved Harvey against the wall of some stinking alley, pressed his hand to the fly of Harvey’s pants, his meaning obvious, and Harvey would have kept up a running stream of verbal filth, guiding hand in his hair, as Jim ruined the knees of his suit trousers.

But then Harvey had cleaned his act up. Kept it together for the job - for him - even when the world was falling to pieces around them, and nobody could have blamed Harvey for falling off the wagon. Harvey credited him with it, at least when he was tipsy and talkative after a long day, and told him that it was he who had given him his sense of purpose back. It was usually accompanied by a strong arm around his shoulders, and sometimes even a kiss to the cheek, and Jim was beyond certain that sex, no matter how good, would never be enough for him.

He wanted the whole package. The falling asleep wrapped around each other and the waking up to Harvey’s sleep rough voice begging for five more minutes. The frantic passion in the bedroom and the stolen kisses at the precinct. The white picket fence, even, because Jim had always aspired to the All American Dream, even when he was chasing down mutants and refusing to shower.

Harvey would laugh at him, most likely. Had already, back before he came so close he could have reached out and touched it, and told him that he would hate suburbia. Afterwards, when his baby was dead and Lee could hardly bear to look at him, Harvey had held him tight. Had let him sob into his shoulder and promised that he would get another chance. That the day would come when he was willingly blowing off work to go and watch kids attempt to hit balls, and spending his weekends mowing the lawn and clipping the hedge because there was good reason why most of their colleagues favored inner city living.

Jim smiled at the memory. Sobered up quickly when the door he had been waiting on opened, and was every bit the professional when he got nothing but complaints about the general lack of police presence in the area for his troubles. The day went on in much the same vein, and it was almost 8pm when he tracked Harvey down and suggested they call it an evening.

Love was making him soft, clearly. Was shaking up his priorities because there was a time, not so long ago, when he would have stayed at his desk all night, put a clean suit on, and then carried right on through until he either passed out from exhaustion or he made a breakthrough. Now he wanted to be aware enough on the job that he didn’t make mistakes. That he could look out for those who relied upon him, and those he wished would.

He didn’t want to waste a few off-duty hours with Harvey, to help make up for all the times when they didn’t have any choice but to pull an all-nighter.

Jim knew he had made the right decision when he saw, even at a distance, the strain in Harvey’s posture. When he got up close and saw the angry sunburn across his face, and along the lengths of his forearms where he had rolled his sleeves up.

“I don’t think the hat helped much,” Jim commented and Harvey only frowned for a moment until he caught his meaning, then he touched fingers to his cheek with a surprised expression that spoke of how little notice Harvey had taken that afternoon of anything that wasn’t directly work related.

By the time they signed off and handed over Harvey was obviously feeling it. His movements were stiff and stilted as they climbed the stairs of Harvey’s apartment building, and it might be his overactive imagination, but Jim was sure he could feel the body heat pouring off him even with the respectable inches of space between them.

“You should put some after-sun lotion on it,” Jim said once they were indoors and had drinks in their hands, eyeing up the reddened skin disappearing beneath the back of Harvey’s shirt collar when the older man raked a hand through his hair. “I could help if you like.”

That was exactly what his brain had been trying to tell him not to say, but his mouth had gone on ahead and now Harvey was looking at him quizzically. Was frowning, putting two and two together, and Jim attempted to save face by adding,

“You can burn through clothing, you know.”

There had been a guy in his unit back in Afghanistan with Harvey’s coloring. With broad shoulders and strong arms, and if Jim had looked too long and too close it was only because he had been concerned about the pamphlets he had read in his doctor’s office back Stateside, about the risks of skin cancer.

He had seen the reality of it too, in the showers, the redness of skin that had been covered by a t-shirt.

The flush in his own cheeks reflected in the mirror when he was caught looking, and the mottled bruises he had sported afterwards, because of everyone he could have picked to fixate upon, he had gone ahead and chosen the worst possible candidate.

Back in the present Harvey was still staring at him, but in place of anger and disgust there was compassion and understanding. Hope, even, and Jim only broke the eye contact to glance down at Harvey’s lips and up again.

“Jim,” Harvey managed in response, soft and breathy, and it was more than Jim could take.

His heart was hammering, the blood rushing in his ears, but he reached out anyway. Ran his fingertips across the heated skin of Harvey’s cheek before pushing them into Harvey’s hair, thrilling at the sensation.

“I do want your help,” Harvey said then, all in a rush, and it took Jim a moment to work out what it was he was referring to. The after-sun, of course, and somehow they went from looking at each other on Harvey’s sofa, to Harvey sprawled face down and half naked across his bed. Jim’s own shirt went next - on account of the potential for mess - and then he was on the bed with him, cool lotion in his palms as he took stock of the situation.

They could get past this. Could act like there was nothing deeper going on, like this wasn’t a scene out of one of his late night fantasies and carry right on being best buddies. Wingmen for the other’s exploits, and platonic shoulders to cry on when it fell to pieces all over again.

Harvey gasped as he touched his back, head shifting in the makeshift pillow of his arms, and Jim knew that there was no getting past this. They either moved things to the next stage, or they lived forever with the knowledge that it was Jim’s most fervent wish that they did so.

Decision made, Jim set about putting it into practice. Stroked slick hands down Harvey’s back and shivered himself at the way Harvey groaned, spurred on to more confident movement. He dug his thumbs into tense muscle and smoothed his palms along Harvey’s flank. Worked extra lotion into the back of Harvey’s neck, and lingered over the flesh just above his waistband.

It made Harvey twitch, helpless, and Jim was lost to it - the scent and the sight and the sounds Harvey was making. He tugged at Harvey’s trousers, intention obvious, and all he heard from Harvey was a muffled curse before he was working clumsy fingers at his own belt buckle, turning over so that Jim steeled himself for rejection. Braced himself to be told that his touch was no longer welcome.

Harvey simply reached for him, hands skimming over the cotton of his undershirt before pushing up and under it, and Jim went willingly. Shivered again, the cool breeze of an electric fan pushing the heat around the room, and Harvey chose that moment to tell him, breath hot and damp against the shell of his ear,

“You’ve caught the sun too. You’re burning up, Jim.”

It was likely true, along his nose and his cheeks, and the tips of his ears. But the frantic flush in his face was nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the man in front of him. Everything to do with the way Harvey was upturning the bottle into his own hand, then reaching out to smear lotion all across Jim’s chest and shoulders.

Jim groaned, surprised by just how good it felt, and Harvey’s strong fingers started kneading flesh. Set about turning him into nothing but a pleading mess, and then Harvey’s mouth was finally on his own, Jim pushing his hands into long hair as Harvey gently encouraged him to lay down. For once he didn’t argue. Followed orders and watched, breathless, as Harvey took his time.

As Harvey touched him everywhere but where he most needed it, his dick straining against the fabric of his boxer shorts after his pants joined Harvey’s on the floor, Harvey’s fingers skirting the edges of the material so that Jim squirmed and shifted.

“I don’t think you would have burnt through two layers,” Harvey said, voice low but amused when Jim’s leg spasmed involuntarily, “but maybe I ought to check to be one the safe side.”

“Please,” Jim managed in response, too worked up to care how desperate he sounded. He wasn’t used to so much teasing - not like this, not deliberate, and when Harvey removed his underwear only to run barely there fingertips along the crease of his thigh he had to try and touch himself, his cock throbbing with the need for stimulation.

“Not yet,” Harvey said, catching hold of his wrist, and Jim couldn’t work out how they had got here. How he had gone from wishing, pathetically, that he could simply touch Harvey that very morning, to being naked beneath Harvey’s gaze, begging the older man to stroke his erection.

He didn’t really care, he decided, because Harvey was watching him with dark eyes, the bulge in his own underwear unmistakable.

“Good things come to those who wait, Jim. And I’ve been waiting so long. You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to touch you.”

Jim whimpered, there was no other word for it, and then Harvey’s mouth was on him, wet and hot and perfect, his own hips attempting to lift off the bed helplessly.

It felt so good, looked amazing, and when Harvey pulled back to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen, Jim knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He was sweating, panting, muscles straining, and then Harvey was swallowing him down again and he was crying out, Harvey’s name torn from him as his fingers tightened in his thick hair.

Harvey kissed him frantically, surging up to get closer, and Jim only clutched him nearer, not caring that it was like being wrapped around each other in a sauna. Not at all concerned about the mess, Harvey gasping into the crook of his neck as he came over their linked hands.

It was too hot to carry on sharing body heat. They did it anyway, Jim not wanting to let go, and Harvey apparently content to give Jim whatever he wanted. It helped that it had been a long day. That the fan sent an occasional breeze in their direction, and that when Jim squirmed about to get more comfortable Harvey simply flung a heay arm over him and mumbled a sleepy sounding ‘love you’.

Everything was going to be fine. __They__ were going to be fine. At least that was what he believed as he fell asleep, more relaxed than he had been since - he couldn’t even remember. But when he woke up it was to a dark room and an empty bed, a dim strip of light coming through from under the door informing him that Harvey was in front of the television.

The best thing to do would be to go back to sleep and deal with it in the morning. To get a good night’s rest and then claim it was just the heat and the stress of the job getting to them. But he felt sick, rejected, and he tossed and turned for a few minutes before deciding that he wasn’t going to just sit around and wait for confirmation that he had ruined everything.

That wasn’t his style.

Instead he found his boxer shorts and his undershirt, then went out into the living room, Harvey not even glancing at him as he sat beside him.

“Can’t sleep either?” Harvey asked, just as Jim was saying,

“That looks painful.”

It did, the angry red of earlier now practically glowing in the light from the television.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

The words were quiet, apologetic, and the worst of the paranoia swimming in Jim’s gut dissipated.

“I don’t mind being woken up,” Jim said, truthful, and the smile Harvey gave him made his heart twist in his chest. Had him slouching back into the sofa cushions, eagerly accepting the invitation when Harvey shifted to let him curl into his side, one arm wrapped around him.

“I don’t even know what this is,” Harvey admitted, gesturing at the television, and Jim let the sound of some awful infommercial wash over him, the sense of contentment from earlier in the evening returning.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jim promised, half asleep again already, and when he woke for a second time he was still sprawled all over Harvey. They needed to get up and shower. Dress and get into the precinct, and not let on to the rest of the world that he wasn’t just thinking about getting Harvey out of his clothing - he had already experienced it.

They didn’t have to start getting ready just yet though, and Jim let his hands wander the way he had imagined the morning before. Touched and traced and memorised, and when Harvey opened his eyes any lingering worries he might have had evaporated.

“What time is it?” Harvey asked, the smile on his own face reflected in full, and Jim just pressed in close enough to kiss the other man’s cheek.

Right now they had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	97. Harvey revisits his old school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey gets an invite back to his old school - Jim offers to play his date for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this then realised I have no idea if US schools actually have prize evenings. I'm sure they must have some equally tedious alternative though, so hopefully it's not too far off base!

“You never told me about this,” Jim said, trying and failing not to be accusing, and if the lighting in Harvey’s apartment wasn’t so terrible he would have sworn that the older man colored up slighty at the sight of the letter in his hand.

They were celebrating another week being over, drinking cheap beer on Harvey’s couch, and Jim didn’t think he was overstepping the boundaries by rifling through the opened mail on the coffee table.

He and Harvey didn’t keep secrets from each other.

Except, maybe, the fact his stomach had taken to turning somersaults every time Harvey touched him and, apparently, the news that Harvey’s old school wanted him to go and hand out certificates to the current student body.

“It’s nothing. They probably send it to a couple of dozen people hoping someone will be stupid enough to agree to it.”

Jim shook his head, earnest as Harvey sat beside him, “This is a big deal. I’d be proud if I was asked to give a speech at my old school.”

It wasn’t likely to happen any time soon - overturned or not, his name had been splashed all across the papers as a convicted murderer. It wasn’t the kind of thing that recommended a guy to high school principals as a suitable candidate for inspirational speaking.

Harvey though - Harvey would be a real inspiration. He hadn’t been the most devoted student, so Jim had gleaned from previous conversations, but he had turned it all around. Had risen through the ranks to become Captain and there wasn’t anyone in Gotham, young or old, who hadn’t seen Harvey promising to keep the city and its citizens safe on the evening news.

“That’s where you and I differ, Jimbo,” Harvey was saying, focussed on his own drink, “I’m no good at that kind of thing. I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t want to stand around on my own making awkward small talk.”

Jim sprawled a little, just so his shoulder would nudge against Harvey’s in comfort. He understood what Harvey was saying, really he did. He knew how desperately nervous Harvey had been about speaking at the police cadets’ graduation ceremony. Had heard him complain about it, over and over, in lieu of outright admitting that he was afraid of being thought stupid.

All Jim actually divulged of his observations was, “The invite is for you and a guest. I could go with you.”

“Why, so you can be bored all night too?”

Jim shrugged, reaching for indifference and not a gushing soliloquy on how he would follow Harvey anywhere, and tipped his bottle to his lips before saying,

“The offer’s there if you want it.”

* * *

Harvey kept bringing the invite up, a sure sign that he was wavering. He mentioned it, seemingly out of the blue, as they walked past a dive of a greasy spoon it turned out Harvey had pulled shifts at back in his teens. He talked about what an awful night it would be when some kid in a St. Bede’s uniform came to the precinct to hand a lost wallet to the desk sergeant, and demanded - rhetorically - to know why they thought he would ever want to step foot in the place again after an old classmate yelled abuse at him from the station’s holding cell.

Finally he capitulated and said he would do it, then spent the evening getting steadily drunker and bemoaning his own decision making powers.

“They all said I’d never amount to anything,” Harvey whined, leaning so close to him he was in danger of toppling off his bar stool, “why should I have to go back there and prove myself?”

Jim drained his own glass and ran his tongue over numb lips. Perhaps trying to keep up hadn’t been such a great idea.

“It won’t be the same people,” he said, words slurring together ever so slightly, “they’re probably dead now.”

He hadn’t meant that the way it sounded, was still struggling to co-ordinate his mouth and brain into backtracking, but Harvey burst into laughter. Pulled him close with an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, so that his insides all squirmed about, rendering him helpless to do anything but grin dopily at his partner.

“I’ll drink to that. I guess getting old has to have some advantages.”

“You’re not old,” Jim protested, still regretting his initial choice of words, but Harvey just leaned in to whisper in his ear,

“I am. They’ll all think you’re my toy boy.” He grinned still wider, “I hope Father Mulligan __is__ there. The shock might do for him!”

Jim supposed this was the juncture where he ought to reassert the platonic nature of their relationship. The moment where it was expected he laugh along at the absurdity of the suggestion, and ensure there were no lingering suspicions about what he might really want from their partnership.

“If I’ve got to be your date you have to do it properly,” Jim said instead, the back of his neck heating up with the enormity of the moment, “I don’t want to just be your shock tactic.”

Harvey slapped him on the back, laughing harder than ever,

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring you a corsage and promise your Mom not to keep you out too late. You can count on me!”

* * *

Jim was glad of a distraction in the days that followed. Any distraction. Whether it was dealing with the couple who came in to lodge a complaint about officer conduct, or reorganizing his kitchen cupboards.

Anything was better than ruminating on Harvey being unable to even imagine a scenario in which Jim being his date wasn’t hilarious.

He was still a glutton for punishment, in spite of it all. Hovered around Harvey’s desk and asked if he wanted help with his speech. Sat too close in the diner at lunchtimes and watched him eat with open fascination, his own food forgotten.

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” Harvey said the day of the presentation evening, sucking stray ketchup off his fingers so that Jim’s grip on his coffee cup tightened reflexively. “That’s if you’re still up for coming with me?”

Harvey sounded uncertain, a little nervous maybe, and Jim tripped over himself to assure that it would be fine. That he was looking forward to it, no matter how much Harvey rolled his eyes at the statement, and when his shift was finished he spent longer than usual getting ready, fussing over his hair and which shirt he ought to wear.

It was a waste of time, he told himself ruthlessly. It wasn’t like Harvey was going to notice or care about the effort he was going to.

Except when he pulled the door of his apartment open it was to find Harvey in full dress uniform, Jim’s breath catching at the imposing figure he cut in it. Harvey gave him a half smile, clearly a touch embarrassed, and Jim thought it was for having dug out the uniform until he had a plastic box pushed into his hands.

“I’m a man of my word, Jim,” he said, trying to hide the feeling behind bluster, but Jim just beamed and laid the box carefully on the table, trying and failing not to give away how moved he was by the gesture, joke or no. “Think yourself lucky I’m not making you wear it,” Harvey groused around the fond smile he was bestowing in return, “it’s daylight robbery what they charged me for that thing.”

“I’m worth it though?” Jim queried, locking up, and Harvey slid an arm around his shoulders as they made their way to the elevator,

“Ask me again at the end of the evening.”

That was how they played it all through the drive to the school, nothing but banter and laughter, and Jim decided that even if that was all this was, he was still going to enjoy it. If all Harvey wanted from him was a way to get back at the bad memories this place had left him with, Jim would live with it.

If he at least got a kiss out of it, a real kiss, it might be a fair deal.

Harvey told him stories as they parked and headed for reception. Reminisced as they were lead down a long corridor for refreshments, and when they reached the principal’s office he whispered in his ear,

“The last time I was in here I was bent over the desk with my pants around my ankles.”

The shock must have been written all over his face because Harvey grinned still wider.

“I was being caned, Jim. You know you have a filthy mind for a boy scout.”

To Jim’s mind that image wasn’t much less shocking. Harvey waved it off though, apparently deeming it an occurrence not worth commenting on, and Jim did his best to be charming and agreeable. Sipped orange juice and made small talk about the weather, and the traffic, and the proposed funding settlement from the city council.

Worked his way around the room until he was almost back at Harvey’s side, glancing over with concern at the way Harvey’s posture stiffened, face falling as a frail old man was ushered into the office.

“We all thought you’d be behind bars by now,” the man said, raking a dismissive gaze over Harvey so that Jim’s blood boiled on his partner’s behalf. “Still, it’s nice to be wrong sometimes.” His tone suggested that it wasn’t, not at all, and when he forced Harvey to admit that there was no Mrs Bullock to be brought along, Jim could take it no longer.

Excused himself from the woman he was talking to and made straight for Harvey, putting a hand on his waist and pressing so close nobody was going to be left in any doubt about its significance. Kissed Harvey on the cheek for good measure, and asked to be introduced, the picture of politeness as Harvey’s former principal eyed up his hand like it was contagious before giving in and shaking it.

Harvey gaped at him, apparently struggling to keep up with what was happening, and Jim had to make the most of it. Acted the part of the adoring lover and proud partner, and the guy in front of him looked like he was on the verge of an aneurysm when his current successor stepped in to announce that the ceremony would be starting shortly.

“I didn’t realize,” she apologized, her wide smile and airy demeanour a total departure, “it’s so wonderful you don’t have to hide it. It’s about time the GCPD joined the 21st century.”

“Yeah,” Harvey managed, subdued, and Jim began to worry he had taken it too far. Started to think about what they would say when the news filtered back to the precinct, and how he was going to cope when Harvey started acting distant and standoffish, as damage limitation.

There was no time to do anything about it now, not when he was being shown to his seat and Harvey was being guided to sit on the dais, shifting uncomfortably as they were subjected to a blow by blow account of the entire academic year sandwiched between helpings of Sydney Carter.

Jim amused himself by trying to imagine Harvey as a clean cut schoolboy. It was a tough ask - it seemed bizarre enough that Harvey would have submitted to school uniform, let alone standing obediently and singing hymns just because he was told to do it. But then the principal was addressing the subject herself, introducing Harvey as an ex-pupil the entire school community was proud of.

Further down the aisle he could hear mutterings from a couple of people, obviously not quite as convinced, and he hoped the way he was glaring was getting his message across. Then he decided to modify his approach because Harvey cleared his throat twice up on the podium, twisting his speech around in his hands, like controlling a contingent of rowdy police officers was nothing compared to facing down a few hundred schoolchildren and their parents.

He shot Harvey an encouraging smile, on the edge of his seat with how desperately he was willing the other man to look in his direction. Then their eyes met and something passed between them, something he couldn’t even put a name to. He felt it, that was all he knew for sure, warmth spreading through his chest at the way Harvey visibly relaxed.

“I don’t need this,” Harvey said into the microphone, tearing the prepared sheets of paper down the middle and leaving them on the lectern, “it’s what I thought I ought to say, not what I want to say. Because when I was sat where you are, when I was thinking about my future, I never thought I’d amount to anything. I never imagined I was going to do well, and I never believed that I was going to make anyone proud of me.

I didn’t try because I didn’t want to fail, and when I had to watch other people get the things I wanted I told myself I didn’t deserve them anyway.”

Harvey glanced at him again, gaze lingering a moment too long, and Jim couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away, could scarcely think, because Harvey didn’t do serious. Harvey didn’t drop the act, not ever, yet there he was baring his heart to an entire auditorium.

“I still feel like a fraud sometimes. Like Father Mulligan is still waiting around the corner waiting to tan my hide for daring to get above my station,” his lips quirked at that, more than a few members of the audience murmuring in shared reminiscence, “but the truth is that I’ve got just as much right to be happy as anyone. So do you. All of you. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.

Whether you’ve won a prize tonight or not you’re still a talented young person who can achieve great things with their life. If you remember that, you won’t go far wrong.”

Harvey sat at that, swiping at his forehead in the way Jim recognized as a sign of extreme stress, and he did his best to clap louder than the rest of the room combined. Wished he could go to Harvey, propriety be damned, and fling his arms about him. Instead he clapped through endless awards. Watched Harvey shake hands and hand out trophies, and even when it was done he still had to wait for the polite goodbyes to be over.

Had to stand by uselessly while some of Harvey’s contemporaries approached and brought up memories he hadn’t been around for. He enjoyed hearing Harvey be congratulated for his speech, at least, and then Harvey introduced him by wrapping an arm around his waist, a mirror of his own actions from earlier in the evening. Jim melted into the touch, liked it even more than he had imagined, and joked along happily with an old classmate that Harvey knew exactly how lucky he was to be with him.

“She was saying you’re lucky,” Harvey protested, still holding onto him, and the woman laid a hand on his arm, just for a moment, and told him how happy she was for both of them.

They were left alone after that, both kind of stunned into silence, and then Harvey was pulling away, suddenly bashful. Jim followed, undeterred, and the relief on Harvey’s face had his own stomach fluttering.

“Come on, I promised you a proper date,” Harvey said, already pulling at his tie and threw his cap onto the back seat as soon as he got the car door open. Shrugged out of his uniform jacket and gestured with a flourish when he took him to a drive through fast food joint, offering magnanimously, “You can have anything you like. My treat.”

“You’re really taking the high school theme too far,” Jim scolded, but ordered all the same, and Harvey only played the innocent and said,

“It’s not my fault I set my sights on the damn prom princess.”

Jim pulled a face. “Can’t I be the prom prince, at least?”

“No,” Harvey told him easily, handing him the food and the bored looking kid on the counter the money, “you’re too pretty.”

“I’m not pretty.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Don’t argue with your date, Jim, have you no manners?”

They were sat in the parking lot now, next to some necking teenagers, and Jim figured it was completely in fitting to launch a fry at Harvey in retaliation. Ended up doubled over with laughter, the whole lot everywhere, Harvey trying to get him back for the disrespect he was showing the Diplomat.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile,” Harvey said when he was still catching his breath, a soft look painted over his face, and it was a line lifted straight from some teen romance. It was no less sincere for that, and Jim didn’t care that it was kind of awkward to get close enough in the car. Didn’t care about anything but finally getting the kiss he had spent so long thinking about, and it felt like there should have been soft focus and a soundtrack, because it was everything he had ever hoped it would be.

Was just the start of everything he wanted, and they went back to their food with matching grins. Couldn’t quit smiling dopily at each other, and Jim felt just as giddy as he ever had as a school kid, talking about anything and everything and laughing at Harvey’s usual atrocious jokes.

Harvey walked him back to the door of his apartment, and Jim was glad that he wasn’t really going home to his Mother’s well meaning questioning. Wasted no time in pulling Harvey over the threshold and kissing him properly, hands wandering in ways his Mother would never have allowed under her roof - and on a school night.

“You did so well tonight,” Jim told him, in between kisses, “I was so proud of you.”

“Did you see old Upton’s face?” Harvey crowed, even as his fingers strayed to the knot of Jim’s tie, “I bet he thought he’d thrashed it out of me back in the 80s.”

Jim kissed him harder, like it could erase all the bad memories. Like it could make up for all the times Harvey had ever felt lesser somehow. Like it could say all the things he wasn’t able to voice, like how long he had wanted this, and how much it meant to him.

“You know I’m not good at this, Jim,” Harvey said, one hand cupping his neck tenderly, just enough space between them for him to look into Harvey’s eyes, “talking, being serious. But I wouldn’t have anything without you. I probably wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t met you.”

Jim shuddered at the suggestion. Recognized the truth of the statement and attempted to repay the honesty.

“I want to make you happy,” he admitted, not managing more than a whisper, and he hoped Harvey understood. It was where everything went wrong because no matter how he tried, no matter what he did, he inevitably failed at it. He made the people he loved miserable, always, and it was the thing he feared most - Harvey coming to wish that he had never laid eyes on him.

Harvey seemed to get it completely. Knew him better than anyone ever had, than anyone ever would, and Jim clung tight as the smile was coaxed back to his lips, Harvey pressing kisses to his cheeks and all along his jawline.

“You already do, Jim,” Harvey told him, lips brushing against his own, “don’t ever doubt that.”

“What about next time I get you up at three in the morning to go chase some half baked theory?” Jim asked because the intensity was too much - because he could feel his throat aching with the build up of emotion.

Harvey made a show of pondering the question. “I trust you’ll make it up to me afterwards?”

Jim just beamed in response, comfortable in a way he had never been in the face of anticipation, and caught hold of Harvey’s hand and tugged.

“How about I start earning some credit for the future?”

He got the impression Harvey was in favor of the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	98. Pirate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirate AU for yukichouji. I apologise to 18th century historians everywhere! xD

The excitement on deck was tangible, near enough the entire crew gathered to marvel at their latest haul. Harvey didn’t need to push through the crowd, all the same. His men made room for him, moved aside without encouragement, and it still had the power to make him walk taller.

He had never set out to become Captain. Had never once imagined it, not even as a lad, but now the position was his he did his best to do what was expected of him.

To live up to the faith the others had put in him, and to prove to the wider world that, out on the high sea, there was more than one force to be reckoned with.

Their new guest was too proud to ever countenance the idea. He was stubborn, solemn. Indignant, clearly, and Harvey took a moment simply to loom over him, taking in the details of his fancy blue frock coat and the buckles on his shoes. The hat and wig were long gone, lost to the unforgiving sea, and his blond hair hung wet and bedraggled around his face.

Harvey lifted the man’s chin with the blade of his cutlass, big blue eyes glaring up at him, and he couldn’t help but grin with delight.

Here was a real prize, all right.

A lieutenant in the Royal Navy. A command officer of one of the greatest ships in any naval fleet.

A potent symbol of everything he and his men had allied himself against, and if the hint of fear on his face was anything to go by, their spoil was well aware of it.

“I will never join your crew,” he said then, jaw tight and back straight.

Harvey grinned anew, the men around him laughing.

“I don’t remember asking you to.”

* * *

Unlike the navy, Harvey had no need to press-gang men into service. They either joined his crew or he set them adrift, that was all there was to it.

He had a cook, a surgeon, a navigator. Men who had been sailing when James Gordon was at his mother’s knee and men who had seen sights Gordon couldn’t dream of. He didn’t need Gordon, had no plans for him beyond the humiliation of being forced to acknowledge pirates had saved his life, and he couldn’t understand why his every unoccupied moment was beset with thoughts of blue eyes and the expanses of pale skin he had glimpsed while Thompkins looked him over.

“Nothing that will cause lasting damage,” was Thompkins’ verdict, and if Gordon was staring because he could see past the breeches and the clean shaven jaw, the man didn’t say anything.

Harvey caught them talking again, Thompkins’ touch more gentle than her usual wont as she redressed the wound on Gordon’s side, and perhaps he knew exactly why his thoughts kept returning to the same subject. Maybe it was no secret either, not if the way Thompkins rolled her eyes at him was anything to go by.

“It is a man’s folly to be blinded by a pretty face,” she told him, irritated, and the likes of Black Bart or Ned Low would never have stood for it.

“So you think him bonny?” He countered, too obvious, and the following day he saw to the dressing himself, Gordon torn between the urge to shrink away from his touch and the desperate desire to ask questions and discover what fate awaited him.

He held his tongue, jaw tight with the effort, and Harvey refused to offer anything without prompting. Had his dinner brought to the cabin he had had Gordon put in, and watched the other man closely as he picked finickly at his food.

“Not up to your usual standards?” He asked, ready to mock the man, but Gordon only looked up at him with the fire of anger in his eyes. It was that passion that had been missing since that first day up on deck, and Harvey’s breath caught at the sight of it.

If he were a man of looser morals…

“Not knowing if one is to live to see the following day does little for a man’s appetite,” Gordon said finally, nose stuck in the air, and Harvey beamed in delight.

“So you do have a working tongue in your head. I was beginning to think you simple.”

Gordon glared all the more but Harvey just drained his mug and hauled himself to his feet.

“It will be three weeks at least before we make land. You can either sit around here feeling sorry for yourself, or you can make yourself useful out on deck. It’s your decision.”

* * *

Harvey didn’t let on that he had any doubts about Gordon’s choice. Patted Tuttle on the shoulder consolingly when the older man stared at Gordon in disbelief, and openly watched the way Gordon squinted at the sun and took a few moments to get his bearings.

Alvarez gave him one of the young lads’ tasks, obviously enjoying lording it over him, and Harvey enjoyed the way Gordon visibly struggled to tamp down his temper in turn.

It worked though, in spite of his initial misgivings, putting some much needed colour back in Gordon’s cheeks and some fight back in his posture. That evening he had Gordon brought to his cabin, motioning for him to sit as he set up a battered chess board.

“This isn’t the time for playing games,” Gordon protested, further proof that the fresh air had done him good, and Harvey only shrugged,

“I hear you’re considered one of the Royal Navy’s greatest thinkers. Why don’t you prove it?”

Gordon glared, as usual, but did sit tentatively opposite him. Acquitted himself well, all told, even if he lacked the kind of dynamic thinking that marked some of the criminal element he had played against.

They played again the following evening, and the evening after that. By the end of the week Gordon let slip a smile for the first time, and Harvey couldn’t help but dwell on the way the expression transformed his face.

Couldn’t help but stare too intent and too long, gaze lingering on the effects of the sun on Gordon’s skin, and the competence with which he carried out any task that might be set him.

“It’s a shame you’re so intent on remaining true to His Majesty,” Harvey commented one night, pondering whether or not he preferred the idea his men believed he was extracting his dues from Gordon, or that they understood he had no interest in that which wasn’t willingly given, “you’d make a worthy addition to my crew, Gordon.”

“Jim,” Jim corrected, not for the first time that evening, and gave him a smile that made his knees turn to water, “and don’t think that when I am reunited with my own ship I will hesitate to see you brought to heel if I get chance.”

“You’d see my head hanging from your bowsprit?” Harvey questioned, meaning it in the spirit of repartee, but the smile faded from Jim’s face.

“The tides are turning for your kind,” Jim said, suddenly serious, “you ought to seek a pardon while you still can.”

“I’ve no fear of the gibbet,” Harvey blustered, angry at the insinuation, but Jim only sighed and rolled a chess piece around in his fingers.

They said nothing more to each other that night, but Jim’s words stuck with him all the same. He had tried playing it by the book, had served his years in the Royal Navy, and never had anything but suffering to show for it. Jim didn’t know what he was talking about.

Jim wasn’t worth listening to in the first place.

* * *

Except they were finally approaching land when they were hit by a storm, and there was a frantic call for every hand they could get. Jim worked tirelessly, barked orders meant to be obeyed, and though his men had been sailing longer, wouldn’t dream of giving Jim the time of day under normal circumstances, there was something about his demeanour that inspired men to fall in line.

Harvey spoke to him - yelled, really, over the roaring of the wind - and it was enough to convince him that Jim knew what he was doing. Knew, perhaps, exactly what he was talking about, and when the dawn broke it was to find that though the ship was badly damaged, they had come through it without a single man washed overboard.

They limped into port, flying false colours, and Harvey held his hand out to Jim as an equal, something flaring bright in his chest when Jim accepted the gesture and shook it firmly.

“Remember what I said,” Jim cautioned, bearing regal even with his windswept hair and sunkissed face, “the stranglehold of the pirates is over.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Harvey offered, reaching for indifferent, and watched Jim walk away with an ache so intense it was almost physical.

He did his best to put it from his thoughts, both the warning and Jim Gordon in general, because he had a crew relying upon him and, besides, he wasn’t ready to settle down to a life on dry land. At least that was what he told himself until it became clear that Jim’s predictions were no idle speculation.

Clever men, powerful men, began to be picked off by the Royal Navy, and it seemed that there wasn’t a port on the coast that didn’t have a spike bearing the head of a man he had once known. The message was simple, clear, and when he was subjected to the sight of his one time mentor being picked at by sea birds he began to think seriously for the first time of following Jim’s advice.

Found himself back on home soil before the year was out, his pockets weighed down with the riches of his former career, and no real plans for the future.

There were others in the same situation, lost without anchor, and after one long night spent drinking and bemoaning the deplorable state of his lodgings an idea formulated. He combined the two, became the proprietor of as smart an inn as any he had ever set foot in, and wiled away his days telling embellished tales of his exploits on the high seas in exchange for hard earned - or not so hard earned - coins.

Harvey didn’t inquire too closely. Didn’t work with the thief-takers who gravitated towards his clientèle, but didn’t actively obstruct them either. He took the money of both, served them all alike, and one afternoon he trailed off in the middle of a story about some long ago boarding action, something about the latest newcomer arresting his attention.

It was his upright bearing, his golden head of hair. The gravelly tone of his voice as he announced what his purpose was.

That wasn’t how the system worked - was how enterprising young men ended up garotted in the street, nothing but internment in a pauper’s grave to look forward to. Harvey intervened, his audience completely forgotten. Dragged the interloper into the back room and demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

“I won’t go about it underhandedly,” Jim said, every bit as stubborn as he remembered, “the man has a general warrant issued against him.”

Harvey didn’t doubt it. Really didn’t care to waste another moment on the subject, because the realisation hit with a force so sudden and so strong it threatened to take his breath away. Jim was alive, Jim was stood before him.

Jim was looking right at him, a smile slowly replacing the indignant pout on his face.

“He’s not the only reason I came here today. I heard a rumour an ex-pirate had taken up bar tending. I wanted to see for myself.”

“Does it live up to expectations?” Harvey asked, and he could fancy himself back on the rolling waves, what with the way his gut squirmed.

“It depends, rather,” Jim conceded. “You haven’t offered me a drink yet.”

* * *

Jim became a regular customer. Claimed he was seeking out information on some criminal or other, but talked expansively about anything other than the cases he was working. Ate supper with him whenever Harvey extended an invite, and played chess long past the hour upstanding citizens ought to be in bed and sleeping.

It gave Harvey hope that there was more to it, that Jim’s interest in his company was rooted in something other than loneliness, or a desire to link his suppliers to the circulating accusations of fraud.

Still he hesitated. Held himself in check, and forced himself not to reach out and cover the space between them. Things were different at sea, he had learned that the hard way. Men who welcomed your approach aboard ship would turn you away on land. Would see you ruined and disgraced, and Harvey wished he had some way to even broach the topic, to better gauge Jim’s likely reaction.

Then Jim disappeared for a few days.

It wasn’t an unheard of occurrence. Came with the territory, really, because criminals moved across the country, and any thief-taker worth their salt would track them down if that was what their benefactor wanted. Jim was good at what he did, was becoming renowned as one of the best in the business, and Harvey tried not to worry because Jim was skilled with both smallsword and pistol.

Then the days became a week, and whispers started doing the rounds that Jim had fallen foul of someone powerful. Of one of the shady figures who truly ran the underworld, and Harvey felt sick and cold at the news because he had seen first hand how uncooperative Jim could be in captivity.

Knew instinctively that Jim would sooner die than yield, and called in every favour he had ever accrued. Bribed and blackmailed and paid over the odds, unwilling to consider the possibility that it might already be too late for his actions to make a difference. Finally he played on his reputation, shoving some lackey up against the wall and snarling dark threats until he was given a name and a location.

He went in hoping for the best and braced for the worst, and struggled to keep his expression neutral at the sight of the bruises layered upon Jim’s cheekbones. Struggled not to seek revenge there and then - there would be time enough for it. Instead he gestured to Jim to keep quiet, and cut him free. Shouldered the bulk of his weight and all but dragged him out into the night air, rain pounding against the skin the way it had the night of the storm.

This time it was he giving orders to men who had remained loyal, the years and the miles notwithstanding, and it wasn’t until he had Jim bundled up in his own bed being tended to by one of the more positively recommended surgeons in the neighbourhood that he allowed the tension to drain from his shoulders.

Jim wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Was burning up with fever, frantic and delirious, and Harvey didn’t begrudge him putting in a stint as nursemaid. In truth he would sooner be nearer than not, and sat at Jim’s bedside bathing his forehead and holding his hand when he thrashed and turned, mind lost in some nightmare or other.

Harvey stuck with him through all of it, even when things looked desperate. Especially when things looked different, and he wasn’t a great believer but he sent up a silent prayer, begging, that Jim would live to see another morning. Perhaps someone was listening, in spite of all his failings, because the fever broke in the early hours and Jim lay calm and exhausted, heart rate steady as the furrow in his brow finally soothed.

“What day is it?” Jim croaked when he next went in to check on him, and Harvey couldn’t help but sit on the edge of the bed. Couldn’t help but ghost fingers over the mottled bruising still marring his face, and Jim caught his hand before he could withdraw it. Clung fast with a strength that was reassuring, and met his gaze unflinchingly as he thanked him for saving him.

“It makes us even,” he answered, quiet, and at Jim’s questioning look elaborated, “your warning stood me in good stead, didn’t it?”

“I would never have really stood by and seen you hang,” Jim said, a softness to the words that neither of them could ignore. A smile on his lips that spoke of long nights in discussion, spilling secrets and courting confessions. “I just didn’t want to have to put the conviction to the test.”

Jim rubbed his thumb against his hand, his meaning obvious, and Harvey swallowed thickly. Whispered, seriously, that they weren’t at sea. That there would be no excusing it, no let up from the secrecy. That he wouldn’t see Jim humiliated in the pillory like Hitchen, not for anything.

“I like to think a reformed pirate wouldn’t be stupid enough to get caught in the act,” Jim pointed out, trademark stubbornness back in place, and it was folly. Total and utter idiocy, even, but Harvey only spared a glance for the door and their privacy before sealing the pact with a careful kiss to Jim’s lips. Felt drunk on the act, for all its simplicity, because it had been so long coming, so long awaited, that he had almost given up hope of it ever happening. 

He wouldn't let anyone use it against Jim, he pledged. He would see to it that nobody so much as thought of trying, so long as there was breath in his body.

“If the Royal Navy teaches a man anything,” was all he said aloud, waiting happily for Jim’s outrage, “it’s to know when he’s outmaneuvered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	99. Watching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An apparent joke turns sour.

There were some things a man never wanted to see the love of his life do. Throw themselves in the path of a bullet was one, and glare at him with soulless hatred in the aftermath of their ex literally burying them alive was another.

Now he had a brand new scenario for the list, because no matter how hard he tried to banish the image from his mind, there was no getting past the sight of Jim making love to the woman he was always going to consider his number one rival.

Because Harvey was, by nature, a suspicious person. Gotham was the type of place to bring it out in a man because everyone was up to something, and even the squeakiest of squeaky clean individuals had a couple of skeletons in their closet. So when the bullpen was suspiciously quiet, when the smirks on his colleagues’ faces were suspiciously blatant, he had to go and demand somebody tell him what was going on. 

Had to try, desperately, to keep the devastation off his face as he barked orders for the video they were watching to be deleted. For the same fate to befall any others that might be circulating within the precinct, so they could all try doing some actual police work for a change.

To perhaps forward the whole thing to him first, and for somebody to appraise him of the hows and whats and whys of the situation. ASAP.

None of that had meant that he had actually needed to watch the video. There was no reason why he had had to shut the door of his office and twist the window blinds closed, his heart aching in his chest even as his traitorous dick twitched in interest.

It wasn’t fair, that was his first thought, because Jim had been very clear about the things he considered to be strictly off limits. Pictures had been one of them, let alone videos, along with telling anyone about the change in their relationship and doing anything that they might not be able to explain away as two guys who had to take what they could get while they went through a dry patch.

And, maybe he was being just a little harsh, but the Jim on his computer screen wasn’t worrying about making too much noise or being too obviously excited. He wasn’t cringing or shame faced about what he wanted, and in spite of the running time, he wasn’t complaining about jaw ache.

In short he was enjoying himself. Really, truly enjoying himself, and Harvey had to shift in his seat, helplessly turned on by the sight of Jim’s flushed cheeks and the sound of his low groans of pleasure. Had to fight back the burn of embarrassed tears, all the same, because Jim had never once let himself go like that with him. Had never once lost himself so completely in what he was doing, and Harvey had enough experience under his belt to be fairly sure that it wasn’t his technique that was the problem.

It was just him, clearly, and the realization spread through his veins like ice water.

By the time Jim put in a real live appearance, expression mortified, Harvey had already made the decision. Could feel the pain of it, sharp and excruciating, but he knew it was the right thing to do. Knew that if he left it longer it would only hurt worse, because while he might be a convenient substitute for what Jim really wanted, Jim was everything he had ever dreamed of.

Jim was the subject of years worth of his pathetic pining. Jim was his reason for trying, his reason for being, and in retrospect it was his own fault for ascribing more to what existed between them than Jim had ever intended.

He was never going to be someone Jim could be proud to introduce as his lover. He was never going to be someone Jim would be satisfied to come home to.

He was a lovesick fool for ever thinking otherwise, and he fought to keep his face blank as Jim stuttered that he had never known anything about the video. That he didn’t know how or when or why, and he certainly had no idea how it came to be doing the rounds of his work colleagues.

Harvey believed him. He had seen enough of the awkward camera angle and the intensity with which Jim’s ex-girlfriends hated him. He was relieved, pitifully so, that at least Jim hadn’t been a completely different person when it came to Lee, and he offered up the services of one of the technicians if Jim wanted to try and trace where the thing had originated so he could take it further.

Jim visibly balked, told him bluntly that he just wanted the whole thing to go away and be forgotten about, and Harvey nodded dumbly and then thanked his lucky stars when a uniformed officer rapped on his office door to remind him that he had a meeting with HR scheduled to start in five minutes.

He managed to avoid Jim for the rest of the day. Managed to glower and glare enough that nobody dared discuss the video in his earshot, at least until he found himself battling the vending machine for his change and heard a couple of detectives rating Jim’s performance.

“Didn’t know he had it in him,” McKenna stated, grudgingly impressed if Harvey was any judge of tone, and Alvarez just sniggered childishly and commented, 

“Come on, we all know he’s had it in him.”

McKenna sniggered in turn, “Bullock will probably have him filming a re-enactment as soon as the two of them knock off for the evening. He looked just about sick with jealousy.”

“I hope to God that one doesn’t go viral,” Alvarez said, sounding disgusted, and Harvey felt the back of his neck burn with embarrassment. Felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge that the gossip mill had already come to its own conclusions, and how much more difficult it was going to make calling things off. “Each to their own but Bullock’s got to be a bit of a comedown after Thompkins, even if she is a psycho.”

It was too late, there was nowhere to go, and Harvey gave up on his change and the candy bar he had been after in the first place.

“It’s a good job that there’s nothing between me and Gordon then, isn’t it?” He asked pointedly as they turned the corner, voice almost steady, and the pair of them had the good grace to look uncomfortable as he turned on his heel and focused on keeping his stride even.

Focused on not letting on how crushed he was, because only that morning he had been so happy he had been half convinced his chest was going to burst it was so full of excess emotion. Jim had let him stay the night, had been okay with waking up still wrapped in his arms, and they had eaten breakfast together, trading banter and smiles like they were a real couple.

Like they had a future beyond the next time Jim was drunk and lonely, and in the present Harvey smashed a fist into the door of his locker because he needed some sort of outlet for the frustration he was feeling.

All it did was make his knuckles sting, the beginnings of a bruise creeping, and Harvey gathered his stuff together and staggered into the first bar he came across. Set about getting well and truly plastered, and by the time his wallet was empty he almost didn’t care that he was looking forward to forever without Jim Gordon.

He was never going to taste Jim again, was never going to touch him. Was never going to hear Jim cry out in release, not unless he replayed the thrice damned video. Somewhere along the way the threatened tears did spill over, ugly and painful, leaving him a broken mess of a man crying over someone anybody with two brain cells to rub together could have told him was way out of his league.

It was a stupid thing to do, was never going to end well, but when he fell through the door of his apartment he put on the video. Watched it over and over again, lingering on the catches in Jim’s breath, and the soft smile on his ridiculously beautiful face. He watched it until his dick was aching, desperate for Jim’s attention, and he stroked himself off with quick impersonal tugs before throwing up half his week’s pay check. 

He woke up on the bathroom floor, alone and in agony, and the man who stared back at him from the mirror was in such a state that Harvey considered calling in sick for the day. But his cell was already ringing, some new crisis already unfolding, and he simply poured himself into a clean suit and hailed a cab because there was no way he would pass a breathalyser.

At the precinct he threw himself into finding a solution for the latest problem, and pretended that it wasn’t torture, having Jim turn those big blue eyes on him and ask why he had never answered any of his calls the previous evening. Harvey fobbed him off, kept himself busy, and at lunchtime Jim sought him out and reached for his hand across the table of the diner, so that Harvey noticed for the first time that the knuckles of his right hand were now visibly bruised and swollen.

“Is this about yesterday?” Jim asked, hushed and solemn, his gaze caught between disappointment at the loss of contact and relief that nobody would have chance to observe them touching when Harvey pulled his hand away. “I swear I didn’t know about it. I’m not the kind of person to be that indiscreet. I promise you.”

“I know,” Harvey soothed, the words sticking in his throat so that he had to force them into being, “I was just thinking, maybe, we’ve been spending too much time together.”

Jim flinched, like the blow had been physical, and Harvey didn’t dare risk more than a fleeting glance in his direction lest he sink to his knees and start begging Jim for his forgiveness. Lest he start trying to explain his reasoning and put pressure on Jim to try and spare his feelings.

“Oh,” Jim said instead, then seemed to think better of whatever he had been planning to follow it with. “I’d better get back to it,” Jim said finally, and Harvey sat alone in the booth for ten minutes simply staring into space and tamping down the urge to go after him.

To beg Jim to take a chance and settle for him, because he would spend the rest of his life doing everything within his power to ensure Jim didn’t regret it. Jim would though, of course he would, and when he got back to the precinct the technician he had assigned to look into the video’s source irrespective of Jim’s views on the matter was waiting with an update. 

There was another clip in people’s inboxes, the metadata stripped clean just like the first one. It meant there was no way to tell if it held any particular significance, not without Jim’s input, and Harvey made the executive decision not to upset Jim any further. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. The clip was grainy, blurry, and the angle and furnishings suggested to Harvey that they were dealing with the same scenario, maybe even the same session, and the thought was enough to have him eager to take on any case, no matter how hopeless, so long as it took his mind off Jim’s obvious enthusiasm for getting up close and intimate with someone who most definitely wasn’t him.

He didn’t see Jim again that day. Went home and showered and ate, and fell exhaustedly into bed only to toss and turn and get up to watch the new clip over again. There was something off about it, he thought, something different. It was probably just that the main players were almost out of shot, he decided, until he hit pause at a crucial moment and realized that it wasn’t Dr Thompkins Jim was paying diligent attention to.

It had to be Vale, he determined, and the knowledge sat uneasily, so uneasily that by 11:30pm he couldn’t take it any longer and rang Jim’s cellphone, suddenly desperate for confirmation that Jim wasn’t in any trouble. Jim didn’t pick up, ratcheting the paranoia up a half dozen notches, but before he could do anything really incriminating like drive over to Jim’s place, Jim called him back. Harvey had no choice but to admit it was nothing to do with the precinct, and Jim stated waspishly,

“I thought you wanted to waste less time talking to me.”

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Harvey asked, the words spilling unbidden from his lips, “When you met me, did you ever think we’d end up in bed together?”

“No,” Jim answered, amused, and Harvey nodded to his absent audience.

Felt a little better about what he was doing, and made a mental note to get the technicians to keep working on the where and when, because even if he was giving Jim up for the greater good, he still intended to be the best friend to Jim that he possibly could be.

“I never thought we’d be able to stand the sight of each other,” Jim said, warming to the topic, “I still can’t believe it most of the time.” 

“Yeah, it’s not a tale to tell the grandkids,” Harvey managed, voice strained, and before Jim could agree he said his goodbyes and hung up. Dumped the handset to the floor with its charger and went back to bed, covers pulled up to his chin, wishing that he could fall asleep so that he might have a few hours of not caring what Jim did and didn’t feel for him.

When it came, sleep wasn’t the respite he had hoped it would be. He dreamed about Jim, woke expecting to find Jim curled up next to him, and he got ready for work with a sense of despair so crushing he scarcely knew what to do with himself. 

Luckily the city’s villains knew exactly what they wanted to be doing, and he hadn’t even finished gulping down his first cup of the sludge that passed for precinct coffee when they were all jumping to panic stations, the threat of a bomb necessitating extensive evacuation of the city center while a lone shooter caused havoc at a shopping mall on the edges of their jurisdiction.

Meanwhile the usual calls continued to pour in - the muggings and the burglaries. The stabbings and the shootings, and the violence behind closed doors that it was all but impossible to stamp out. It was topped off by a hysterical mother at the front desk reporting a potential child abduction, and the next 48 hours were a blur of stress and fear, and at hour 36 he lost his temper and told Jim to go home and only come back when he had slept at least four hours.

“What are you going to do?” Jim demanded in turn, his face almost gray with exhaustion, “If you’re staying, I am too.”

“No, you’re not,” Harvey snapped. “You’re tired, you’re acting recklessly, and right now all you’re doing is making my job more difficult. How am I supposed to deal with everything else when I can’t even trust you’re going to follow my orders?”

For once Jim didn’t argue. Just stared at him, baleful, then collected his coat from the back of his chair and walked out of the front entrance. Harvey scrubbed a hand across his face, tugged at his own hair to try and secure some concentration, then got back to it, refusing to think past the next task before him.

Finally, when the kid had been tracked down, the bomb diffused, and the shooter in custody he collapsed into his desk chair because his legs were unwilling to carry on supporting him. He needed to go home, needed to get some much needed sleep. Needed to check in on Jim and make sure the younger man was okay because he hadn’t returned, and even annoyed as he undoubtedly was it seemed out of character.

He thought of the hurt look on Jim’s face, the defeat in his posture, and procrastinated by checking his email. Scowled at the multitude of forwarded links in his inbox - would people never tire of seeing Jim in action? He couldn’t blame them, he supposed, and though he knew it would only be torturing himself he opened the latest and clicked through.

What he saw really shocked him. Knocked the breath from his lungs and had him scrabbling for his phone, any phone, because this wasn’t just an ex being vindictive. This was a threat, a warning, and Jim’s number only rang and rang as on screen Jim gasped and whimpered as Harvey slowly pushed a finger into him.

Jim had his face turned towards the camera, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he attempted to quiet himself, and Harvey couldn’t even think about his instinctive reaction to that sight, not when somebody had been in Jim’s apartment and destroyed his privacy. Somebody had been watching Jim for months, had been viewing all his most intimate moments, and when there was still no answer Harvey barked commands for a couple of guys to flank him and made straight for Jim’s apartment building.

He banged hard at the door when he got there, willing and ready to break the damn thing down, but it swung open under his fist, clear signs of a struggle all over the place. There was upturned furniture and shattered crockery. Broken knick knacks and smears of blood on the carpet, so that Harvey had to push back out into the hallway, struggling not to lose whatever he had last eaten and compromise forensics.

“You can’t lead on this,” Tuttle said at his side, “you know you can’t, Bullock.”

He couldn’t, it was true, because he was so drained his vision was swimming, so terrified he couldn’t quit shaking, and everyone knew besides. The latest clip was in full circulation, and Harvey knew how serious things were when instead of griping about his poor attempts at subterfuge Alvarez clapped him on the shoulder and promised that they were going to find Jim.

That Jim would fight tooth and nail to get back to him.

“Gordon’s tough,” McKenna opined, leading the briefing while Harvey slumped against the wall and berated himself over and over for caring more about his own heartache than ensuring that such a blatant invasion of Jim’s private life was investigated properly. “He’s resourceful, experienced, and if he’s able to clue us into what’s happening he will. In the meantime he’s made an enemy of just about every Tom, Dick and Harry in this city so,” he gestured at the stacks of case files Jim had been involved with, “let’s get started.”

All they dug up that first day were false leads and dead ends. All he managed personally was punching one of Jim’s previous collars in the face, threatening to go further for the scumbag claiming the world would be better off if Jim were six feet under, and Alvarez had to physically pull him off before he did so much damage there would be no way to prevent the press getting wind of it. Harvey panted for air, flexed the knuckles of his right hand, still cut up and a little swollen, and then broke into desperate tears in the back of a squad car, so sick and so tired he couldn’t get a grip on himself.

He slept for a fitful hour, on doctor’s hours, and for a moment on waking he wrote the whole thing off as a horribly vivid nightmare.

“No word yet,” McKenna informed him, apologetic, and Harvey’s stomach lurched with the realization that Jim really was missing. That he really had shoved Jim head first into the path of danger, and that instead of telling Jim how ardently he loved him his last encounters with Jim were him callously putting an end to the complicated arrangement that had grown between them.

So it went on, every second Jim was gone torment beyond compare, and it was day three when a new video clip hit his inbox, Jim glaring up at whoever was holding the camera, face beaten black and bloody. There was no ransom request, no explanation, just Jim’s breath coming in a pained rattle and the hint of fear in his big blue eyes when a scuffle sounded just out of view.

“We’ll get a location on it,” he was assured, “we’ll find him.”

Except when they smashed in the door of the unit it was to find it recently vacated. They were too late, too slow, and Harvey went public with the role of frantic lover, begging the viewers of the evening news to come forward if they had any information, no matter how trivial. The switchboard was jammed for an hour, hope bubbling in his chest, and then he was shown some of the call transcripts and perhaps Jim had had a point about not wanting the world to know how close they had become, because people wanting to complain about the revelation were outnumbering anything useful by two to one.

By day six he was a wreck. No good for anything and nobody could in good conscience offer him words of comfort. Every minute they didn’t find Jim made it more likely that they never would, not alive at any rate, and Harvey went to stand in the shell of Jim’s apartment, the place pulled apart in the search for insights into who had been keeping tabs on Jim, and where they might have taken him. 

It tore at him, all of it, and he ended up sat on the floor of Jim’s bedroom, too numb to shed the tears for everything Jim could have done. Everything Jim could have been, and the following day Cobblepot was the one to voice what everybody else had been thinking.

“You’ve given up hope, haven’t you? Well, I believe in him even if you don’t.”

“If you know something,” Harvey growled, temper fraying, but Cobblepot only held up a finger intended to silence him and kept talking,

“If I knew where he was I would be using it to my own advantage, I’m sure you can appreciate that. Jim and I, we have a bond. It hasn’t been broken.”

Harvey glared at the other man, not in the mood for games or riddles or proclamations, but it ignited something deep inside him all the same. Focused his mind, channelled his energy, and he stopped by the church he infrequently visited to light a candle and pray for assistance before returning to the precinct and going back through everything they had so far with a fine tooth comb, convinced that the missing connection was in there somewhere.

When he found it, when he cross referenced the addresses and came up with a match, the excitement left him light headed. The desperation had him impatient and unbearable, and he flung the car around corners, afraid to lose a single second.

Jim was in a bad way when they found him, so bad that for a moment it appeared they hadn’t made it in time, and Harvey didn’t care who saw or what they thought of it, dropping to his knees and cradling Jim to him, promising that it was all going to be all right now. That he was safe, that it was over, and Jim squeezed his hand weakly, as though to admonish him for making impossible pledges.

At the hospital the blood and filth was washed away to reveal cuts and bruises. Cracked ribs and a ruptured spleen. Broken fingers and a fractured shinbone. Harvey hovered over him, useless but immovable, and one of the nurses took pity on the state he was in and brought him a blanket when it became obvious that there was no way he was going home for the evening.

“I saw you on the news,” she said later, when she came in to check on Jim’s condition, “I said a prayer for you.”

The thanks clogged in his throat, glimmered in his eyes, but she seemed to understand. Told him that all things being equal Jim was going to make a full recovery, and Harvey stayed awake as long as he was physically able, just to watch over Jim and see the proof of the statement.

It was a week before Jim was discharged, held up by the surgery and the dehydration, and Harvey didn’t even ask Jim about it. He just drove him back to his own apartment, and got him settled in his own bed, tucking him in beneath the blankets.

“I’m not a kid,” Jim protested, jaw set against the pain, and Harvey was referring to everything when he dropped the coverlet he had been fussing with and said,

“I’m sorry.”

He was, so very sorry, and Jim only nodded stiffly in acknowledgement. Lay back and fell asleep, and Harvey sat at the edge of the bed and wondered what the hell their current situation meant for both of them. It would have to wait until Jim was better, was the conclusion he came to. Until Jim was well enough to talk about it, and the days flowed into a week, the awkward way they had been tiptoeing around each other transforming into the give and take of their usual banter.

“If you’re fit for duty I’m gonna win the lottery,” Harvey commented on Monday morning, shaking his head as Jim slowly, painfully, pulled on his shirt.

“You already did,” Jim said, tone light even as sweat gathered on his brow, “you’ve got me in your bed, haven’t you?”

It was the first mention either of them had made of their being more than friends since Jim had come home from the hospital. Harvey too yellow to have Jim refute it, and Jim - well, he didn’t know what Jim made of it. He wasn’t a mind reader.

“Have I?” Harvey asked, his ears buzzing with the fear of rejection, and Jim looked up at him uncertainly. Turned those huge blue eyes on him, trying to act like the laid back, fun loving person he knew Jim always thought others wanted him to be, and Harvey was moving without grace or co-ordination. Was kneeling on the floor in front of Jim and taking over the task of fastening his shirt buttons.

“I missed you,” Jim whispered, so very earnest, and Harvey had to slide a palm up to cup his face. Had to rub his thumb over the healed cut on his cheekbone, and when Jim leaned in close Harvey couldn’t refuse him. Couldn’t do anything but kiss him, Jim tangling the fingers of his good hand in his hair, soft sounds escaping him as Harvey deepened the kiss a little.

“I missed you too,” he breathed when they broke apart, his hand possessive where it rested on the back of Jim’s neck, “I missed you so much I’m willing to let you sit at a desk and fill out paperwork. But if you leave it, for any reason, I swear to God you’re going to be on bed rest for the full six weeks. Do you understand me?”

“What about when I need the bathroom?” Jim asked, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth, and Harvey huffed a sigh and hid his face in the curve of Jim’s shoulder. Sucked in a great lungful of his scent and whispered, helpless,

“God help me but I love you.”

Jim accepted his help to get washed and dressed and breakfasted. Sat at his desk obediently and gave him a cheeky tilt of the head when Harvey looked up from his own paperwork to answer the buzzing of his cellphone, rolling his eyes at Jim’s text message asking for permission to use the restroom.

‘Your chat up lines need work,’ he wrote in return, satisfied with the resulting smile on Jim’s face, and tried not to overthink the warm glow of happiness working through his system. Tried to remember that nothing had really changed, not materially, and failed utterly, losing track of time and staring through his office window at how sincerely happy Jim looked to be back at work.

How visibly exhausted he was by mid-afternoon, and Harvey handed over to Tuttle so he could leave on time for once, Jim leaning heavily on him all through the short walk from the parking lot to his apartment.

“I wish I didn’t have to go back to my place,” Jim said when they slumped into the worn cushions of Harvey’s sofa, the statement threatening to completely overwhelm him. “I wish we could talk about this when I’m not doped up to the eyeballs.”

He had taken his medication without argument for once, part of the deal of getting back to the precinct, and Harvey felt guilty for gently pushing and encouraging Jim to keep talking.

“I thought they were going to kill me,” Jim confessed, gaze glassy as he stared at some point in the distance, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”

Harvey pressed closer, welcomed Jim with open arms when he reached out for him, and held him tight when it became clear that was what Jim wanted. He stroked at Jim’s back, reassuring, and Jim talked into his shoulder about how afraid he had been and the things they had done to him. About the errors in their reasoning, and how he hadn’t even remembered the case that had lead to their prison sentences, not until after they had half beaten him to death.

“People like that don’t need a reason,” Harvey offered, “not really. They just wanted someone to suffer. You were unlucky enough to catch their attention.”

Jim shook his head, stubborn as usual. “It’s my fault. I should have known Lee would never have done that to me.”

He meant the video, the humiliation, and Harvey knew there was nothing to be gained from pointing out the fact that she had tried to kill Jim. He had to do battle with the urge, regardless, because with a single stroke they were back to the original issue - Jim liked women, really liked certain women in particular, and while Harvey was willing to make do with being second best he couldn’t bear the idea that Jim was only reciprocating at all because he felt like he ought to.

All he actually said aloud was some meaningless platitude, followed up with questioning over what Jim wanted for dinner, and they both limped forward, ignoring the obvious cracks in the bonds of their friendship. At least they did until the day Jim had the finger splints removed and the bullpen was full of off color jokes and filthy suggestions of the uses he could be putting his hand to. Jim flushed up prettily, his own pulse racing, and Harvey covered first by being uptight and professional, and then by being brash and disgusting.

Wanted to show that he gave as good as he got, and Alvarez was only inspired to greater feats of showmanship, snapping his gum and slouching back in his chair as he called attention to the fact that he had already witnessed Harvey’s technique and found it wanting.

“I feel sorry for you, Gordon,” he smirked, “really I do. I can’t get that image out of my head no matter how much I drink, but you’ve gotta live with it day out and day in.”

“What image?” Jim asked, playing along, except a couple more wisecracks in and Alvarez was looking to him for assistance. Was stuttering out some half assed excuse or other, and Harvey was left with the job of telling Jim that the video with Lee Thompkins wasn’t the only one that had done the rounds of cyberspace.

It was up to him to go over every twist and turn of the investigation, ashamed that he had simply assumed Jim would have picked it up from someone else. Jim listened, silent and unreadable, and Harvey tried to make sense of how much Jim had known the last few weeks, and what he had understood was happening when Harvey kept him from going home though every inch of the place had been gone over.

“That’s why you went public,” Jim said finally, referring to the press appeal, “everybody knew anyway.”

“I know you didn’t want people to know,” Harvey said miserably, “but I thought it might help. I’d have done anything.”

Jim nodded, absorbing the information, and Harvey was left to try and focus on some pointless meeting with the Deputy Commissioner while Jim did God only knew what in his absence. Jim’s desk was vacant when it was finally over, and the panic clawed at him even the rational part of his brain admonished him for being such an idiot.

“He’s gone home,” Alvarez informed him, and it was the worry etched on the other man’s face that scared him more than anything. It wasn’t Alvarez’ style, wasn’t the kind of guy he was, and Harvey left the very first moment he could, the relief making him sag bonelessly against the door of his apartment when he turned the key in the lock to find Jim waiting on his sofa.

“We’ve got to talk,” Jim said, resigned, and Harvey dropped heavily into the armchair reasoning that it might be easier if Jim wasn’t so close he could touch him. “I can’t keep doing this.”

It was what he had expected. It hurt like a knife to the heart, white hot and excruciating, and he swallowed thickly waiting for Jim to continue.

“I can’t take the not knowing,” Jim said, meeting his eye for the first time since they had began the conversation, “if I’m not what you want, just tell me.”

That wasn’t what he had been expecting. Was so far removed from his reading of the situation that for a long moment he wasn’t sure he had even heard Jim correctly.

“Of course you’re what I want. From the moment I set eyes on you, almost, you’re the only thing I’ve wanted.”

“I’m a mess,” Jim countered, the surprise evident but giving way to his insecurities, “If you knew how much, it would scare you off.”

“Nothing could scare me off, Jim,” Harvey stated, beyond certain, and Jim only blushed and looked away. Fidgeted, uncomfortable, and Harvey tried to repay Jim’s guts in kind, finally broaching the topic he had spent so many weeks avoiding, “I get that I’m not your first choice, and I don’t blame you for that. I just - I want a chance to try and make you happy. I just want you to give it a real chance, no lies, no holding back. If it doesn’t work,” he forced himself to keep going, the very idea painful, “you’re still going to be my partner. The very best friend I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Jim confessed, barely audible. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Harvey opened his mouth, ready to argue his case, but Jim kept going, fingers twisting together as though they weren’t still recovering,

“I can’t lose you. I couldn’t bear it.”

Harvey was moving before he had chance to consider the action. Pulled Jim close, tighter than was strictly comfortable, and Jim clung to him in return, explaining the ways he had attempted to play it cool, to keep his expectations low, and how it hadn’t worked because all he wanted from Harvey was more.

How desperately afraid he was that the moment he started letting go, the instant he let himself truly enjoy what they had, the whole thing would fall apart and he would be left alone to try and pick up the pieces.

How terrified he was that it would be no more than he deserved, anyway.

“If I could find a way to give you the moon I still wouldn't think it was good enough for you,” Harvey promised, the fear and the hurt and the sense of hopelessness lifting from his shoulders. “You've gotta understand that, Jim.”

“Do the guys at the precinct know you say stuff like that?” Jim asked, and without thinking Harvey answered,

“They do now.”

It was too much, too soon afterwards, but Jim just let out a burst of startled but genuine laughter. Looked so beautiful with it that Harvey had to press chaste kisses to his face and bask in the moment.

“I love the dumb things you say,” Jim told him, “I love the way you make me feel.”

“I love you,” Harvey managed, as lovesick as he had ever been, and if Jim didn't believe it just yet, Harvey pledged that he would keep up the reinforcement until he had no need to question.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	100. PTSD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was to write about how Jim deals - or doesn't deal - with his PTSD.

At 25 Jim had everything sorted. He had just made staff sergeant, had just had his ring accepted, and when he left for Afghanistan it was with the certainty that he would be coming home to a wedding and the rest of his life beginning.

His Mother was proud of him, and his friends congratulated him. Roger shook his hand, just the way Jim imagined his father might have, and his superiors all assured him that they predicted a glittering career stretching into the future.

Then they hit base and he might as well have had the Dear John letter there waiting for him. Sarah said she was sorry, wrote that she had never set out to hurt him, and he used all his phone allowance begging her to change her mind because he could be different. He could be better, if she would give him the chance, and he spent the night stifling shameful sobs into his pillow, broken by the knowledge that there had been someone else even when he was getting down on one knee and pledging forever.

Some of the other guys pitied him - most settled for simply mocking him. Laughed about how blind he had been and gossiped about the way he woke in the night screaming, mind trapped all over again in the wreck of his father’s car.

Later, when he was sat in the sterile office of a well meaning counsellor, they tried to force him into an acknowledgement that he had been cracking up before he ever had real reason to. They claimed that he hadn’t been coping with the stress, that he couldn’t deal with the responsibility, and his judgement was so impaired that it wasn’t his fault his orders had lead to a man being blown up in front of him.

Jim didn’t believe it, refused to accept it, and clenched his jaw so tight his teeth hurt when it was announced that he was being stripped of his sergeant’s stripes and sent back into active service. When he saw the disappointment painting his mother’s face, and the resignation on Roger’s, like he had never truly believed that Jim was capable of anything other than failure.

He still tried. Tried harder than ever to be the kind of man his father could have been proud of. He didn’t give up and he didn’t give in. Did what he was told and filled every second he could with something worthwhile, because if he was too busy to think, he was too busy to admit he was terrified. 

They took the choice from him in the end. Cut him adrift from the only stability he had ever known, and the recruitment officer for the GCPD raised a questioning eyebrow at him as he flipped through his service record, asking without verbalizing whether or not he was mentally capable of the position.

Whether or not he was going to break down, going to fuck up, and Jim played the act as well as he ever had, all charming smile and stoic competence.

He could do it, would be good at it - had to be because he had promised his mother’s memory that he was going to make it up to her somehow, and there was nothing else he could picture himself doing. So he made it through training, made it through probation, and it didn’t matter if it felt like he was only barely holding it together, not when other people told him he was doing well, and that he was making a difference.

Not when Barbara asked to see him a second time, because that had to mean that he was somebody worth knowing.

She laughed at his attempts at humor, and didn’t push for details of who he had been before returning to Gotham. Didn’t comment on his paranoia nor his insomnia, and it was only after things had fallen apart that he saw that it had never been his coping strategies that had kept them together. It was the cracks in the façade - the tears and the nightmares, the panic attacks he claimed he never suffered and the times he locked himself in the bathroom, shaking and sweating.

Barbara saw herself in him, saw somebody just as desperately in need of saving, and sometimes he thought that perhaps it was what had attracted him in return.

Without her, life was harder. Without her he had to nothing to drag him out of his own head, nobody to bother putting on the mask for, not after his shift was done for the day and Harvey had found somebody to chase away the loneliness with for the evening.

He thought about it sometimes. Imagined blaming the whiskey and the job, and pressing himself so close into the older man’s space they wouldn’t have to talk about it. Harvey would take him up on the offer, Jim didn’t doubt it. They would fall through the door of his miserable apartment together, clinging and clutching, and Harvey would fuck him into the mattress until he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone how desperately he hated the man he saw staring back at him in the mirror.

Harvey might even stay the night, one heavy arm draped around him, and Jim wondered how pathetic it was that he was willing to let a corrupt mess of a cop take something he had never given anyone if only it meant that he didn’t have to face the flashbacks alone for a few hours.

He didn’t offer, of course. Chose self-medication in the bottom of a bottle when it got too much, and threw himself into his work at the Asylum rather than think about how everything was falling to pieces around him. He was going to be fine, was perfectly capable of looking after himself, and when Lee smiled softly at him he clung to the validation.

A woman like Lee wouldn’t reach out to just anyone.

Wouldn’t let him take her out if he didn’t deserve her attention, and wouldn’t invite him back to her place if he wasn’t keeping up the right kind of image. Wouldn’t want to see him again if it mattered that he struggled to stay in the moment, and wouldn’t kiss him right in the middle of the bullpen if she was completely disgusted with his inability to do what any red-blooded guy ought to have been frantic to experience.

“Maybe it would help to talk to someone,” she suggested one night when nothing she did made any difference, hand gentle against his chest, so understanding his throat was thick with the pain of it, “they might be able to prescribe you something for your other symptoms.”

The horror of it was stifling, the shame of it crushing. He was supposed to be in control, supposed to have put it all behind him, but Lee had seen right through him. Recognised the sudden tension for what it was, and slipped into her best facilitation voice, telling him that it wasn’t his fault.

That it didn’t make him any less of a hero.

He balked at that. Stuttered out some excuse, something he needed to do at the precinct, and spent the night wandering the cold city streets, heart racing in his chest because perhaps everybody could see what a fraud he was. Cobblepot could, at least, along with the city’s other lowlifes, and he bounced from bar to bar, earning a black eye and a split lip for his notoriety. It was the early hours when Harvey saved him from himself, calloused hand anchored on his shoulder as he kept up a forcedly light hearted stream of consciousness, tucking him under a blanket on his sofa and telling him things would look better in the morning.

They didn’t, they never did, but he was always better at lying in the daylight.

Harvey fussed over him, smothered him, and Jim couldn’t take the uncharacteristic seriousness from his partner. He didn’t want the older man’s pity, and he didn’t need whatever else it was that Harvey was attempting to offer him. He didn’t need anybody but himself, at least that was what he believed until Lee announced that she was pregnant and he was being slapped in cuffs and shoved into a holding cell.

Until his brothers in arms turned a blind eye, along with the guards at Blackgate, because there was nothing a fellow inmate could do that a convicted cop killer didn’t have coming to him. That was how it was put to him, reasonable like his bruised knees and aching jaw were such a small price to pay for protection from what some of the other guys wanted to mete out to him, and at night, alone on his cot, it was as though he could feel his sanity slipping away from him.

As though he could measure how much worse he was than he had been the day before, how much more closely he could empathise with the men he had rubbed shoulders with at Arkham, and it was no more than he deserved for the things he had done and the suffering he had caused. By the time Harvey came for him, by the time he had to watch another man die because of his weaknesses, he was starting to worry that he would never be able to put up a convincing front again.

Because at 35 Jim had hit rock bottom. His baby was dead and Lee was getting married to the son of a former mob boss. He had no job, no purpose, and this time around even his Mother was gone, meaning there was nobody left to see past his walls and his barriers and to pull him close in spite of them.

The only person he had left in the world was Harvey, and he did his best to ruin that, sniping at the man and arguing whenever he came around to try and get him to eat, and to wash, and to open the windows of his apartment even if he wasn’t going to go outside for a change of scenery.

“This isn’t you, Jim,” Harvey told him when he woke him from a drunken stupor at three in the afternoon. “This isn’t you at all.”

Jim only ignored him in favor of yet more whiskey. Silently wished that Harvey would stay even as he told him to leave, and then sat on the dirty floor of his empty apartment, knees pulled to his chest as he stared at his handgun.

It would be easy, would be better for everyone, and Tetch wasn’t implanting new ideas and impulses in his head - he was only giving him an excuse to act on them.

Harvey broke the door down after the Force doctor had signed him off as fit and healthy. Cut him down from the ceiling and screamed in his face. Held him close and sobbed helplessly, like he really did care whether or not Jim would still be around come morning, and Jim almost wished his throat didn’t hurt so much because he wanted to say he was sorry.

Sorry for the worry and sorry for the mess he would have left behind. Sorry that he couldn’t pledge not to try again, and sorry for not being strong enough to have finished the job properly.

Harvey only cupped Jim’s face in his hands. Gazed deep into his eyes and told him that he was there for him. That he was always going to be there, and that things were going to be all right, all he had to do was trust in him.

It was a pretty sentiment.

Except Harvey refused to take no for an answer. Got him back on the Force, and back under his supervision, and whenever he came up for air from a case Harvey wasn’t far behind, watching to ensure he ate and slept and didn’t give in to the temptation to simply walk out in front of traffic.

“You don’t need to babysit me,” Jim griped one night, needing to be alone with the voices in his head, and Harvey only slouched further into his seat and put his feet up on Jim’s coffee table,

“Tough, you got me anyway.”

“I don’t need you here,” Jim pushed, the fingernails of one hand scratching grooves into his arm. The room was spinning, the air too thin and too hot, as though he were back out under the midday desert sun. “I don’t want you here.”

“I know,” Harvey said quietly, resignedly, and the next thing Jim was really aware of was Harvey rubbing circles between his shoulder blades, the two of them knelt on the floor of his bathroom, his entire body shivering.

It was too embarrassing, so very pathetic, but Jim couldn’t staunch the flow of tears soaking into Harvey’s shirt front. Couldn’t do anything but cling to Harvey in gratitude and his partner pressed chaste kisses into his hair, obviously believing him to still be out of it, murmuring platitudes and reassurances.

“Let it out, that’s it. It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.”

The endearment had him tensing up and pulling away. Had him shakily splashing cold water over his face and collapsing heavily into bed, because it was the same way he had heard Harvey refer to his informants and his late night company. To the women he paid for their services, and Jim supposed it made sense that Harvey should see this as the beginning of a reciprocal arrangement.

God knew he didn’t want to spend time with himself - what other reason could anybody else have for wanting to be near him?

It wouldn’t be so bad, he reasoned when he thought it over as he filled out his paperwork. He had been more than willing to offer it, once, and Harvey wouldn’t get off on hurting him. Would treat him well, would treat him like he was something other than a virus, and he put a hand on Harvey’s thigh after the city was brought to its knees by the Neo-Maniax.

He slid it higher, slowly, and Harvey sucked in a breath and looked at him with something approaching wonder. Reached out to touch his cheek so gently he might as well have been marked fragile, and whispered questions about whether or not he was sure he wanted to do this.

Jim nodded, determined to repay the other man somehow, and shut his eyes against the reality of what was happening as Harvey brushed kisses to his lips, then down his throat and over his collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harvey told him breathlessly, “please, sweetheart, look at me.”

The pet name made him cringe, reminded him of how far he had fallen, but when he met Harvey’s gaze the other man only swept a thumb along his cheekbone. Kissed him so soft and so sweet Jim couldn’t help deepen it, fingers tangling in Harvey’s hair, suddenly aware how long it had been since he had touched anyone this way. How long since anyone had wanted to touch him and he didn’t even register the tears on his own cheeks, not until Harvey leaned their foreheads together and began shakily,

“We can’t do this, Jim. Not now. Not like this.”

He cried harder, felt worse than ever, but Harvey didn’t close the door behind him. Instead he lay beside him on his bed, not hesitating for a moment when Jim burrowed closer to him. Harvey held him all night, his presence so comforting Jim managed to sleep for almost five hours without interruption, and in the morning he only swallowed down the obvious hurt when Jim refused to acknowledge anything that had passed between them.

It felt as though he were at a crossroads, that was the best way Jim could think to describe it. He either retreated into himself, got the grip people kept telling him he needed to reach for, or he admitted that he couldn’t manage, and accepted the help that Harvey was so willing to give him.

He went for the former, lying over and over that he was fine and that he was coping, and finally it was Harvey who drank himself into a stupor in the aftermath of the Tetch virus. He hadn’t meant to, Jim didn’t think, but the alcohol reacted with the painkillers, and this time it was Harvey sobbing into his shoulder, completely overcome with just how close they had come to never seeing each other again.

“You’re my brother,” Harvey slurred, gaze intent in spite of the drink, “my best friend. My partner. I love you so much. You’ve no idea how much, buddy.”

The buddy slid into junior and then boy scout. From there it was a rapid descent into baby and sweetheart and darling, and he was so far gone he didn’t even hate it. Scarcely minded it, even, and when they made it back to Harvey’s apartment Jim lied and said that he didn’t want to come in, to punish himself for enjoying the older man’s affection.

That was how he lived his life over the following weeks, making himself ever more miserable because it was what he deserved.

It was the only way that he wasn’t going to drag anybody else down with him.

Harvey pushed as usual, cajoled and prompted and insisted, and it all came to a head when Harvey shoved a foot between the doors of the elevator so that Jim had nowhere to look but right at him. He had been doing his best to avoid Harvey, didn’t want to have to explain that he hadn’t done well enough that week to be allowed his company, and everything fell apart with the faulty electrics because the elevator juddered to a halt between floors and the technician on the other end of the line gave them an estimate of over an hour.

At another time it wouldn’t have mattered. During another week they would have just talked and joked and bantered. Jim was breaking down though, hadn’t slept more than an hour together since before he had injected the antidote, and with the lights out he could imagine himself back underground in that coffin.

The passenger seat of his father’s car. The collapsed medical center in Afghanistan, the one where he could hear people begging, children crying, and knew he was never going to reach them in time to do anything.

He really was back there, for all intents and purposes, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, lashing out in desperation and screaming for somebody to help him. Harvey had to physically hold him still, loosened his tie and tugged at his collar, pressed their foreheads together and took Jim’s hands in his own as he kept his tone calm and steady, getting Jim to breathe in and out with him.

Jim was trying, was mostly failing, and when the elevator finally jostled into life it scarcely registered. Nothing was getting through, not the doors opening and not the judging looks of his colleagues. Not Harvey’s efforts to get him to somewhere less public, and not the beginnings of a bruise on Harvey’s cheek, where his attempts to work free had gotten violent.

Harvey lost his composure, helpless, and it was the crack in his partner’s voice that filtered through the haze. The pet names Harvey always fell back on in times of stress, and his own obsession with what it meant that he liked it when Harvey slipped up and called him baby instead of buddy.

“I have a name,” he managed, voice raspy, and Harvey was so visibly relieved Jim didn’t begrudge him the way he hauled him in still closer to his bigger frame. The truth was that perhaps - just perhaps - it was what he wanted, and he justified allowing Harvey to support him out to the car park with the way his limbs were weak and trembling.

“I’m not gonna tell you you should get help,” Harvey said when he followed him through the door of his own apartment, the place looking even more dismal than he remembered it after a few nights of Harvey’s sofa, “and I’m not gonna ask you if you’ve been taking your medication. It’s your life, Jim. Your decision. All I want is for you to be happy, nothing else matters.”

Jim stared out of the living room window. Thought about how the glass needed cleaning, and how his left knee still didn’t feel steady. How tired he was, how drained and exhausted, and for the first time he admitted that he had chosen the wrong turning.

“I don’t want to be on my own,” he said, barely more than a whisper, and he watched their reflections in the window pane as Harvey crossed the room to be closer to him. Saw the way Harvey hesitated for a moment before putting his arms around him, letting him lean his back against Harvey’s chest, the slightly elevated beat of the other man’s heart strangely comforting.

“You don’t have to be - not now, not ever.”

Harvey’s voice sounded different so close to his ear, disarming and intimate, and Jim sighed and relaxed into Harvey’s hold. Was surprised to feel supported instead of smothered, and when Harvey pressed a kiss to the spot beside his ear he only tipped his head to the side, to give him better access.

Met Harvey’s reflected gaze, offering assurance, and Harvey raised goosebumps all down his arms when he simply breathed, hot and damp, against the skin of his neck. Made him shiver, nerve endings responding, until he could take it no longer, twisting around in the older man’s embrace so they were facing each other.

He reached up to touch the mark he had left on Harvey’s cheek, guilt clawing at him, and gave the only apology he was capable of.

“I’m going to see someone. I can’t live like this.”

Harvey caught his hand in response. Held it gently and pressed a kiss to it before lacing their fingers together. Jim clung back, needing the anchor, and they ended up on his bed, fully clothed but wrapped around each other. His head was on Harvey's chest, Harvey petting his fingers through his hair, and when Jim kept fighting off the pull of sleep, afraid to wake up and find himself alone again, Harvey promised solemnly,

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He meant that night - meant at any point in the future - and though it didn't come naturally, didn't come easily, Jim shut his eyes and chose to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	101. Size Kink, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion / sequel to [chapter 90](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/25069497) because meowitskatmofo suggested a follow-up where Jim was ready to take on the challenge... ;D

Jim Gordon didn’t do anything by half measures. When he reviewed a case he insisted on going right back to the very beginning. When something required extra attention he was only too willing to pull a few hours unpaid overtime, so that the cleaners were half convinced he was part of the fixtures and fittings of the station.

When he hit his mid 30s and decided perhaps he had been hasty in writing off half the adult population, he had to go for someone obtrusively broad and bearded and  _endowed_ into the bargain.

He still freaked out so much about the idea that it very nearly didn’t happen. Probably wouldn’t have if Harvey wasn’t so patient and steadfast, letting him spend weeks working up to doing more than necking on the couch like teenagers. Giving him the easy outs that prevented him barrelling straight into a nervous breakdown.

Thankfully wasn’t around to hear Barbara comment snidely on his tough guy play acting, and his ever blatant daddy issues.

“Are you going to go and ask him to kiss it all better?” She mocked, baby voiced, “Tuck you into bed and fill up that pretty mouth of yours?”

“It’s not like that,” Jim glared in turn, because he didn’t want people to know, and they hadn’t gotten past kissing and frustration anyway. He hadn’t worked past the fear of what it was going to say about the man he had always wanted to be.

“Jim,” she tsked, loving his discomfort, “you know what they say about men who are all take in the bedroom.”

He didn’t, but he could guess that it wasn’t positive. It wasn’t something he wanted Harvey to think of him, that much was certain, and that evening he worked himself into Harvey’s lap, rocking into the other man’s obvious interest with a need bordering on desperate. Then Harvey worked one calloused hand into his underwear and it felt just different enough to what he was used to that he stumbled backwards, frantic with the compulsion to put some distance between them.

Harvey didn’t laugh at him, didn’t lose his temper or let on that he was frustrated. Instead he pushed a hand through his hair and told him that it was all right. That they could go as slow as he needed to.

“But I want to,” Jim countered, his pulse racing and his dick aching, like it couldn’t understand why his brain wouldn’t just get with the program, “I just - I don’t know. I don’t know, Harvey.”

That was the crux of the problem. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t have a frame of reference for falling in love with someone who could drink him under the table and still bust the nose of anyone who tried to comment on it. He didn’t know how he was supposed to act now that he truly turned his back on everything his Father had hoped to see in his future.

“Come here,” was all Harvey said, and it was the delivery - an offer not a command - that had Jim moving willingly. Harvey started by kissing him slowly, sweetly, and it was Jim who had to push for more. Jim’s fingers in Harvey’s thick hair, the way Harvey moaned in response sending thrills of excitement through him so that he had to deepen the kiss. Had to try and get closer still, hips jerking, helpless, when Harvey latched on to the skin of his neck, the scratch of his beard so perfect Jim was babbling nonsense as he begged Harvey not to stop what he was doing.

Harvey didn’t. Chose to clutch at his hips instead and guide his movements, giving him the friction and the pressure he had been aiming for, keeping it up past the point Jim would have believed pleasurable. Eventually it was too much, too good, and he collapsed heavy and sated atop his partner, gasping for breath even as Harvey stole it from his lips, hands strong and soothing on his back.

“Should I - I could -” Jim managed, stilted, hand tentative between them. Harvey only kissed him again, filthy and distracting, and claimed he was good for the moment.

Jim loved him for it, for all that the guilt clawed at him, because he wasn’t ready. Had to finish getting his head around what they had just done and later, alone in his own bed, he fished his cellphone from the nightstand to read Harvey’s goodnight text and smiled to himself. Realized for the first time that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about it - what the solemn teenager intent on fighting for flag and country would have thought about it.

Harvey loved him and he loved Harvey. The packaging they came in wasn’t important, it was still the same exact thing he had spent his whole life wanting.

Things looked even brighter in the morning. Harvey smiled widely at him in greeting when he arrived at the precinct, and when they talked over case files mid-morning Harvey rested his hand on his shoulder, thumb stroking softly. It was private, intimate, and when Jim looked up into the older man’s face to let him know that it was okay, that it was the kind of PDA he could deal with, the tender look in Harvey’s eyes threatened to steal his breath away.

Because Harvey didn’t push him past what he was comfortable with. Stuck to slow and steady, and Jim began to relax back into their usual routine of bluster and banter. Began to get over his hang ups, loving the way they could joke and mock and rough house, and then kiss each other senseless or simply curl up close on the sofa, happy to simply spend time together.

Harvey didn’t make him feel inadequate. Didn’t mind how devoted he was to the job, and didn’t care that sometimes all he wanted when he wasn’t working was to sit around one of their apartments, doing absolutely nothing. Harvey didn’t complain when he ordered take out, and he pretended to enjoy whatever he created in the kitchen. Harvey made him feel like he was somebody truly worth knowing, somebody worth waiting for, and on the occasions they spent half chaste nights - Harvey touching and tasting and swallowing him whole - in the same bed Jim spent long moments just watching Harvey sleep when his alarm went off in the mornings, thinking about how lucky he was.

They were well matched, well suited, and Harvey went out of his way to prove it to him over and over again with quiet actions and subtle gestures that what they had was more than capable of going the distance. He repaid it in kind, fixing Harvey coffee the way he knew he preferred it, and leaving candy in Harvey’s desk drawer on the grounds that it would do him more good than the whiskey he habitually had stashed in there.

“You trying to tell me something?” Harvey asked with a grin when he made the discovery, and Jim leaned against the edge of his desk and struggled to keep the smile off his face as he suggested,

“What, that your liver has been crying out for somebody to take pity on it?”

“No,” Harvey countered, hand brushing against his own just for a moment, “how much it gets you going that I can barely get this damn shirt buttoned. You don’t need to lie about it.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Felt his cheeks burning, all the same, because it wasn’t as though the observation was off the mark. Wasn’t as though it was ever going to be, and his mind kept returning to the image all afternoon, his paperwork suffering.

He wanted Harvey, that was the unadorned truth of the matter. He wanted him just the way he was, a little scruffy and slightly rough around the edges, and he didn’t waste time once they were finally through for the day, kissing Harvey back into the sofa cushions and pushing his shirt from his shoulders.

For the first time since Jim had screwed up the courage to reach out for his partner, Harvey was hesitant. Seemed nervous, a little embarrassed maybe, and Jim thought back to their earlier exchange and what he knew about Harvey’s propensity to deflect how he was feeling with humor. He grappled with the idea that Harvey might not believe he was 100% sincere about what his body did for him, twisted it around and around in his head, and then set about trying to get the message across, his breathing heavy as Harvey let himself be stripped to the waist.

Jim revelled in it. The expanses of pale flesh under his palms, and the scent of Harvey when he had to get in close enough to kiss at the flush travelling down his chest, and the freckles dusted over his torso. He stroked his fingertips over soft skin, followed with his tongue, and though they had yet to go that far it wasn’t the first time he had imagined it. It felt like it was all he was capable of some nights, one hand wrapped tight around himself, hoping Harvey was the type to be vocal when Jim got over the last of his reservations and put his mouth to action.

Now was the moment, it had to be, because all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, all he could think about was how badly he wanted Harvey - how badly he wanted Harvey to be aware of that - and he was sinking to his knees, fingers clumsy as he tugged at Harvey’s belt buckle.

Then - then - Jim was sat back on his heels feeling slightly stunned, not at all sure what the appropriate reaction was when faced with something that could probably do some serious damage. No probably about it, not at this angle, and he could feel the panic leaching back in because this was a problem he hadn’t once considered.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jim,” Harvey said, grounding him back in the moment, and Jim was more thankful for how well Harvey understood him than he could ever say. Was more grateful than he could ever articulate, though he did try, catching hold of the hand Harvey touched to his cheek and pressing a kiss to the palm.

“I want you,” he promised, struggling to verbalize the emotions raging in his chest, “it might just take some practice.”

He shrugged a little, bashful, and Harvey beamed at him. Looked so relieved that he wasn’t calling a total halt to things that his own nerves subsided into the background. It left him eager and wanting, responding to Harvey’s attempt to pull him up and closer until he was straddling his lap, Harvey’s tongue slick in his mouth and his dick hot in his hand. It was strange, awkward, a touch surreal. It was exciting, thrilling, a huge turn on, and Jim did his best to respond to Harvey’s groans of encouragement.

“Just like that,” Harvey whined when he worked his thumb against the head, and Jim didn’t know how he had lived his whole life without this, not when Harvey started to return the favor. Not when Harvey was fast losing his composure, muscles quivering and face screwing up with the intensity of it.

It was so hot, so good, and when Harvey took a few moments to come back to himself, Jim had to replace his partner’s hand with his own, too desperate to wait another second. He was so close, so frantic, and Harvey watched him as he came apart, eyes so dark and so focussed Jim twitched and shivered all the harder.

“Is it okay if I freak out now?” Jim asked eventually, shifting into a more comfortable position, his shirt sticking to him messily. Harvey just laughed, a bright sound that had his heart feeling full to bursting, accompanied as it was with Harvey kissing his temple and brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“You haven’t got anything to freak out about.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jim scoffed before he could think better of it because, okay, he wasn’t an expert, but he had spent enough time in barracks and locker rooms to know where average benchmarked. To know that Harvey was nowhere near it, and perhaps it was the conviction in his voice or the incredulity on his face, but Harvey just broke out into another round of giggling, as immature as a schoolboy. Jim couldn’t help but join in, lost to the sheer silliness of the situation, and they ended up in the shower together, trading kisses and smiles and complaints about the other hogging all the hot water.

“Age before beauty,” Harvey quipped, and set about rinsing the soap from his hair before Jim had chance to.

“I just thought you’d want to be a gentleman,” Jim groused, pretending to be hard done by, and Harvey splashed water at him, attempting to draw a startled yelp,

“A gentleman? Where would be the fun in that?”

Jim thought about it as they lay in Harvey’s bed, his head pillowed on Harvey’s chest, and Harvey’s fingers tracing abstract patterns along the skin of his arm. It really shouldn’t be a big deal, leaning on Harvey’s shoulders, but the reality was that it was still something he struggled with. He was supposed to be the one providing support, the one doing the protecting, and he wondered with a faint sense of panic if he was going to ruin everything they had, just because he couldn’t deal with feeling like less of a man when Harvey wanted to take care of him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Jim sighed. Debated staying quiet, then was lulled back into security by the way Harvey didn’t insist or cajole.

“You. Me.  _Us_.”

Harvey tensed up a little beneath him. Gripped at his arm tightly, as though he was afraid Jim was about to get up and walk out on him.

“And is there an us, Jim?” He asked, voice little more than a strained whisper, “I’m no good at this, not when there’s no train for you to threaten me with. But I’m crazy about you, you gotta know that. I’m not trying to rush you, I just - I love you.”

Jim’s heart clenched in his chest at the confession, at Harvey’s obvious fear he was going to reject him, the rush of emotion he felt almost overwhelming. He loved Harvey, really and truly loved him, and so what if his pride was wounded by Harvey knocking out the odd psycho criminal and occasionally opening doors for him? He would get over it. Was determined not to let it lead to bigger problems, and he shifted until he was braced above Harvey, so that he had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“This isn’t some kind of experiment for me. I wouldn’t have started this if I didn’t love you. I’m just worried that I don’t measure up,” he couldn’t help the smile that stole across his face, “if you’ll pardon the expression.”

Harvey shook his head. Grinned stupidly in response and said,

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. I once climbed eighteen flights of stairs for you, Jim. If that doesn’t tell you what you mean to me, nothing will.”

Jim beamed back at him. He felt so happy he didn’t know what to do with himself because this was going to be his life now. He didn’t need to second guess what Harvey felt for him. Didn’t need to spend time worrying that they weren’t singing from the same hymn sheet.

There were no words to explain that to Harvey, so he kissed him instead. Grew more and more demanding until Harvey’s hands were all over him and he had to slide further down the bed, refusing to be daunted by the proof of Harvey’s excitement. He was tentative, all the same, brushing careful kisses up the length of his shaft before trailing his tongue along the same path. Harvey gasped and cursed, squirmed about like he was a pro rather than a novice, and if Jim wasn’t so turned on by the reaction he might have found it comical.

Instead he was too busy licking at his palm and wrapping it around Harvey. Too busy tasting the very tip of Harvey’s cock, and it wasn’t as bitter as he had feared. Harvey didn’t buck up and try to choke him, the way his research into the subject - his late night viewing alone in his apartment - had suggested he might do. It was hot, it was exhilarating, and when his jaw began to ache Harvey simply pulled him close, licked along the ridge of his ear, and asked if he wanted to be inside him.

It surprised him almost, the wave of white hot want which washed over him, and Jim was nodding feverishly, so excited he was struggling to stay calm and take control of the situation. It had been a long time since he had last had penetrative sex, longer even than he had admitted to, and though he had never been adventurous enough to be able to fall back directly on previous experience, he reasoned that the basic principles of the thing couldn’t be that much different.

He was still going to take his time, teasing and tormenting, and he was still going to work his finger in gentle circles, until Harvey couldn’t wait any longer and began to shift back against him. He let the very tip of his finger breach him then, awed by the heat and the tightness, but he stuck to the same slow pace, his own dick dripping at the way Harvey whined and whimpered.

“Please, Jim, please,” Harvey begged, and this had always been the part Jim loved. He worked more lube into him, fingers sliding more easily, and he took note of how it felt and what the angle was, when Harvey threw his head back and almost sobbed about how badly he needed him. It was kind of fascinating, totally intoxicating, and Jim pressed more firmly, Harvey reacting like a livewire and panting out that he loved him.

Jim had to kiss him then, had to finally take pity, because he was so close it was a battle of willpower not to come before he even got the condom on. Harvey yanked him into position, guided his hips and chanted encouragement, and Jim had to fight to hold still when he was actually pressed inside of him, mouth hanging open and flooded with saliva.

It was so good, so unbelievably good, and Harvey was doing most of the work, rocking and moving and writhing, so visibly enjoying it that Jim made the decision then and there that he needed to know exactly what it felt like. Whined out something incoherent to that effect, even as he jerked Harvey as best as he was able, losing himself to it when Harvey clenched up tight around him, the agonized pleasure on his face so perfect that Jim couldn’t have held back even if he wanted to.

 In the morning, Harvey’s dick jabbing into his stomach, Jim wasn’t in quite such a rush for the experience. Harvey was still huge and he had still never taken so much as a finger. He could change that though. He could work up to it, and when a sordid murder in the dock district had him visiting one of the local sex shops he stared, intrigued, at a display of plastic and latex as he waited for the manager to turn up and answer his questions.

“Like what you see?” The guy sleazed when he finally put in an appearance. “If you want the real deal my motto has always been fuck the pigs.”

Jim glared, made his enquiries through clenched teeth, and then reported the place to Neighborhood Enforcement on his way back to the precinct because they were bound to be breaking some regulation or other. He put the entire idea out of his mind, told himself that he wasn’t that interested, then that very evening found himself sprawled across Harvey’s bedsheets, arching up off the mattress as Harvey pushed a single finger inside him.

“It’s okay,” Harvey soothed even as he crooked it against his prostate, “try and take it easy.”

He only scrabbled at the sheets, fingers twisting tight in the fabric, and came like he was dying almost the very second Harvey put his mouth on him.

“It ought to be illegal to look that hot,” Harvey told him when he succeeded in blinking his vision back into focus. When he lay there, shivery and useless, though it was surely very bad form to just watch on as your partner took himself in hand. Harvey only raked his gaze over him with a sweeping touch that was almost physical, and groaned, “The noises you make, Jim. You’re going to be the death of me.”

They collapsed together afterwards, sated and sticky, and usually Jim would be desperate to go clean up and wash his hands. Harvey had a way of cradling him close that was so comfortable he stayed put for long minutes, not caring that it was completely out of character, and he only realized he had dozed off when Harvey got back into bed with a washcloth and a sandwich.

“I know how finicky you get,” Harvey said in response to his raised eyebrow, and Jim hid how touched he was by arguing,

“Yeah, that’s why you’re getting crumbs everywhere.”

“If it bothers you that much I’ll change the damn sheets.”

“I could just go back to my place,” Jim pointed out, reluctant but not wanting to come across as completely dependent.

“Your place sucks,” Harvey said easily, opening the chips he had brought and crunching noisily, “I don’t live there.”

“I do.”

“You don’t have to.”

And just like that he was moving his stuff into Harvey’s apartment, hanging his shirts up in the closet and stacking his textbooks up on Harvey’s bookcase. It should have been a big deal, ought to have had him panicking, but Harvey just kept up a running commentary about how ashamed he should feel of every CD in his collection, and Jim smiled so much he hardly recognized the man he saw reflected in the glass of Harvey’s kitchen window.

That night he tried again to master his gag reflex, focused and determined, and somehow it ended with him braced on his elbows and knees, literally sobbing into his hands because he had never known anything could feel so mind blowing. Harvey stroked at the backs of his thighs and let his hands play across his backside. Licked up the underside of his dick and speared his tongue into him, over and over again, until he begged brokenly for Harvey’s fingers. 

Harvey gave them to him, two working against his prostate until he was crying again, vocal and desperate, and he lavished attention to the head of Harvey’s dick when he was done. Kissed and licked and sucked, and spasmed all over in sympathy when Harvey came across his face, moaning like it was a wet dream turned reality.

“Of course it was,” Harvey told him when he broached the subject, settled in against Harvey’s shoulder, “you’re so beautiful - so sexy. It would take a better man than me not to want to put his mark all over that.” 

“I’m not all that great,” Jim protested, the flattery making him feel kind of overheated, and Harvey petted at his hair in ways that felt entirely too distracting, countering,

“Stop fishing for compliments, you know and I know that people would pay good money to put your pretty face on the cover of magazines.”

It was a sentiment he had heard before but with Harvey he could almost believe it. Could almost understand why other people weren’t so keen to throw themselves head first into dangerous situations, not when they had someone who cared waiting for them to make it home to them. Not when they liked the person they were well enough that the potential of not making it through truly scared them. Because he started not to hate the sight of his reflection, began not to despise the prospect of being alone with his own thoughts, Harvey’s faith in the man he was on the inside something he wanted to live up to.

Other people began to comment on it, because the accusations of those he was striving to bring to justice no longer had him running for the bottle. His colleagues claimed he was slightly less irritating, and when Lee returned all the same shame and hurt was there, but it wasn’t completely overwhelming. He didn’t feel like he was about to drown in it, and Lee looked him over for a moment that seemed to stretch out forever before saying,

“You’ve changed, Jim. I hope it’s for the better.”

It had to be, there was no way it couldn’t be, because for the first time in his entire life he was beginning to be comfortable with the person he was. Was beginning to understand that there were some things he couldn’t change, some things he wasn’t in control of. On the other hand there were things he could do, could be, if he was only willing to try them out before claiming he wasn’t interested. He liked sleeping in late, sometimes, and he didn’t mind trashy crime novels, especially not when Harvey read them aloud, glasses perched on his nose.

He got off on the thought of taking Harvey. Went to a different sex shop and flushed and flustered but left with a discreet brown paper bag, the back of his neck still burning and sweat slick. Harvey was going to be late out at a meeting, would probably stop off for a couple of drinks before making it home for the evening, and Jim figured this would be a better use of his time than falling asleep in front of the television.

It was better than he thought it would be. Was still a little awkward and a lot undignified, but he came like a freight train, lost to the pressure against his prostate, and he reached the conclusion that he wasn’t going to feel satisfied until it was Harvey he was riding and not plastic.

Harvey, for his part, was less convinced. Had issues of his own, Jim was learning, and it was the catch in his voice when he said he didn’t want to hurt him that had Jim dropping the subject and concentrating on kissing him silent. On taking charge of the situation and positioning them both until Harvey was groaning around his dick, wanton and frantic, and Jim had his hands on the back of Harvey’s thighs, pulling him closer every time Harvey tried to hold back and be considerate.

Because it was true what they said about practice, and the act had gone from being faintly terrifying to a crazy turn on, and later he even worked up the courage to say as much though he had never once imagined himself capable of talking openly about something so personal.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Harvey said, all soft smile, and it should have been infuriatingly patronizing, not something that had his heart twisting up in a swell of fond adoration.

“I thought my not being quiet was part of the appeal,” he mused aloud, playing dumb, and Harvey just paid him back by tickling his ribs and making him laugh and squirm, helpless.

He wanted to show Harvey what he meant to him, tried to demonstrate just how very grateful he was that Harvey had taken a chance on him. He stole kisses at the precinct sometimes, when the day was being exceptionally tough and Harvey’s shoulders were bowed with the pressure. Stopped worrying about who might guess at what there was between them, and quit caring whether or not it bothered them.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with a smile on your face,” his old training officer said when a case took him back to his uniformed stomping grounds, and Jim dredged up long forgotten manners, because if it wasn’t for the man’s patience he would never have made detective. Never have met Harvey, and never started dividing his life in terms of before and after Harvey was a part of it.

Started thinking about forever and always, and had to be physically pulled off the next villain who tried to snuff Harvey out, teeth bared and panting with the rage and the fear that had left him blind to reason. He spent every spare second he could at Harvey’s hospital bedside, then hovered around him back at their apartment, afraid to let him out of his sight for a moment.

“I’m not an invalid,” Harvey snapped finally, frustrated, and Jim couldn’t swallow down his temper,

“You almost died, Harvey. There was nothing I could do but stand there and watch it.”

“Now you know what it feels like then!” Harvey shot back, eyes wet with the pain - the wound in his side and the ache in his heart - and Jim dropped to sit beside him. Held him tight as Harvey sniffled into his shoulder, and spoke with actions instead of words when Harvey pulled back to look into his eyes, his own fingers trembling as they kissed, the soft brush of lips making his heart race and his skin tingle.

He was sorry. He had never realized how awful it could feel. He needed to know Harvey was safe and whole, and they held eye contact the entire time, until it wasn’t just his body lost to the intensity but his heart and his soul along with it. Until he was gasping and shaking, and Harvey was right there with him, gazing at him like he was the embodiment of everything he had ever wanted.

“Don’t blame me,” Harvey warned after he actually came right out and said as much, “I never got sickly sweet like this before I met you. That has to make it your fault.” 

“I bet you did,” Jim teased in return, all but smothering Harvey because the other man hadn’t made him move yet, “I bet there were love songs and poetry.”

“It’s like you want to be on the event stewarding rota,” Harvey mused, grin audible, and Jim just cuffed him lightly on the arm.

Nobody wanted to be on that rota.

He found himself on it all the same, along with the rest of the department, and then at a hastily scheduled GPU meeting to listen to his brothers and sisters in arms complain about it. He did his best to look suitably concerned. To nod in the right places and to not make any promises, and by the time it was done he was itching for some kind of stress relief.

Knew exactly what kind of relief would be most effective, and had to fight not to let on how disappointed he was to learn that Harvey had gone for drinks with a few of the guys from the precinct. He could join them he supposed but the prospect wasn’t appealing, not that night, and he wasn’t about to succumb to the urge to beg Harvey to give up some rare R&R with his friends to come home and make him feel better.

He showered instead, planning for quick and perfunctory but ending up with his head tipped back against slick tile, wishing all the harder that Harvey were there with him. He wanted Harvey’s mouth, needed his hands, and no matter how he wriggled and squirmed, it just wasn’t enough. The angle was too awkward, the press of his own fingers too clumsy, and finally he turned off the water and set about messing up the freshly changed bed covers.

Worked himself up past his first purchase and on to the second, touching and teasing and pinching mercilessly at his nipples, almost glad that Harvey wasn’t home to see how shamelessly desperate he could be. Just how much noise he could make, how pitiful he could sound, and he was whining still louder as he clenched his eyes shut and pressed the toy deeper. It wasn’t enough, fell short of what he needed, and he could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his face and the ache in his forearm. The stretch in his thighs, spread wide, and the throbbing of his dick, leaking wet against his stomach.

He was going to have to give in, was going to have to settle for pushing into the tight channel of his fist, but then there was the awareness that he wasn’t alone, Harvey’s voice strained like he had never heard it as he murmured,

“Jesus, Jim. Jesus Christ Almighty.”

Any other night and Jim would have been embarrassed. Any other moment and he would have been covering himself up and claiming something spurious about it not being what it looked like. In the present he was too far gone, too worked up, and all he actually managed was blinking up at Harvey in hope, pleading for him to come and help him.

Harvey moved like he was spellbound. Stripped frantically, clumsily, and then crawled up to join him on the bed, kissing him deeply and taking over from Jim’s hand, angling the dildo unerringly so that he bit at Harvey’s lip and begged for more.

“You been making a habit of this?” Harvey asked against his mouth, his taste tinged with drink, “Haven’t I been taking good enough care of you?”

He shook his head, fingers twisting in Harvey’s hair. It wasn’t like that - wasn’t like he did it often. He understood Harvey’s hesitancy, of course he did, and he had absolutely no complaints about anything they did together. Harvey didn’t seem to actually be expecting an answer though, the words spilling from his lips devolving into pure filth as he spilled slick all over the place and replaced the toy with one, two, three of his fingers.

“If it’s what you want, Jim - if it’s really what you want,” his voice wasn’t steady, breathing no better, and Jim pulled him down into a kiss, the knowledge that it was Harvey wringing these sensations from him almost overwhelming.

“I do,” he managed, fixated on the blue of Harvey’s eyes, swamped black with how badly he wanted this too. “I just - I want you. All of you.”

It was an invitation for a bad joke, undoubtedly, but Harvey was so affected he let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Chose to work Jim open further, lube everywhere, pressure steady until Jim couldn’t take the waiting any longer. Until he had Harvey pushed back, hair fanning out around him, because it was how he had been imagining it - Harvey vocal but obedient, letting Jim prove to him that it was exactly what he wanted.

“You sure?” Harvey panted, mouth hanging open as Jim rolled the condom down onto him and spread more slick between them, “you want to stop, we do. Doesn’t matter how far we get.”

“I’m sure,” he said simply, heart fluttering in his chest with unvoiced gratitude, and Harvey watched him in awe as he straddled his hips and took hold of the older man’s erection.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Harvey breathed, like he wasn’t even aware he was speaking aloud, “oh God, Jim, if I am dead I must be headed for a sainthood.”

Jim huffed a laugh. Felt it transform into a wanton groan half way because the stretch, the pressure, was more than he had imagined. More than he could take, maybe, but he didn’t let up, Harvey’s hands moving to help support his thighs, stopping him from taking too much too fast.

“We don’t have to,” Harvey said again, chest heaving like they had been running a life or death foot chase, and Jim just shook his head. Just laced their fingers together, his thigh muscles quivering at the movement, and concentrated on breathing in and out and how unbearably hot it was going to be, feeling Harvey fall to pieces beneath him.

It was slow going, difficult like all the things most worth doing, and he dared to look at Harvey when he was halfway, his arousal flooding back full force at the half lidded ecstasy on his partner’s face.

“Jim,” he ground out, sounding broken, and Jim exhaled carefully, the resistance finally easing into something he was in control of. Then it was past that, all his composure long gone, because he had never felt anything like it before. Had never felt so close to anyone and his legs were shaking, his rhythm slipping, unable to co-ordinate well enough, not when Harvey cursed roughly and bucked up into him, dick filling him so perfectly it had him seeing stars.

“Please,” he heard himself begging, “I can’t - I need - Harvey, please.”

He didn’t know what he was begging for. More, less, harder, faster. Harvey appeared to understand him anyway. Manoeuvred him, manhandled him, and he was whimpering with it, with the loss of control and the sudden emptiness. Then Harvey was rubbing a soothing hand over his abdomen. Was hitching his legs up, intention obvious, and it was exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he needed, Harvey’s weight braced over him, and the blunt head of Harvey’s cock nudging lewdly against his entrance.

Harvey kissed his thigh, brushed a slick thumb over him, the lube cool against the burning heat of his skin, and then he was busy telling him how hot he looked and how he had hit the jackpot. How he was lucky, so very lucky, and how Jim needed to let him know if it was okay, and if he wanted him to keep going.

Jim nodded. Reached for Harvey blindly and the slide was so much easier now it had a precedent. Was so good, so deep, and he pulled Harvey into a mess of a kiss, desperate and demanding as Harvey began to thrust into him in earnest, and then wrapped a hand around him for good measure.

He chanted nonsense and clawed at Harvey’s back. Cried out when Harvey went deeper still, hips working in grinding circles, and lost it completely when Harvey pushed up on his knees, hands holding his legs up as he mouthed along the side of his foot. It was too much, way too much, and he came and came and came, Harvey fucking him through it until there couldn't have been anybody in the whole building who didn't know how amazing it felt.

Harvey collapsed against him when he reached his own climax, twitching and shuddering and burying his face in the crook of his neck, moaning helplessly when Jim petted fingers through his hair and rubbed a hand over his shoulders.

“You’ve done it this time,” Harvey told him eventually, voice all scratched up, “they’re going to have to put ‘Jim Gordon’s insatiability’ on my death certificate.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Jim rasped out in turn, forcing himself to move so that they were laying face to face, Harvey’s eyes soft and tender with the drink and the climax and the same adoration he knew was painted all over his own visage, “and it's your own fault for coming home early.”

“I missed you,” Harvey insisted, plaintive, “you got me hooked on your company. I can't help it.”

“You're so ridiculous,” Jim admonished, grinning stupidly regardless, and Harvey just brought a hand up to cup his face and said with a hint of uncertainty,

“You love it though?”

“Yeah,” Jim conceded, happy and relaxed and for once completely grounded in the moment, “I love everything about you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	102. Priest AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priest AU, because it just had to happen...

The first time he saw Detective James Gordon it was on the front page of the Gotham Gazette, serious expression offset by his baby face. Harvey sipped at his whiskey laced tea, let the chatter of the housekeeper wash over him, and told himself that it wasn’t a crime to find enjoyment in the beauty the good Lord had seen fit to share with the world.

That it wasn’t a sin, the way his gaze lingered on Detective Gordon’s cheekbones.

“I expect he’s just as corrupt as the rest of them,” Mrs Stephens said finally, bustling about behind him and, reluctantly, Harvey turned the page.

It was too early in the morning to rehash the concept of Christian charity.

The first time he saw James Gordon in the flesh he was attempting to comfort a sobbing parishioner, tears soaking into the shoulder of his cassock.

“I didn’t do it, Father, I swear,” he begged, and James shifted awkwardly, discomfited perhaps by the sight of a grown man crying, or by the lifeless little body laid out in the other room.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he started finally, voice gruff and hands rough where they cuffed the man’s wrists together, and Harvey watched on as Jim pushed his head down to avoid collision with the frame of the squad car.

“He did do it,” James said out on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, big blue eyes challenging him to disagree with the verdict.

“I know,” Harvey said quietly, and the surprise on James’ face told him more than words ever could.

You didn’t pick and choose who you offered comfort to - that was part of the calling.

He explained that to Jim a few encounters later, over a drink in one of the city’s seedier dive bars.

“I thought we’d be sipping sherry at the vicarage,” Jim admitted, nursing his single whiskey.

Harvey drained his third and gave him an amused smile, “I take it you’re not a good Catholic boy then?”

Jim didn’t believe in a higher power, not beyond law and order, Harvey had already determined that much. He had a good eye for people, had to in his game, and Jim just sighed deeply, pushing a hand through his hair and asking again if he could help him.

“I can make a few enquiries,” Harvey said eventually, as though he hadn’t been burned badly by the business with Dix, “I’m not promising anything.”

“Thank you,” Jim said, so very earnest, and Harvey sat at the drink sodden table for a long time after Jim was gone, wondering just what in God’s name he thought he was playing at.

He prayed that night, seeking guidance, but the way forward seemed just as murky in the morning so he pried subtly at community outreach and listened closely to the gossip of the flower arranging committee. Shrugged in feigned indifference when he helped supervise youth club, and went for tea and cucumber sandwiches with the nosiest neighbor in his entire parish.

Drank a couple of the nastiest thugs under the table of a dingy backroom, and relied on his bulk and his height, folding his arms across his chest and waiting for one of their friends to give him answers.

He reported all the relevant information back to Jim, too aware of the fluttering low in his stomach, and Jim nodded his gratitude, commenting,

“You should have chosen another uniform.”

He had considered it, long ago, because he had always known he was destined to serve, even before he had worked out in what capacity. All he said aloud was,

“I look so good in black though.”

Jim laughed, the sound startled out of him, and the next time he entered the confessional in the role of penitent Harvey had to ask for absolution for the impure thoughts he couldn’t quit acting upon. Father Mulligan revelled in his discomfort, he could just tell, and he prayed alone for patience and tolerance, and that his brother priests would cease spouting such toxic bullshit to their congregations.

He was a hopeless liberal though, he had heard it from the mouths of more than a few of his peers, and later that week assured flustered members of his own flock that in 99% of cases self-abuse was, at worst, venial.

“Are you sure?” a kid he didn’t recognize asked him, sounding panicked, and he did his best, attempted to dig deeper, but a few days later he was sat in the parents’ sitting room, because Mulligan was so into fire and brimstone they were afraid he was going to refuse to perform the funeral.

It got him choked up and emotional. Had him wanting to drink too much or seek out someone’s company. He did both, feeling desperate, and Jim frowned at him, somehow still managing to look just as distractingly beautiful,

“If you don’t agree with it why are you propping up the system?”

“Why are you a cop? How can you endorse the department’s corruption?”

“I’m fighting for change,” Jim snapped, angry, “I’m going to clean it up from the inside.”

“Exactly,” Harvey said mildly, and they ended up leaning against the railings of the city park, Jim telling him stiltedly about how he had used to visit the spot with his father, before the car crash that killed him.

He didn’t say that he was sorry, or that a man he had never met would be proud of Jim. Instead he shared tales of his own childhood, and admitted how difficult he found it sometimes, knowing that he was never going to raise his own family.

Jim gazed up at the stars dotting the night sky, a rare sight in smog shrouded Gotham, and Harvey shivered with the sudden idea that Jim wasn’t a challenge sent by a benevolent God - but temptation delivered by the claws of Satan.

Their paths continued to cross, either way. He had heard rumors about the Order of St. Dumas before Jim mentioned the name, called in every favor he had accrued and then some, and Jim all but camped out at the priory, painstakingly piecing together the scraps of information he was so certain were going to lead to their downfall. It chilled him to the core, that the Mayor might be involved with it, and Jim set his jaw and squared his shoulders, as though it physically hurt to be given yet more proof of man’s struggle to turn his back on evil.

When it came to the crunch he knocked a man unconscious for Jim. Might have killed for him, had the situation called for it, and his skin was still tingling with the memory of Jim’s handshake when he dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness.

Granted or not, Jim became part of his regular routine. He saw Jim at Gotham General, when he was making his rounds, and Jim continued to invite his help on cases, asking for his input on hesitant witnesses and listening to his insight on neighborhood rivalries. They both strove to be in and of the community, and Jim introduced him to Dr Leslie Thompkins at some event or other, Harvey wishing he didn’t recognize the ugly emotion in his breast for what it was.

He was jealous, sick with it, and when he joked stupidly that they ought to call on his services for the ceremony his stomach churned at the way Jim and Lee looked at each other, amused yet heated, like they were both confirming to the other that they had no interest in the Church’s teachings on pre-marital chastity.

“I’m going to be a father,” Jim told him the next time they met, him accompanying a couple of senior citizens to report a burglary and Jim looking every inch the All American Hero. “We’ve been looking at places out in the suburbs.”

“I’m so happy for you,” he said and he meant it, honestly and truly. Jim was good with children, though he claimed not to be after every event or match or group session Harvey badgered him into attending. Jim was a good man, period, and had devoted his life to the service of others, without expectation of gratitude.

The problem was that Harvey just couldn’t stop feeling sorry for himself.

It was selfish and vain. Petty and immature. Had him sobbing into his pillow because he was supposed to be past this. Then Jim was arrested on suspicion of murder and his own problems faded into insignificance because Jim was innocent, and he was going to do everything within his power to prove it.

The jury disagreed, along with Jim’s colleagues and the media, but Harvey refused to accept that justice had been served. Blagged his way into Blackgate with the help of the chaplain because God had seen fit to take his freedom and his child, and left him in desperate need of ministry.

“What are you doing here?” Jim asked, face pale and eyes rimmed red, “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

That was where Jim was wrong.

“I don’t understand why you’re so invested,” Father Mulligan said, suspicious and judgemental, and Harvey took solace in the knowledge that it wasn’t a sin to love someone. It wasn’t a sin for his heart to break in two every time he thought of Jim alone in his cell, or for his stomach to crawl with fear every time he imagined the fates that might befall a known cop in prison.

It was acting on what he felt that would tip the balance, and perhaps Mulligan had a point for once because he lied and he stole and he cheated. He begged and he pleaded and he borrowed. He spent long hours watching Jim sleep when it was finally done, fingers itching with the need to brush the errant strands of hair back from his forehead. He prayed the rosary instead, over and over again, to keep his hands occupied and his mind focused.

Then Jim opened his eyes and he lost count, breathless with the intensity of the moment passing between them.

“I can’t stay here,” Jim said finally, not once breaking eye contact, “you’re breaking the law by letting me.”

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ,” Harvey quoted, solemn, and when Jim did eventually look away, it was with the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

Jim’s name was cleared, washed clean in the eyes of those who would condemn him, but he was a changed man in spite of it. He was less confident, less sure of himself, and there was nothing Harvey could do but watch on as he turned to the bottle and the pain pills, wanting to forget even as he fought to remember.

“You’re lonely,” Harvey opined as he supported Jim’s frame back to his miserable apartment one night, meaning to say something about the comfort he could find in Jesus’ embrace, if only he would open his arms to it.

“How do you live with it?” Jim asked before he had chance, pressing further into his personal space, “Have you ever even…?” He trailed off but his meaning was obvious, gaze flickering to his lips and then lower, fingers coming up to touch his cheek.

It was too much, was more than he could take, and if a door further down the hallway hadn’t opened he would have succumbed. Would have kissed Jim. Touched him. Told him that he was on his mind, constantly, and that he felt things for him that he had never believed he would experience.

Sanity prevailed.

He threw himself into his work - his duty. Talked and visited and comforted. Arranged and organized and offered what little time he had left over anywhere and everywhere, just so he could honestly say he was too busy to go and apologize to Jim Gordon. He ought to, he knew that, because he had run like a coward. Was staying away like it was Jim’s fault he couldn’t keep a handle on his own emotions.

Was rendered speechless when Jim staggered drunk and insensible into the confessional, chin covered in stubble and dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. He was in tears, in need of more guidance than Harvey could give him, and he was about to suggest they take the conversation somewhere more private when Jim blurted,

“You should have left me in Blackgate. I deserved to be there.”

“It feels that way now,” Harvey began, wishing he could kiss away the younger man’s tears, but Jim just stifled a sob with a fist then continued,

“You don’t understand, Harvey. I killed a man.”

His blood ran cold. He had been wrong about Jim - about everything. Pinkney was dead and Jim was admitting to his murder, months after Harvey had been instrumental in getting his conviction overturned. They needed to talk about this, he needed to be certain Jim knew what he was saying, but Jim was already moving, fleeing, and Harvey called after him from the steps of the church, his stole fluttering in the cold afternoon breeze.

He tried to focus on what was expected of him. Tried to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. Gave it up as a bad job, finally, and excused himself from a meeting on important parish business to track Jim down because he couldn’t shift the terror or the chills that went through him at frequent intervals.

“I don’t want to hear what God thinks about it,” Jim warned when he found him, drunker still and swaying dangerously, stood on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building. “If any of it exists we both know where I’m going.”

“That’s not true,” he said, determined, and when Jim refused to get down he clambered over the railing himself, vertigo washing over him as he glanced down at the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” Jim demanded, eyes wide, and Harvey pried one of his sweaty hands off the railing and held it out to him. Jim took it, tentative, and Harvey clutched so tight it was probably painful.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter what you go on to do. I’m here for you. Always.”

Jim just stared at him for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. And then Jim was in his arms, trembling and helpless, meek as a lamb as Harvey moved them both to safety. He held Jim close, petting, soothing, and Jim’s lashes were wet when he looked up at him and explained himself.

“Mayor Galavan. I pulled the trigger. I let the Penguin shoulder all the blame and I carried on as though I’d done nothing wrong.” He was in tears again, beaten and broken, and Harvey had to strain to hear what he was saying, “Lee, the baby, Blackgate - don’t you see? It’s my punishment. I’m just not strong enough to take it.”

Harvey couldn’t bear it, couldn’t withstand it, and they ended up in Jim’s apartment, his entire body shaking as their lips brushed together. Jim was careful, tender, fingers gentle in his hair and tongue slick and passionate against his own. He moaned at the sensation, overwhelmed, and Jim deepened the kiss, hands stroking gently over his face and his neck.

It was so perfect, so beautiful, and it was only when Jim pushed closer still, arousal surging white hot through his system, that Harvey really registered what it was he was doing. That he regained enough control to stumble backwards, suddenly frightened, because it shouldn’t be so easy to turn his back on everything he lived for.

“Go,” Jim said, tone clipped and expression closed off where just moments before there had been smiling hope and adoration. The pain was all encompassing, had him barely able to breathe, and Jim just raked a hand through his hair and gestured at the door. “Go on. What are you waiting for?”

He hesitated, on the precipice of what he knew was right and what he wanted, and then he followed Jim’s instructions. Clattered down the stairwell and sucked in lungfuls of cold night air, the burn of it nothing compared to the ache in his heart. It was for the best, they both knew that. It was the way things had to be, he was under no illusion.

Because Jim returned to the GCPD and he recommitted himself to the ministry. Jim’s face continued to grace the city newspapers and his own only grew more weathered, staring back balefully at him from the bathroom mirror. Jim didn’t seek him out and he pledged to keep his distance - out of reach of temptation, and where he wouldn’t be forever dredging up unhappy memories for the man he had been willing to throw everything away for.

None of it worked, not really, because he couldn’t find peace. Couldn’t pretend to be happy. He prayed for Jim’s soul, for relief from the guilt of what had happened to Galavan, because he had heard things about the man - dark, ugly things - and because only God knew whether what Jim had done had been truly justified. His own soul he neglected, unable to see the point in it, until Mulligan pulled him aside in warning.

“We haven’t always seen eye to eye,” he said in gross understatement, “but if you leave the Church will be the worse for it. If you leave nothing will be different between you - not unless you’re planning to turn your back on the Faith entirely.”

He couldn’t say a word in response. Thought on it and prayed on it, and finally accepted that he wasn’t going to change, and he was never going to forget about it. It didn’t mean that his life as a priest was over. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t recapture the sense of contentment he had once enjoyed, the balance between what he couldn’t have and all the blessings he had to make up for it.

Then he came face to face with Jim again for the first time in so long and his heart hammered frantically in his chest, unable to think of anything but how much he missed Jim’s company and how good Jim’s tongue had felt in his mouth.

“Father,” Jim said formally, with an incline of his head, and that was it.

It was all over.

Except he was saying Mass later that week, for the benefit of less than a dozen of the faithful, when he looked up to meet blue eyes fixed on him from the back pew of the church. He faltered for a moment, stumbled over his words, and he realized with a jolt that the mere sight of Jim had filled him with a joy he had once only ever felt while celebrating Mass. It knocked him off kilter, left him clumsy and nervous, and when it was done - when there nowhere to run, nowhere to hide - Jim dropped the mask of the war veteran and the police detective, so that he looked absurdly young and vulnerable.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, so very sincere, “if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be here.”

There were a hundred things he should say, a thousand more he could, but all he did was swallow thickly, haunted by the image of Jim silhouetted against the Gotham skyline.

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” Jim continued, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I kissed you back - I was complicit.”

Jim’s lips quirked in a sad smile. “I shouldn’t have come here. I promised myself I wouldn’t bother you.”

“I’ve missed you,” Harvey managed, voice so strained he scarcely recognized it, “I love you.”

It was the truth. Had been true for a long time and would be true for the rest of his days, Harvey didn’t doubt it.

“Don’t say that,” Jim countered instantly, as though they could turn back time and pretend he had never voiced the sentiment, “I’m trying to make things right. Please don’t let me ruin your life, Harvey.”

“Why did you really come here?” He whispered, the moment almost surreal. He felt like he was watching the scene from outside himself, like he was analyzing all the things he ought to have done differently, even as he went ahead and did them. “What do you want from me?”

“I want something I can’t have. I want you to make the decision for me.”

Jim wanted him to be the one to turn him away. Wanted him to be the one to say no, and to argue that they could never be more than friends to each other. That he wouldn’t want them to be anyway.

“I can’t,” he choked out, “I won’t.”

There was a noise then, desperate and needy, and Jim was surging forward. Was kissing him, frantic, face wet with tears and hands clinging to him. Then it was over, just as quick as it had begun, and Jim was putting distance between them, his own dumb wonderment giving way to numb resignation.

“I’m not going to do this to you,” Jim shook his head, “I swear that one day you’ll thank me.”

He turned on his heel. Didn’t look back, not once, and Harvey simply stood and watched him go. Acted as though nothing had happened for one hour, two, then broke down in the bathroom of the local community center, gasping for air as he sobbed, the reality of it beginning to sink in through the haze of affected indifference.

It was hard work, tough going. More painful than anything he had ever known, and in spite of it all he saved clippings of Jim from the newspapers, and went out of his way to be anywhere he might catch a glimpse of him. Jim stayed strong for both of them. Was stubborn and steadfast and eventually it began to get easier. Began to feel like there might be light at the end of the tunnel, because he was loved, needed, and perhaps it wasn’t everything he wanted, but that was the curse of being human.

He had more than he had once expected, more than he had once believed possible, and though he wasn’t ready to thank Jim yet he conceded one night, staring up at the same constellations he had once seen reflected in Jim’s big blue eyes, perhaps - just perhaps - one day he would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	103. Fanmix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fanmix challenge I did a while back - it's basically the trash I listen to while writing for the ship rather than anything more thought through!

* * *

**1\. Love How It Hurts - Scouting For Girls [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11mkTm0WpBU)]**

> I’ve been waiting, all my life, for someone like you to come mess with my mind …  
>  Tell me you notice, tell me you hurt, for you I’d have run to the ends of the Earth.  
>  I couldn’t keep you, but I’ll keep my word, it’s the most beautiful pain in the world.  
>  I love how it hurts!  
>  I’ve been losing my mind, I pretend that it’s fine. Trying to keep it together while I crumble inside.  
>  You’ve got a friend at the end of the line.

This is always my go to Gordlock soundtrack because it sums up how I see their relationship. Harvey is so totally besotted with Jim - puts him up on a pedestal and is content to accept whatever affection Jim bestows, to be there for Jim no matter what, even when it’s breaking his heart in two. Jim, on the other hand, is at best completely oblivious and at worst simply indifferent to how much pain he puts Harvey through.

* * *

**2\. Always Your Way - My Vitriol [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egoef0mWIeo)] **

> I'm talking to the walls, I guess it seems all the wait is gone...  
>  I wish I could, sometimes I wish I would - Always your way.  
>  You want it all, I did everything I could - Always your way.

For those low moments when Harvey wishes he could walk away from Jim.

* * *

**3\. Seeds You Sow - Prides [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GunS-wf3Q7M)]**

> All I know, if I was to do it again, I wouldn't believe I was harming you.   
>  Well, I really should go - I should just leave you alone.

The thing about Harvey is that he is a total enabler when it comes to Jim's dangerous and destructive behaviour. I really liked the way Lee took him to task over it - though, deep down, he probably already knew it. That line in the S3 finale about there eventually being a line he won't let Jim cross was pretty poignant imo. The likelihood is that it will be a line Harvey will let him walk over anyway, and he'll be the one who suffers for it.

* * *

**4\. Mr Chainsaw - Alkaline Trio [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKmk7RFh4wY)]**

> Why is that you never said: I love you more than just a friend...  
>  There's nights that I can't even walk - there's days I couldn't give a fuck,  
>  And in between is where I'm stuck...  
>  In case you're wondering, I'm singing about growing up and giving in.

Unrequited love and glum resignation. <3

* * *

**5. Crutch - Set It Off [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nm1q9IJ92eE)]**

> I’m holding you up, keeping you on your feet.  
>  Always in the dark, even when you’re next to me.  
>  How does it feel to know I would do anything to break your fall?  
>  How does it feel - I give everything but I get nothing at all.  
>  You kill me every time we touch. Baby, you use me, I’m just your crutch.  
>  I don’t know how long I can hold you up.

Harvey knows full well that Jim isn’t going to change - that Jim is going to be instrumental in his downfall. I imagine he worries about Barnes’ predictions not for his own sake, but because sometimes he doubts his own ability to continue being what Jim needs from him. 

* * *

**6\. Crashed - Daughtry [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8Dbud_sTaU)]**  

> You saved me, you gave me just what I need...   
>  I crashed into you, like a runaway train.  
>  You will consume me, but I can't walk away.

Speaks for itself really. I love that Jim gave Harvey his sense of purpose back, made him want to do good and live up to his potential. Harvey wants to return the favour - Jim just makes it so damn difficult.

* * *

**7. Celwydd Gola' ydi Cariad (Love is a White Lie) - Cowbois Rhos Botwnnog [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2LQYNWVBgKg)]**

> Ond paid gwrando ar y geiriau, o be' bynnag wyt ti'n neud.  
>  'Chos dio'm ots be nei di glywed, s'nam rhaid ni wrando pan ma nhw'n dweud.

(Something like: 'But don't listen to the words, whatever you do - despite what you hear, we mustn't listen.' The song is kind of ~ love is what you feel not what you say.)

* * *

**8\. Be Mine - Robyn [[LINK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PDNRTCuPyQ)]**

> It's a cruel thing you'll never know all the ways I tried.  
>  It's a hard thing, faking a smile when I feel like I'm falling apart inside...  
>  And now I'm helpless sometimes, wishing's just no good.  
>  'Cause you don't see me like I wish you would.  
>  No, you never were, and you never will be mine.

Since this song came out I never had an OTP I didn't play this over and over for while writing sappy romance fic. Probably because I never ship anything that's endgame. Still, S4 will likely see Jim/Lee drag on and on, and even if it doesn't Jim will hook up with someone as equally terrible for him. Harvey will just get to watch on and pine angstily...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	104. Summer Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer holiday fic. :)

What a fucking morning.

Three dead bodies, a petty criminal put in intensive care, and so much associated paperwork to fill out his head was already swimming with the thought of it. If ever there was a time for a pick me up, this had to be it.

Sadly a snifter was out of the question, Jim having confiscated the bottle he kept in his desk drawer for just these occasions, so he was forced to settle for bitter coffee and one of the final three candy bars left in the vending machine.

It wasn’t even a particularly good one, and he read the wrapper idly as he polished it off, shaking his head at the colorful sweepstake promotion.

Share the Love - tell us what love means to you and win a romantic getaway for two.

He had never won a damn thing in his life, proving beyond doubt that the fabled luck of the Irish was complete and utter bullcrap. If he were to win he wouldn’t even have anyone he could take with him.

Fuck, could this day get any more depressing?

He missed the bin when he screwed the wrapper up and aimed for it, and then Jim was putting his head around the door, reminding him that, of course, his day could get worse.

Why it was really such a dismal mess in the first place.

Jim had blown off their standing mid week pizza and beer appointment the night before to go on a date. Not just any date, either. A proper one Jim had spent ages getting ready for, wanting to do justice to the reservation he’d made at a place with candles on the tables.

It was enough to make a guy sick.

Sick with jealousy at any rate, because he had been sweet on Jim since what felt like forever. Was so pathetically in love with him that it was all he could do to keep it together some days, when Jim looked so disgustingly gorgeous as they lurched from one life or death situation to another.

“You ready?” Jim asked in the present and Harvey sighed deeply before hauling himself to his feet.

He wasn’t, but that hardly mattered.

The interviews went okay. Nobody pulled a gun on them, at least, or revealed themselves to be a reanimated zombie. In Gotham that was kind of the best you could hope for.

“So,” he started finally, trying for casual, “when you gonna quit holding out on me? Last night - I want to hear all the details.”

Jim rolled his eyes but the tell tale flush in his cheeks gave it all away. Made Harvey want to punch something, and cut his knuckles up so bad he’d have something other than the pain of his broken heart to focus on.

“I’m going to see her again,” Jim confessed, a sweet little smile curling across his face, and Harvey had to look away.

Had to plaster a brittle smile on his own face and pretend the idea wasn’t tearing him up inside.

When they got back to the precinct the candy wrapper was still on the floor where he’d flung it, and as he picked it up the perfect answer came to him. Gave him an excuse to put off his paperwork by another ten minutes and, as he hit send, he told himself that he deserved __some__  good news.

* * *

He forgot about the sweepstakes soon enough. The city was full of murderers and madmen - the two categories by no means mutually exclusive - and the only good thing to be said for any of it was that he was racking up a nice amount of overtime.

Jim went on a second date, and then a third, and Harvey took himself out to his favorite dive bars on the night of the fourth, determined to get so drunk he wouldn’t even care what Jim was doing. Whether or not he was in bed with her. Falling in love with her. Thinking about a future, and settling down, and having kids, and sparing no time at all for a loser of an old cop with nothing left to offer him.

The reality was a little different, and he ended up sobbing messily into the shoulder of one of the girls he had once been a regular of.

“Come on, Bullock, pull yourself together,” she urged, clearly uncomfortable. “I got a living to make.”

“Am I really that bad a catch?” He asked, and he was so fucking drunk it was like he was seeing two of her. “Did you ever miss me?”

“I missed your money plenty,” she told him, blunt and to the point, then sighed and fished in her purse for a tissue. “Look, if this guy is all you say he is, why are you here bawling your eyes out when you could be there trying to convince him?”

She was right.

“You’re right,” he slurred, mopping up as best he could with the tissue. “I gotta go tell him.”

“You do that,” Charlene said, relieved to have him off her hands, and then he misjudged the distance as he staggered from the bar stool to his feet, having just enough time to curse the last half dozen shots before the floor and his face made impact.

He didn’t remember much of anything after that, though somehow he woke up on the floor of his own living room and not some stinking alleyway. His wallet was empty of cash, but the cards were all there so perhaps he had spent it rather than been robbed. It was too much of a blur to say for certain.

When he made it to the bathroom he winced at the sight of his face in the mirror. The bridge of his nose was cut and swollen, and he had a matching black eye to go along with it. Combined with the hangover, the clammy skin and the pounding in his skull, he was seriously considering calling in sick for the first time since he’d been bumped back up to acting Captain.

Gotham could surely manage without him for a few hours.

Except the banging wasn’t just in his head, there was someone at the door of his apartment too, and he pulled it open to find Jim Gordon on the other side, looking like something out of a glossy magazine supplement.

“What happened?” Jim asked, all solicitous concern, and Harvey couldn’t deal with this now. Could see a goddamned love bite peaking over the collar of Jim’s shirt, and he stumbled to the sofa, desperately needing not to be vertical.

“I lost a fight with the floor,” he mumbled by way of explanation. “We can’t all spend our evenings getting eaten alive, can we?”

And, okay, maybe his tone was bitter. He was nursing the hangover from Hell and his heart was in the process of being broken in two. Surely that granted him a little leeway? Jim put a hand to his neck anyway, obviously well aware of what he was referring to, and tried to wheedle him into putting in a full day of hard labor anyway.

“No can do,” Harvey told him, and if it came out more of a whine, it wasn’t his problem. “Let Tuttle do some fucking work for a change.”

“Fine,” Jim said, clipped and curt, and Harvey only shut his eyes against the spinning and waited for the door to slam behind him.

 _Fine_.

* * *

Contrary to all his expectations - exactly in line with all his wishful thinking - Jim put in another appearance that evening. Turned up with pizza and fruit juice, so earnest Harvey couldn’t even mock him for it, and filled him in on a day of nonstop insanity.

“Nothing out of the ordinary then,” was Harvey’s verdict and Jim flashed him his second favorite smile, the one that was just a little sly.

It was easy, companionable, and if it weren’t for the fact he had spent the previous evening begging for validation from women he had paid to give him the time of day in the first place, he might have been feeling pretty happy about the situation.

“You haven’t opened your mail,” Jim pointed out eventually and Harvey just slouched back further into the sofa cushions, telling Jim to be his guest and get on with it. It wasn’t like he ever received anything other than bills and circulars.

Except Jim got all excited when he tore the final envelope open, full of congratulations, and Harvey had to read the damn thing three times through before he could even begin to believe it.

He had won.

 _He_  had _won_.

A fancy holiday with sun, sea, and sand, and all he had to do to claim it was name the love of his life who was, of course, going to be accompanying him. Because that had been the whole point of the promotion, and everything on the itinerary was geared towards making him look like a total fucking loser.

“Who are you going to take?” Jim asked, just to rub salt in the wound, and for a moment Harvey could see it all too clearly, Charlene or Charmaine or Chantelle - and what was up with that anyway? - laughing in his face when he put the proposition before them.

“I’m spoiled for choice,” he said, full of false bravado, “who wouldn’t want to shack up with me for a week if it meant getting the fuck out of Gotham?”

“I’d do it,” Jim agreed, and he didn’t have the excuse of beer to fall back on, not when he was the one who had insisted on it being OJ all the way. “What I wouldn’t give to get away from this city for a week or two.”

Harvey swallowed. Weighed up the pros and the cons and how much it was likely to hurt. Lost himself to the beauty of Jim’s profile and the sweep of his lashes against his cheekbones, and was only distantly aware of his lips moving as he cautioned,

“I’d expect the full Jim Gordon experience. I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a marriage proposal and an attempted murder.”

“Fuck you,” Jim responded, grinning all the same, and Harvey only smirked as he reached for his own glass of orange juice,

“That’s the spirit.”

* * *

 

A few weeks later and he was questioning what the hell he had been thinking. Jim was asleep on his shoulder, his body heat making an uncomfortable bus ride even more so, but Harvey wouldn’t have disturbed him for the world.

Was already mentally skipping ahead to the fact they were going to be sharing a room - a bed - and noting that it was so hot Jim was probably going to be wandering around half naked.

God, he hoped Jim was planning on wandering around half naked.

He shifted, hot and bothered in more ways than one, and took it back. He hoped Jim stayed buttoned up. He prayed that Jim wasn’t going to make it any harder - and what a fucking word choice - than it needed to be. It had been torture enough already, pressed up close on the flight out, Jim looking so carefree and excited it had his heart chipping into pieces knowing that he was so close to what he really wanted, and yet so very far away from it.

Because instead of attempting to explain things to the organizers and get them reassigned to twin beds, he had been stupid enough to lay down a challenge. Lucius had looked between them, curious, when they told him why they were taking a few days leave and asked if it was some kind of undercover job. Jim had frowned, amused, and he had jumped on the idea, betting Jim that he couldn’t convince anyone they were a honeymooning couple.

Jim, rather than scowl and lecture him about the evils of gambling, was actually keen on the idea. Bragged that Vice had tried to poach him direct from uniform, based on his ability to keep his head in a crisis. It was more likely they had been thinking about how Jim’s pretty face would override even the most cautious punter’s reason, that was Harvey’s read on the revelation, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He agreed to it all too readily, pathetically, and now they were pulling up to the resort and he took advantage of the situation to drop a kiss to Jim’s temple before jostling him awake so they could get off the bus and find their luggage.

The place looked nice, upmarket, and Jim shot him a conspiring smile at the front desk before sliding an arm around his waist. Before acting like he was completely besotted, like he was struggling to keep his hands off him, and it only hurt worse when Jim let go the instant they were alone in their room, analyzing people’s reactions like they were debriefing on a case.

“Do you think I should have kissed you?” Jim asked, too earnest, and Harvey had to focus on unpacking his suitcase.

There was no way he was going to survive this.

* * *

 

He really wasn’t going to survive it, not when they had been there less than an hour and Jim was pulling a couple of gold wedding bands from his pocket.

“I figured we ought to do things properly,” Jim said, like his mind wasn’t spinning on a wheel, conjuring up scenarios straight from the pages of trashy romance novels, “I wouldn’t let any husband of mine wander about without my mark on him.”

Jim was smiling, tone playful, but Harvey couldn’t help the full body shudder that went through him. Jim Gordon being tolerant and modern and considerate was a wonderful, wonderful thing - but Jim Gordon being possessive and protective and just a little old-fashioned, that was something else entirely.

That was the kind of thing that got him hot under the collar. Got him hard and desperate in his lonely bed at night, and now the arousal was fighting it out with the sugary devotion he too often felt in Jim’s vicinity, because Jim was pushing the ring onto his finger.

It startled him every time he remembered the ring was there. Every time he caught sight of it from the corner of his eye, or actively noticed it the weight of it. He had kind of resigned himself to never making it down the aisle, and it wasn’t any real surprise to learn that his indifference on the topic was as fake as the tits on the woman they were sitting opposite. She caught him staring, glared her displeasure, and Jim jostled his leg under the table in admonishment, complaining as soon as they were left alone that they were supposed to have just gotten married.

“If you want to ogle someone, it should be me.”

“I wasn’t ogling her,” Harvey countered, to avoid pointing out that he followed Jim’s suggestion almost every waking moment anyway, “They were just in my line of vision.”

Jim scowled, unimpressed, and Harvey lost himself to the fantasy that they really were newly-weds and Jim - being an uptight idiot - really did think that he would look elsewhere when Jim was sat right next to him.

He’d make it up to Jim, he thought. Would set about convincing him that he was everything he had ever dreamed of. That he was the finest piece of ass in the entire resort, and he had to be completely insane if he thought Harvey would risk losing it. He decided to put it into practice, in the spirit of their wager, and Jim seemed to cotton on, relaxing by increments as Harvey plied him with umbrella laden drinks and rested his hand on Jim’s thigh.

At dinner he kept it to Jim’s arm and shoulder, out of deference to the elderly couple they were seated with, but they struck up conversation happily and asked how long they had been together. Jim beamed at him in triumph, like it validated all his claims of undercover prowess, and Harvey gazed back at him, struck dumb all over again by how very beautiful Jim was when he wasn’t miserable.

“Was it love at first sight?” The old dear asked, smiling benevolently at the pair of them, and Harvey basked in the tipsy buzz and the glow of Jim’s company, answering,

“At first sight I wanted to kill him, but then he kind of grew on me.”

“When did you know, for sure?” she asked when the worst of Jim’s pout had subsided, moved to sentimentality - so her husband said - by the fact she was there to celebrate her 60th wedding anniversary.

“He saved my life,” Jim said, as though that wasn’t a typical Tuesday, “I knew he’d never turn his back on me.”

Jim took his hand then, stroked his thumb over it, soft and tender, and Harvey never knew how he reigned in the urge to kiss him soundly.

None of it was real. He just had to keep reminding himself.

* * *

 

The next few days were more of the same - perfect, agonizing torture. Jim slept sprawled across the bed next to him, wearing nothing but his underwear, and wandered about everywhere half naked because Jim wasn’t at all ashamed of his physique. Had absolutely no reason to be, obviously, and it drove Harvey to distraction, whether he was trying to sleep, hands clenched tight in his pillow to stop them wandering, or watching Jim turn lengths in the hotel pool, mouth dry no matter how many drinks he got through.

He went to the beach, just to see the smile on Jim’s face, and did his best not to complain about the sand and the noise and the unrelenting heat beating down upon him. He regretted it later, laying sick and shivery in their shared room, Jim keeping on and on and on until he agreed to see a doctor who told him it was a mild case of heatstroke.

Jim wanted to mother him, play nurse, for a bit but Harvey wouldn’t hear of it. Didn’t want Jim to witness him looking even less attractive than usual, and suggested lewdly that he go and find a bar or a club or whatever, where he could make the most of being far away from his current lady friend.

“Out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind,” Jim chastised. Then sighed, glumly, and confessed, “It’s over, anyway. She doesn’t want to see me again.”

“All the more reason to get out there then,” Harvey pestered, far too pleased by the news, and further consoled himself that if Jim didn’t return that night at least it would be a fleeting thing. Hopefully.

He woke up to Jim climbing into bed at a perfectly respectable, reasonable hour, and he couldn’t keep the relieved smile off his face, even as he drifted straight back to sleep again.

“Harvey!” Jim called the next morning, waving him over almost the very instant he decided that he could handle being up and about again, gesturing to an empty seat next to two women who looked like they had just finished with some high class photo shoot. Jim fit right in beside them, all golden tan and toned biceps, and the three of them flashing their Hollywood bright smiles, as though they spent every day sitting around pools out in California.

For his part Harvey thought about pretending he hadn’t seen them. Considered carrying on walking and dealing with the fallout, whatever it might be, later. He was a mess, overweight and over the hill, and the sun had only made him burn and peel and be copiously sick into the bargain.

He had sent Jim out with orders to make friends and enjoy himself. Had pretended not to be simmering with jealousy every time he saw Jim with a good looking woman, even as he was frying to a crisp, and it was his innate petty selfishness that had him veering at the last moment and sitting between Jim and his latest pair of admirers.

“Are you feeling better?” Jim asked, real concern in his tone, and Harvey was about to tell the truth and say that he couldn’t spend any longer on cooped up on his own even if he did still feel like death warmed over when, suddenly, he realized exactly what was happening. Heidi and Naomi over there were watching on closely, curiously, and of course Jim was still playing the game, was trying to convince them that he would ever have willingly settled for someone who looked like Harvey.

Maybe it was the lingering sickness, maybe it was something else entirely, but he set out to make himself awkward and disagreeable.

If Jim wanted a challenge, he’d give it to him.

Jim regarded him incredulously. Looked surprised when he passed over opportunities to joke and to bluster, and a frown marred his pretty face when one of the women - Harvey hadn’t bothered to remember their actual names - asked if they found it difficult to live and work together.

“Not really,” he said dismissively, “Jim does whatever he wants and the rest of the world just deals with it.”

They exchanged looks, eyebrows raised, and guilt crawled in his gut even as he shifted back into the shade of the sun umbrella and closed his eyes. His head still hurt, the glare of the sun reflecting off the water and the happy shrieks of kids and adults alike grating on his every nerve. He kept his eyes shut despite hearing movement. Didn’t dare open them, not with the sting of tears burning behind his eyelids, because he was jealous enough as it was without witnessing Jim choosing a stranger’s company over his.

Except a few minutes later there was a hand on his shoulder, impossible to ignore, and he blinked up into Jim’s face and the offering of a glass with ice and streamers and a shot of much needed alcohol. It made him feel ashamed of himself and still more enamoured of Jim. Because he was always like this - determined to ruin the things he hauled his ass out of bed for. Determined to punish himself, as though it would hurt less if Jim got sick of him because he pushed, and not because he clung too tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey managed, voice gruff, and Jim only pulled his seat closer so that his knees were brushing the overheated skin of Harvey’s leg. “I’m being terrible company.”

“You are,” Jim agreed, though his tone was soft and still a little worried, “so you can’t lay all the blame for them not being interested at my feet.”

It was such a ridiculous sentiment Harvey burst out laughing. Kept going until he could hardly breathe because Jim looked so confused, so sincere, and even after Harvey explained that Jim’s new friends were never going to look twice in his direction, he still didn’t seem to really get it.

“I haven’t been a catch for a long time,” he said finally, light hearted and feeling fully recovered, one arm slung around Jim’s bare shoulders. Jim swept his gaze over him, taking in the too long hair he had scraped up into a knot and the brashly patterned Hawaiian shirt mandated for men of his age and stature, and argued,

“Nobody’s questioned whether or not we’re the real deal yet, you know.”

Harvey drained the rest of the sugary concoction Jim had given him and smiled fondly.

“That says more about your personality than it does about my looks, my friend.”

* * *

 

Later, Christina and Natalie put in a reappearance and, while he didn’t go so far as to actually apologize, he did make more of an effort. It was easier anyway, with Jim perched on the same sun lounger and the alcohol diffusing through his system, and they ended up laughing along at his jokes and relaxing enough to let their guard down.

He realized then that he had been being even stupider than usual, because they had intimate smiles of their own and matching rings on their fingers. Began talking about weddings and the trials of getting things organized, and Harvey covered for Jim’s inability to think off the cuff, lying that they had kept it low key and quiet, on account of the GCPD not being the most progressive organisation.

“You ought to take that to management,” Natalie said, indignant on their behalf, “they set the tone everyone else follows.”

“Harvey’s the Captain,” Jim pointed out, sounding serious but Harvey knew him well enough to spot mischief.

“You’re the President of the Union,” he countered, reasonably, then wished he hadn’t as he watched Jim’s face fall, adding yet another burden to his shoulders. “Change doesn’t happen overnight,” he soothed, one hand stroking over Jim’s back in an attempt to be comforting, and he was drunker than he had thought he was.

Had to be because he had no control over his mouth, spilling out a story designed to demonstrate how far things had come, about the time he radioed for back-up and nobody came to assist. How he returned to duty to find his locker covered in graffiti, and how afterwards he was more careful, making sure to only pick up guys outside the city limits, and never to take them back to his own apartment.

He felt strange when he finished speaking, skin prickling as he waited for judgement, but Jim just cupped his cheek with a hand and kissed him once on the lips, the action careful but tender. Harvey didn’t want it to end, tried to follow slightly when Jim pulled away, and he was more moved than he could say when Jim proved that he wasn’t repulsed or afraid that Harvey wasn’t going to be able to control himself.

Jim just shifted about until he was sat with his back to Harvey’s chest, tugging at Harvey’s arms gently until he got the message and wrapped them around his middle.

It was pure make believe, all of it, but it felt so good, so perfect, Harvey let himself play along for a while. Chatted and listened, and held Jim close the whole time. Rested his chin on Jim’s shoulder and punctuated the tales he told with kisses to the spot just behind Jim’s ear. Sang Jim’s praises, without the qualifiers he usually had to tack on for the benefit of their colleagues’ sensibilities, and Jim slowly pushed back into his embrace, so that Harvey’s senses were full of his body heat and the way he smelled, under the scent of the sun lotion.

The women excused themselves eventually, to go and get changed for dinner, and without the distraction - with the way he was starting to sober up again - there was nothing to stop him fixating on the fact that Jim Gordon was in his arms, pressed up close with all the familiarity of a lover.

It was too much, way too much, and reluctantly he started disentangling himself, afraid that Jim was going to notice the effect he was having on him. Jim let him go, let him believe that they were going to simply chalk it up to drink and stupidity, then somehow succeeded in talking him into walking along the beach under the starlit sky, working a hand into his own before he really registered what was happening.

Harvey looked around them, wondering which of their new acquaintances Jim had spotted, but there was nobody he recognized. Scarcely anyone else at all, and he squeezed Jim’s hand experimentally, not quite able to believe they were actually holding hands like a couple of wholesome kids who knew they had to be back by curfew. Not quite certain what it meant - and whether or not he wanted to know exactly.

Jim squeezed back, walked ever so slightly closer, and when they finally made it to dinner Harvey wished he could bottle the way he felt at that moment, so he could unstopper it and relive it over and over during the long lonely nights back in Gotham.

* * *

 

The next day they were booked on some obnoxiously romantic day trip. Shivered through the overly effective air conditioning on the bus, then sweltered out in the midday heat, Jim having to be steered away from every piece of tat being sold with an accompanying sob story.

Jim was such a soft touch at times, was nowhere near as gruff as he liked to think himself, and Harvey felt done in by the happy smile on Jim’s face when he ended up with a bag full of tourist rubbish in spite of Harvey’s best efforts.

They ate lunch and traded banter. Posed for dumb photos to rub Lucius’ face in their good fortune when they got back to the precinct, and in the afternoon hammed up their pretend relationship when a couple of the other hotel guests muttered derogatory comments about being forced to witness it.

Jim made a show of getting him to unbutton his shirt out by the pool and rubbed sun lotion into his shoulders, fingers digging deep in all the right places so that he groaned helplessly, no need for artifice. Jim pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his neck, just for good measure, and the next thing he knew a guy the size of a mountain was lumbering over, airing complaints about family resorts and disgusting displays of filth unsuitable for children.

He was supposed to be a responsible member of society now. Was being paid extra these days to uphold the good name of the department and not lose his temper in public. But Jim was too stubborn to back down, pointing out angrily that they weren’t doing anything wrong, and in the past he might have sympathized because Jim could inspire the most ardent pacifist to acts of violence. In the present he just saw red, the accusing finger being jabbed into Jim’s chest the final straw, and grabbed hold of the man’s shirt before slamming a fist in his face.

The guy’s brother - had to be, with the size of him - went for him in retaliation and from there it was a downward spiral, a good old fashioned brawl, and Harvey gave Jim a shamefaced little smile when they found themselves sat on a bench in the holding cell of the local sheriff’s department, his split lip stinging.

Jim looked frosty, furious, then suddenly his lips quirked and he said,

“Well, I did promise you the full Jim Gordon experience.”

Harvey laughed, loud and honest, and they sat for half hour or so in companionable silence, waiting to face the music. A deputy brought them a cup of coffee and apologized for being short staffed, like they weren’t locked up and getting their wrists slapped, and Jim shot him a look that said he was finding the situation as equally amusing.

It was so strange to see Jim relaxed. So rare and so precious, and Harvey soaked it up, loving the fact that only Jim would choose a police station as a place to unwind and quit worrying. They slipped into mindless chatter, Jim always willing to exchange more words with him than anyone else he knew of, and it was so easy and so comfortable that he couldn’t manage a proper freak out when Jim asked quietly,

“Was it true, what you said yesterday - about not getting any back up?”

He searched Jim’s face for revulsion or accusation, found nothing but Jim’s usual brand of intensity, and Harvey heaved a sigh and nodded. Braced himself for an onslaught of questions because this was it, he had just come out to Jim, and there was no way a detective with Jim’s instincts wouldn’t be able to put two and two together.

“When I was in the army,” Jim began, stilted, “I was reported. I - he -” Jim fidgeted with the paper cup, so that Harvey shifted a little closer, in moral support. “He knew it would ruin his career too but he said he didn’t care if it meant everyone saw what a hypocrite I was.”

Harvey could read between the lines. Could believe it well enough, too, because he had never known Jim get involved with anyone who wasn’t a certified bunny boiler.

“You need better taste,” he said, attempting to keep his tone light, and Jim just said quietly, like the two things were actually related,

“I’m trying. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

He shrugged, knocked off kilter, and murmured that it had been a long time ago. He had held his own, proved himself in drink sodden fist fights and back alley scraps, and now there was scarcely a person under his command who didn’t know that he was head over heels in love with the man in front of him, and followed his orders anyway. Afforded him the courtesy of not saying anything to his face even if they gossiped behind his back, and when Jim was in trouble, when Jim was at death’s door for the fifth time in any given week, he could rely on a couple of people to buoy him up with hackneyed comments about how things would be okay, and how they were sure Jim was thankful he was looking out for him.

He was so soft that most of the time he didn’t even tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.

Before he could say any of that, before he even alluded to it, a new deputy was on the scene and then it was lost in a round of backslapping and reminiscing and joking, because they had trained together a depressingly long time ago.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yardley insisted as he saw them out of the building, “I’ll just take your names off the charge sheet.”

Jim tensed up at his side, looking like he wanted to protest, so Harvey steered the conversation onwards, and kept up the momentum until they were back at the hotel and Jim couldn’t put his foot in it.

His own foot was another matter, and when they sprawled over the king sized bed, relieved to have another crisis narrowly averted, he turned his head to find Jim staring at him with his big blue eyes. Harvey couldn’t look away, not when Jim lifted tentative fingers to touch the swollen cut on his lip, and not when Harvey took the hand in his own, thumb rubbing over the smooth surface of the ring Jim was still wearing.

“I wish we didn’t have to go home,” Harvey blurted, helpless, “I’m going to miss this.”

He could have meant the time off or the weather. Might have been referring to the food or the drink or a bed with a decent mattress. The honesty between them, even, because he had been working up to telling Jim that he wasn’t just about the ladies practically since the day they met, and now it was out in the open along with Jim’s own admission that he didn’t discriminate.

They both knew that he wasn’t referring to any of that though.

Both knew exactly what he was talking about, but Jim didn’t go running. If anything he pushed closer, making Harvey’s heart hammer, and maintained the eye contact.

“Me too,” Jim confessed, voice all scratched up the way it got when he had to leave himself vulnerable, “I was so happy when you said I could come here with you.”

His own pulse was racing, breathing rapid, hope flaring bright in his chest even as he warned himself not to get over excited. “You won the wager at least - nobody questioned how married we are, I’ve got the bruises to show for it.”

Jim’s expression darkened, like he hadn’t had to be pulled off the other guy so he could be taken to hospital and have his nose set, and Harvey refused to give him any time to dwell on it. Was determined to keep the tone light and airy, the way it could never have been if they were having this conversation in Gotham.

“That means you get to collect your winnings.”

“What have I won?” Jim asked, curious, because they had never really made it to the nitty gritty of the terms and conditions.

“Anything you like,” Harvey breathed, “whatever you want from me.”

He couldn’t make it any clearer. Couldn’t bear to invite the heartbreak and the rejection, not when he had accepted long ago that he was a damn coward where Jim was concerned.

“Anything?” Jim echoed.

“Anything.”

“I want you to carry on pretending for tonight. I want you to treat me exactly as you would if this was our last night before going back to reality.”

They were flying back the following evening. Would be home in time for last orders. Would be up at the crack of dawn the next morning, staring at the rain through the precinct windows, sipping bitter coffee and dealing with the scum of society. But right here, right now, Gotham was a million miles away, and Harvey ought to push for more. Ought to ask Jim where they would stand when they were back on home soil, and if Jim planned on simply forgetting all of it.

He didn’t though. Chickened out at the final hurdle and settled for whatever Jim would give him in the here and now.

Jim responded eagerly when he kissed him, and moaned appreciatively when he turned his attention to the skin of Jim’s neck, sucking a mark into the spot that had been marred by another’s touch only a few weeks ago. Jim’s hands came up to tangle in his hair, to hold his head in place, and it was no wonder Jim had sported those bruises, Harvey thought, not if he had been anywhere near this encouraging.

Everything he did was met with equal enthusiasm, Jim panting for air and whining, helpless, when Harvey succeeded in stripping him and took a moment to simply drink in the sight of him. It was obscene, almost, his own hands trailing all over that heated skin, and it was a relief to know that Jim had done this before. That he already knew for sure that he liked it, and that Harvey wasn’t going to be completely overstepping the line when he feathered his fingertips up the length of Jim’s inner thigh, the thick muscle beneath the skin quivering in anticipation.

It had been a long time, he could tell, Jim so incredibly tight around his finger that he shivered all over.

“Don’t stop,” Jim demanded, intent and needy, and for once Harvey employed some manners and refused to speak with his mouth full. Jim was struggling to keep still, hips shifting ceaselessly, and Harvey swallowed through his gag reflex, revelling in the way Jim gasped and cursed and looked up at him, utterly wrecked, when Harvey pulled back off and jerked him messily.

Jim was so into it, so very responsive, and Harvey knew he should be being more careful if he wanted to get through this without losing everything. Jim was pulling him up into a desperate kiss though, hands roaming over his back, and Harvey was powerless against his own lovesick heart, whispering into Jim’s ear how much he loved him and how much he needed him.

How long he had been pining for him, even, and in the moment it seemed like a brilliant idea, because Jim was writhing up into his touch and begging him to stop teasing. He took Jim’s criticisms on board, pushed himself up and into position, and he ended up pinning Jim’s hands to the mattress, fingers linked so that he could feel the metal band Jim was still wearing.

It was too intense, too much to bear, and Jim clutched him close to his chest when he came, petting fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, lulled by the steady beat of Jim’s heart.

* * *

 

He woke a couple of hours later, Jim’s fingers stroking over his skin in a way that was thoroughly distracting. They moved by increments, slowly turning to face each other, and he could never resist Jim - no matter what it was he wanted. No matter that Jim didn’t seem able to get enough of it, because he took Jim again before dawn, his spirit willing but his flesh weak, so that he had to rely on his mouth and his fingers, Jim sobbing out in vocal appreciation.

They slept in late after that, Jim clingy and affectionate in a way he had never dared imagine, only to lose themselves in each other all over again, and again, and then for him to sink to his knees in the shower and listen to the way Jim all but howled with the over stimulation.

He was exhausted by the time they reached the airport. Felt completely wrung out and weak kneed, and this time around it was he who fell asleep on Jim’s shoulder, though he had promised himself he would make the most of every last second before they returned to Gotham.

Jim woke him up when they got there, sadly not in quite the same way he had that morning, and they said awkward farewells in the back of a cab so that he went home to his empty apartment and drank all the beer in his refrigerator, staring at the ring he had placed in the middle of his coffee table.

“I almost didn’t recognize you there, Gordon,” he heard Alvaraez’ dulcet tones sounding when he made it into the precinct. “I didn’t know your face was capable of that expression.”

Jim was rolling his eyes - smiling through it all the same - and then Tuttle was proving why he was still on the payroll in spite of the drink and the danger he posed to household pets.

“I was going to ask if you got lucky but you always got to go one better, don’t you, Gordon?”

At Jim’s confused frown Tuttle waggled his own fingers, so that Harvey realized with a start that Jim was still wearing the thrice damned wedding ring. Jim flushed up rapidly, the tips of his ears reddening the way they did when he was squirming about in arousal and, fuck, now Harvey could feel the color rising in his own cheeks.

“No way,” Alvarez was exclaiming, a small crowd beginning to gather, and Jim was looking to him for an escape route.

He was dumb enough to bend over backwards to provide one, obviously, and he ignored the dubious looks on some peoples’ faces as he explained,

“Boyscout here was working, which is more than can be said for most of you. Why don’t you give it a try? Now, preferably.”

Jim thanked him in the privacy of his office, sliding the band from his finger and stashing it in his jacket pocket. Harvey felt a ridiculous pang at the sight, the finality of it painful. Because it was one thing for Jim to want him for a night or two, as much an aberration from his usual routine as sun, sea, sand and relaxation. It was another thing entirely for Jim to want him here in Gotham, where he had his reputation to think of.

Where he could use the excuse of departmental regulations, or not bother to sugarcoat it at all because the city was full of the proof that Jim could do and had done better.

“I almost wish it was real,” Jim said, “imagine how much easier it would be if you could start off with everything sorted.”

“When you find the right person,” Harvey began, like he was a kindly agony uncle and not a lovelorn idiot, “it won’t fall apart before you get that far. You’ll get to enjoy the build up and then you’ll get the happy ever after. I promise you.”

“Yeah?” Jim questioned, “I thought the deal was that I had to do the proposing.”

He didn’t get it for a long moment, too busy mourning what might have been, and then he recalled the conversation in his apartment that had started it all, with him laying the ground rules for Jim accompanying him. Jim was just smiling at him, a touch bashful, and before he could tell himself that it was his imagination, or his wishful thinking, Jim was pressing a brief kiss to the side of his jaw, and telling him quietly that they ought to spend the night at his place, because he had been grocery shopping already, and because by now Harvey ought to be fully recovered.

The sentiment had him staring at Jim, dumbstruck, and Jim just gave him another blinding smile before slipping back into professional mode and yelling at Alvarez to hurry up with the file he was waiting on.

Harvey took a few moments to simply let it sink in. Tamped down the urge, just, to punch the air in triumph, and instead went for a coffee break to try and focus the mind a little. He detoured on the way back to the rec room vending machine, feeding all his loose change into the thing and going for three lots of the same candy bar. It still wasn't that great, was probably never going to be one of his favorites, but he figured they deserved his custom.

They had delivered him Jim, complete with (metaphorical) bow, and for that he would stay loyal for the rest of his days because that was what his slogan had been about. 

You might not get to choose who you fell in love with, but it was all on you how you chose to show it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	105. All Out Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cracky trash fic I originally drafted for iddy iddy bang bang. Then I went with something crackier for that fest, so figured I'd post this anyway because I'm never going to finish it properly.

“You must let me thank you,” the old dear insisted, pushing further into the cramped little apartment, “please, it’s the least I can do.”

“It really isn’t necessary, m’am,” Jim offered in return, fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose at the stink of incense in the air. It was thick, cloying, and he made a mental note to send one of his colleagues from the Fire Department around to have a chat about the dangers of embers and combustibles. “I was just doing my job.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I know you went above and beyond for me. You fell out with your colleagues.”

That was true, but then it was true of most cases he worked, because he was surrounded by lazy idiots who invariably chose the path of least resistance.

“This is all I have left of him,” she was saying, oblivious, stroking the case of the pocket watch he had recovered along with a quantity of other stolen property, including the gun used in a recent robbery homicide. That had changed Alvarez’ tune on the matter. “There must be something I can do for you?”

Jim sucked in a deep breath. Wished he hadn’t when he got a lungful of smoke, his head fuzzy with the rush of it, and attempted again to explain that officers of the GCPD did not accept gifts for their services.

Except Mrs Winstanley - and Jim privately doubted somewhat that was her real name, based on the files he had come across - was watching him carefully now, shrewd and measuring. It made him feel as though she could see right inside his head and through to his soul.

He shivered.

“I could say a few words to hurry along your promotion, or maybe a little nudge to help true love run smooth?”

Jim almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Caught himself at the last moment and said sincerely that he supposed that was the kind of gift he could accept without compromising his integrity, and she shot him a girlish smile in response that made her seem at least a decade younger.

“It wouldn’t take much,” she mused, “not when they love you so much already. Not when you have been through so much together.”

His good humor drained away at that. It was silly make believe, all of it, but he couldn’t help but think of Lee trying to make a go of it and still trapped in his memory. Still tangled up in the messy web they had woven for each other, blinded to the pain they were causing.

“I wish they wouldn’t,” he blurted, eyes stinging with the incense and the sudden force of the emotion, “I wish they were free to find somebody who could really make them happy.”

Mrs Winstanley’s expression softened, her own gaze damp so that Jim had to look away, embarrassed.

“If that’s what you really want,” she said kindly, and he nodded stupidly, throat so clogged he had to spend a long moment just catching his breath out in the cold and the wet, until he was certain he had a grip on himself.

He thought of the scene again back in his lonely apartment, the intensity gone now under the bright electric lights and with the sound of traffic moving outside his window. He had been working non-stop again, had skipped lunch for the second time that week, too caught up in what he was doing, and this was his body’s way of punishing him for it.

Had to be.

So he opened the refrigerator only to realize he had forgotten to go grocery shopping again. He could call out for something, he supposed. Ring Harvey and ask if he had eaten yet, and if he had whether or not he was up for helping him eat another meal. Better still, he could pick it up and take it to Harvey’s place. That way he wouldn’t have to look around at his own failures. Harvey would have to play host, would let him crash on his sofa, and in the morning would make him coffee and offer him something fried and greasy.

He text Harvey, just to put out a feeler, but the older man replied only to tell him he was still at the precinct’s favorite watering hole. When Jim said he didn’t feel like joining them his cell buzzed almost instantly.

‘you want me to come over?’

Harvey was sweet like that, worrying about him and fussing over him. Coddling him as though he was a kid, or else only ever a couple of steps away from a breakdown.

‘Nah,’ he typed, pride ruffled at the supposed slight, ‘carry on pickling your liver’

In the end he found a can of soup in the back of a cupboard and heated it up in the microwave, eating on his sofa staring at the blank wall of his living room and trying to put the entire exchange out of his head. It was stupid - totally ridiculous.

Who in their right mind would want to fall in love with him?

* * *

Harvey was a little late picking him up, just the same as usual, and Jim went through the motions, complaining about his partner’s hangover. They both knew it was for show. Harvey stuck to the program these days and, besides, if he hadn’t he would hand the keys over.

“It’s not my fault,” Harvey huffed in lieu of good morning, “my alarm didn’t go off.”

“It’s a shoddy workman that blames his tools,” Jim tutted, smile playing at his lips, and Harvey only glared in return and got the car started.

“I would have welcomed it this morning. I was having an awful nightmare.”

“What about?”

“I can’t remember.”

Jim snorted, “How do you know it was a nightmare then?”

“I didn’t piss the bed if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jim pulled a face and flipped through the paperwork Harvey had left on the dashboard. He did not miss the early days of their association, when Harvey’s brashness had him clinging to the fraying edges of his temper all day every day. Being Captain had changed him though. He kept it to a minimum these days.

Was the model of professionalism some days, scrubbed up and suit pressed, all ready to argue with the pen pushers from City Hall about the need for extra funding. That was the real problem, Jim determined, nerves, and he replaced the reports he had been reading with a heartfelt comment about the work he had put into the presentation.

“Most of it was Yardley,” Harvey admitted, “she stayed late three nights this week to go through it with me.”

“Yeah?” Jim queried, interested and too obvious about it. Harvey ignored the cues, kept his eyes on the road, and Jim let it slide.

A gentleman never told, anyway.

* * *

The presentation went well. So well that it looked like the entire department had poured into the nearest bar that evening, Harvey being congratulated left, right and center.

“It was Yardley’s number crunching that swung it,” Harvey pointed out, handsier and handsier with each and every drink he had pressed on him, but she didn’t seem at all averse to having her superior officer wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Jim couldn’t blame her, knew how weirdly comforting it was from experience, to have Harvey’s solid bulk to lean against. To have Harvey planting kisses on his cheek and whispering work related compliments in his ear, and if he was currently feeling put out and hard done by at having to witness someone else being on the receiving end, it was his own problem.

Harvey came to find him not long afterwards, dropping heavily into the seat opposite him and staring at him with an intensity he found unnerving.

“You okay?” He asked, not bothering to mask the genuine concern in his tone, and Harvey simply sighed. Slouched back into his chair and pushed the drink he had sloshed all over the table away.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he scrubbed a hand across his face, “I feel weird.”

It was the stress, Jim supposed. All the build up and the worrying, and now Harvey didn’t know what to do with himself without the prospect of the presentation looming over him. He suggested they go back to his place, all the same, and ignored the petty surge of victory he felt when Harvey agreed, Yardley watching them leave with a furrow in her pretty brow.

“Feeling any better?” Jim asked once they were sat on his sofa, the same space feeling so much less dismal now Harvey was occupying it. “Do you want another drink or something?”

Harvey shook his head and settled for staring at him again. Frowned when Jim turned to regard him in turn, and finally asked quietly,

“Did you ever feel like you woke up one morning a completely different person?”

Jim frowned back at him. Tried to make sense of the question before giving it up as a bad job and stating simply,

“I often wished I would.”

“Don’t,” Harvey said sincerely, finally tipping his head back against the sofa cushions to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s nothing like it’s cracked up to be.”

Jim chalked it up to the drink. Watched for a while as Harvey slowly succumbed to sleep, then dug out a couple of blankets and unlaced Harvey’s shoes and loosened his tie, just so he would be more comfortable. Then he went to his own bed and lay awake for a long time, wondering if it would really be such a bad thing if he woke up somebody other than Jim Gordon.

* * *

He didn’t feel any different in the morning. Better rested, maybe, but he attributed that to Harvey being just the other side of his bedroom door, close enough to keep both his nightmares and his paranoia at bay.

Harvey, on the other hand, was still acting strangely. Was still watching him too closely, fascinated like he was in the process of sprouting a second head or something, but when Jim questioned it the older man only shook his head and claimed ignorance.

It was just the same at the precinct, Harvey frowning over at him every time their eyes met, until Jim was starting to feel distinctly on edge about the whole thing. He tried to talk to Harvey about it at lunch but Tuttle said he was stuck in some meeting or other and later, when their shift was finished, Harvey told him that he had made other plans.

“Oh,” Jim managed, trying and failing not to sound disappointed and later, after the bitter flare of resentment had burned itself out, he realized that it had been a touch presumptuous, maybe, to assume that Harvey would call off his plans to keep him company.

Except the longer he thought about it, the more Jim reasoned that was usually exactly what Harvey would do. He just took it for granted, completely, because Harvey had been doing it for months now, years even, and the guilt of it settled like a hot stone in his gut. Twisted and turned and left him feeling still more miserable than usual because he didn’t want to be the kind of guy who only ever imposed on people.

He wanted to spend time with his best friend. He wanted to be cheered up and entertained by his partner.

He wanted Harvey to drop everything and put him first, in spite of everything, because he was demanding and selfish, and because Harvey had never seemed to mind before, no matter how irritating he was being.

Over the next few days it only continued, Harvey going from apologetic to polite to bluntly indifferent, and Jim could scarcely concentrate on his paperwork, the same fear shrouding his every movement he remembered from the collapse of his relationships with Lee, and Barbara, and everyone else who had ever really meant something to him.

Harvey had hit saturation point, had grown sick of him, and though Jim went over and over their recent interactions, he couldn’t pinpoint what it was that had convinced Harvey he wasn’t worth the effort. What he had done, what he had said, and a week later he was sat eating lunch with Alvarez and a couple of their other colleagues, all of them having come to the same conclusion.

“So what did you do to piss him off?” McKenna asked, dousing his food with more salt than could possibly be healthy, “It must have been something serious for you to fall out like this.”

“We haven’t fallen out,” Jim countered stubbornly, because there had been no argument, no blaze of anger. Harvey just wasn’t interested in talking to him, that was the best conclusion he could come to, and if it stung like a blade to the heart that was none of McKenna’s business.

“Come off it,” Alvarez argued around a mouthful of his own meal, “normally you’d be off working all the interesting cases and we’d be sitting around here bored senseless. Now you’re here on obs and Yardley’s out following up leads on the Reilly case.”

“Lover’s tiff,” McKenna joked, then suggested, “You should ask Yardley for some pointers. You’ll be Bullock’s blue eyed boy again before you know it.”

He was gritting his teeth tight together. Counting to ten in his head while his grip went white knuckled around his cutlery. He wasn’t going to lose it. Wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, not now and not ever.

“That’s enough,” Tuttle said finally and thought there had never been any love lost between them in that moment Jim was truly grateful to the other man. Was less so later when Tuttle pulled him aside for a word because he had known Harvey longer than any of them, had walked the beat with him back when they were both fresh faced rookies, and now he was claiming it wouldn’t go any further if Jim just admitted what he had done to result in the man’s personality transplant.

“Nothing,” he insisted, and spent the afternoon tied to his desk filling out paperwork. Found himself standing on the doorstep of Harvey’s apartment when the day was done, a take out pizza in one hand a crate of beer in the other.

“I’m kind of busy,” Harvey confessed, a touch sheepish, when he pulled the door open, and though it probably shouldn’t have been, the wave of blinding jealousy that washed over him at the sight of Yardley’s dishevelled hair and unbuttoned blouse was legitimately surprising. “Maybe another night, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jim murmured, numb, and he dumped the peace offering in the garbage out front, attempting to get his head around the fact that he genuinely wanted to be the one in Yardley’s position.

* * *

Another week and he was done with the soul searching and the identity crisis. Had accepted it, welcomed it, because it made sense, made things clearer, and Yardley cornered him down in the records room to apologize but she had thought he and Harvey were over.

There had never been anything to get over in the first place, and Jim resented her for drawing attention to the fact. Resented that he had to be gracious about the whole thing, and that he didn’t do a good enough job, so that Yardley shook her head in frustrated exasperation and told him that it was his own damn fault he hadn’t been able to see that he was onto a good thing while he had it.

It got his blood up, riled his temper, and he swung by the gym before hitting the locker room, hoping to channel some of his own frustration. Nobody else spoke to him, nobody else so much as acknowledged him, and Jim missed the days when Harvey would come and keep him company, sitting it out on the bench and talking over whichever case it was that he was failing to make any headway with.

Harvey had always gone out of his way to keep him company. Had made time for him even when things were hectic, even when everything was going to hell in a handcart, and Jim went at the punchbag like his life depended on it, trying to blot out the last time they had hashed out a case up here.

He’d had a killer who was going to walk free if he didn’t find some evidence to tie him to the scene, and Harvey had been swamped under with house breakings and burglaries. There had been a vague similarity in the witness descriptions, a vague something that played on the periphery of his senses, and he had ended up at Mrs Winstanley’s drinking oversweetened tea and taking notes that had lead him to a lock up down in the dock district.

He had ended up going back there to return her stolen goods personally and -

And he slumped down to sit in what had been Harvey’s habitual spot on the bench, refusing to countenance anything so ridiculous.

The idea wouldn’t quit accosting him. Went around and around in his head because the timing fit too well, because it wasn’t just Tuttle who was claiming that Harvey had been acting like a different person. Marten, the gossipy desk sergeant, told him that it was like somebody flipped a switch - like one day Harvey didn’t care a damn about anyone but, well, and the next he was flirting with any likely prospect and going home with Yardley.

Lucius told him, just a little uncomfortably, that it human nature to go looking for proof that you still could after a break up and it was only when Jim stared at him incredulously - only when he told him in no uncertain terms that there hadn’t been any breakup - that he backtracked on the subject.

“Did you really think we were,” he searched for a suitable word, “together?”

The other man shrugged and reached for his drink to mask the awkwardness.

“If you’d seen him when you were in that coffin,” he offered, then as justification added, “I wasn’t the only one who thought so.”

There was no arguing with that, not so far as Jim could see. He heard it from other people too. Alvarez asking mockingly if they had kissed and made up yet, and the new records clerk who shifted uncomfortably under the force of his scrutiny and said that she couldn’t let anyone take restricted records out of the basement, no exceptions.

“The Captain will be okay with it,” Jim pledged, because he and Harvey had always had an understanding on the issue ever since the latter made acting Captain. The clerk just shook her head, standing firm, and told him again that Harvey had made it clear that the rule wasn’t simply there to be broken.

It was the final straw, because not only had Harvey stopped wanting to spend time with him - to be friends with him - he didn’t even trust him enough to get the job done.

“I treat you the same as I do any of the guys I got here,” Harvey protested when Jim rapped on his office door, not waiting for an answer, “fair and impartial, just like the handbook says.”

“But I’m not just one of the other guys,” Jim pushed, emotion making his tone harsh though it was midday and anyone might be loitering about and listening, “we’re partners.”

“We were partners,” Harvey said gently, calm and soothing the way they taught it on all the training courses, “now I’m your commanding officer. That’s just the way it is, Gordon.”

The blow hurt like it was physical. Knocked all the breath from his lungs and had him staggering back to his desk, thoughts all over the place. He sat there for a few minutes, staring blankly at his computer screen. Then he was grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and making for the entrance.

It was insane, undoubtedly, but he had to try anyway.

* * *

Mrs Winstanley looked more frail than he remembered, bundled up in a high necked dress and layers of floaty cardigans. The incense was still thick in the air, and she ushered him into a cluttered little sitting room, fussing and insisting until he had a teacup in one hand and a cookie in the other.

“It’s so nice of you to visit,” she told him, perching in the chair opposite, “such a lovely gesture.”

Jim squirmed. He wasn’t there to be lovely, or nice, or anything approaching it. He was there to beg her to chant her mumbo jumbo, or consult her cards, or whatever it was she had done, and make Harvey, if not love, then at the very least tolerate him again.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said, looking stricken, and Jim hated himself for upsetting her.

“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he managed, setting the cup down with stilted, careful movements. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“You seemed so certain,” she murmured, more to herself than to her audience, and he couldn’t blame her because he had been. Because it would have hurt to have Lee treat him with cold indifference, but he would have known that it was for the best. He would have taken comfort in the knowledge that they would never have been right for each other - that there was too much water under the bridge for them to ever make each other happy.

Harvey, on the other hand, that was a different prospect entirely. Harvey had been there for him through everything. Didn’t judge him and didn’t pressure him. Trusted him implicitly, even when he would be well within his rights to have him certified, and Jim had been too blind to appreciate how lucky he was to have that kind of support and devotion.

He had been too blind to even notice it, to even recognize what Harvey was trying to tell him with every touch to his arm, every kiss to his cheek, and to his mortification his eyes began to sting with tears, so overwhelming that he had to swipe a hand across his face.

Mrs Winstanley handed him a handkerchief, all motherly concern. Except his own mother would have told him to act like an adult and to get a grip on himself, and he sucked in a few heaving breaths, attempting to do just that. He wasn’t successful, not particularly, and somehow - maybe it was the smoke, or the stress, or the sympathetic ear he was being offered - he ended up telling this total stranger all the things he had never found the words to explain to Harvey.

How grateful he was for everything the older man had done for him, and how lost he felt without him. How desperately jealous he was of Yardley, and anyone else Harvey flirted with, and how it could really work between them, he knew, if Harvey would just give him a chance to prove that he was serious.

She patted at his arm when he was done, bustled about in the kitchen to give him a few moments to compose himself, and then spoke to him in serious, hushed tones about there being ways and means, but how he mustn’t get his hopes up.

He was willing to try anything, no matter how weird, no matter how stupid, and when he actually stood there watching his own blood diffusing through a shallow dish of water he supposed it could have been worse, really. There was no fizzing and no bubbling, nothing like the Halloween scares he might have been imagining, and that night he slept soundly, too exhausted even for his usual nightmares.

* * *

It might not work. Likely wouldn’t, that was what he reminded himself, over and over again, as he made his way into the precinct. He couldn’t stop hoping, all the same, near breathless with excitement when he made his way up the steps to the balcony of the bullpen.

He hadn’t felt so on edge, so scarcely constrained, since he had been battling with the effects of the Tetch virus, and that thought was sobering enough to have him knocking professionally at Harvey’s office door and waiting to be called in.

It was going to be bad enough if nothing had changed, without humiliating himself into the bargain.

But Harvey smiled at the sight of him, a real smile that reached his eyes, instead of the bland public facing grimaces he had been bestowing on him for the past few weeks. Jim beamed back, giddy with relief, and when Harvey called him Gordon again and asked what he wanted, he assured himself it didn’t matter. It had taken a few days for Harvey to start avoiding him, it stood to reason that it would take a few more for the reverse to happen.

He tried to be patient, did his best not to smother the man entirely, but it was difficult. Wasn’t something he had much practice with because he had always been all or nothing, and he struggled to keep the triumph off his face when he overheard Yardley telling Davies from traffic that she had called it off, and that it had never been serious anyway.

Harvey didn’t seem too cut up about it, not particularly, but Jim used it as an excuse to invite himself round to Harvey’s place, where he stayed so late Harvey had no choice but to offer him his sofa. Handed him a mug of bitter coffee in the morning, just the way he liked it, and Jim couldn’t help but push further and say that he had missed this arrangement, right down to the crick in his neck.

“I’ve not been myself,” Harvey said in turn, looking lost suddenly, and Jim shifted over eagerly, pleased when Harvey chose to sit beside him. “Or maybe I’ve been more myself,” Harvey went on, tipping his head back against the sofa cushions and turning to look at him, gaze so intent Jim’s throat went dry with it, “it was like sobering up all over again. Like looking at the mess I’d become and seeing for the first time how pathetic it was.”

“You’re not a mess,” Jim countered, panicked, because if that was how Harvey saw the way things had been it didn’t exactly bode well for the future.

“It’s a fight every day, to stay away from the drink. To not give in and to keep going. But you...” He trailed off, breaking eye contact to gaze up at the off-white of the ceiling. “It’s never going to get any easier, is it?”

Jim wanted to argue - wanted to confess all. Wanted to speak with action where he was failing with words. Harvey just sighed and told him they had to get moving or they were going to be late for work, and just like that the moment was gone.

Things started to return to normal. His access to the records room was restored and Yardley found someone else to take her mind off glaring at him across the bullpen. Alvarez clapped him on the back and congratulated him on getting moved from general duties to the latest case in the media spotlight, and Lucius raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’ when they all piled into the nearest bar to celebrate his making an arrest and securing a signed confession.

Harvey sat a touch too close, only got closer with every finger of whiskey he got through, and Jim felt justified eventually in taking the glass from him and draining its contents himself, because any closer and they were going to be sharing a single bar stool.

“What did you do that for?” Harvey asked, plaintive, and Jim came to the decision that it was now or never. Pressed in close enough to whisper into Harvey’s ear, and suggested that they go back to his apartment and drink the bottle he had been saving for a special occasion.

Out in the cool night air he began to doubt himself. Wondered if this was such a great idea, how they would work together if everything fell apart before it got started, and then Harvey was pushing him up against the wall of his hallway, one hand curling around the side of his neck as he begged,

“If I’m reading this wrong, tell me now, Jim. Tell me now and we’ll forget I even said anything.”

Jim responded by closing the gap between them. By clutching at the back of Harvey’s coat and being demanding, kissing through the taste of the whiskey and into something he had spent long weeks daydreaming about. Harvey kissed him back just as desperately, just as heatedly, and it took all of Jim’s willpower to pull away long enough to get the door of his apartment open.

He kicked it shut behind them, not caring about the noise or the late hour, and went back to devouring Harvey, hands frantically trying to get under layer after layer of clothing. Harvey fumbled clumsily with the buttons of his shirt in turn, finally made a low sound in frustration and sent the final three skittering across his flooring. It made him shiver, got him frantic, and they scarcely made it through to the bedroom, what with the way Harvey had him shoved up against the wall of the living room, hands under the backs of his thighs, lifting his feet off the floor as he ground into him.

It had been a long time since he’d been with a guy, longer still since he’d been the one begging to be taken, but Harvey knew exactly what he was doing. Got him so worked up he forgot all about his neighbors, pleading for more even as Harvey gave it to him, hitching his legs higher and holding eye contact until he was all but sobbing with it. Until he couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling Harvey into a kiss that was more teeth than tongue, crying out when Harvey just kept going, the overstimulation so good he couldn’t bear it.

Harvey collapsed half atop him when he reached his own climax. Kissed him and held him and panted out confessions into the crook of his neck, about how he didn’t understand how he had ever thought he was over him, and how he never truly wanted to be, not even if it meant he was stuck pining from a distance forever.

“Surely I didn’t put you off already?” Jim interrupted, helpless smile spread wide across his face, and Harvey only kissed him soundly in turn, informing him smugly that he had been speaking in the hypothetical.

* * *

Jim admitted the truth eventually, right off the back of a crisis lead by a mutant and a reanimated corpse, just to make it sound that little less crazy.

“It sounds like she did us a favor,” Harvey opined when the tale was done and Jim was waiting anxiously for the verdict, “I don’t think you would have ever seen what was in your front of your nose, and I was too chicken to tell you.”

“I would have eventually,” Jim protested, just for the sake of the thing, and at Harvey’s expression he simply shrugged and changed the focus slightly. Asked what it had been like, if Harvey had felt anything, and Harvey told him in response that even his memories of it were kind of surreal, as though he had known there was something violently off kilter about the whole situation.

He went back to visit Mrs Winstanley, to thank her, and this time there was no incense in the air. A nurse bustled about the place instead, the old woman in bed with a death rattle, though she gripped his hand firmly and asked him things had worked out the way he had wanted them to.

“Don’t encourage her with these mad ideas,” the nurse chided, giving them both a disapproving look, so he waited until she was out of earshot and then spoke too much and too eagerly, surprising himself with his own forthrightness.

“I’m happy for you,” Mrs Winstanley told him earnestly, patting at his hand, and a few weeks later he stood silent and solemn at her graveside, because it was the very least he could do.

Harvey met him at the cemetery, straight from one meeting or another, and Jim hoped that wherever she was she could see how right she had been to meddle, and how right he had been in his verdict of how well they would suit each other. Harvey laid a hand on his shoulder, fell into step beside him, and Jim smiled at him in spite of the setting and the pouring rain, content simply to be in his company.

The pocket watch that had started it all, the one that had belonged to the long dead father, was left to him in the will and for once Jim didn’t kick up a fuss about procedure or departmental regulations. He accepted the thing without comment, ran a thumb over the tarnished surface, and put it safely in his keepsake tin with all the mementoes of his own family.

“Are you okay?” Harvey asked carefully, mindful of all the memories, good and bad, associated with that tin and its contents, and put his arms about him. Jim relaxed into the embrace and nodded.

For once he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	106. Odds and Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a ficlet meme on Tumblr; the prompt was 'odds and ends'.

It breaks his heart every time they do this. Every time Jim comes to him, the lines on his face a little deeper, the pressure on his shoulders that little more unmanageable.

Jim hates himself for it, Harvey knows. Despises his weakness, resents his inability to keep his distance, and Harvey kisses away the words threatening to spill from his lips, because Jim needs this. Jim needs him, and he swore long ago that he would never turn his back on his partner, no matter how painful it might become.

He tries to be tender where Jim is desperate - calm where Jim is frantic. Slows things down when Jim writhes and begs, one hand slipping through the close cropped hair at the back of Jim’s head and the other tangling with Jim’s fingers, Jim's wedding band a guilty distraction even in the heat of the moment.

Jim gazes up at him, a thousand emotions warring for dominance in his big blue eyes, and Harvey has to kiss him again, rather than weigh them both down with his own confessions.

It would never have worked, that’s what he tells himself afterwards. He watches Jim button his shirt, face turned away, and reasons that he was never cut out for the white picket fence and the dirty diapers.

His face would never have fit with Jim’s dreams of promotion.

The truth is that he would have tried anyway. Would have done anything, gladly, if it meant waking up to Jim every morning.

If it meant never having to send Jim back to her embrace.

“Stay?” He whispers when Jim stands to leave, though the request clogs in his throat, thick and suffocating, “Just for tonight.”

They both hear the unspoken ‘forever’.

It could work, that’s what he believes in his own moments of weakness. He could make Jim happy, would coax back the smile he hasn’t seen in so very long, and if the police commissioner himself can’t win a custody case, then there's no hope for anybody.

They could build a life together, a real home, in place of the few odds and ends - the photographs Jim tells him not to put on display and the dusty mementos he can never bring himself to part with - he has to show for a decade or more of living for the man in front of him.

“I can’t,” Jim says quietly, brokenly, not once making eye contact, “you know I can’t.”

He knows.

Jim hesitates for a moment in the doorway, just long enough to break his heart all over again, before leaving him to another lonely night in the bottom of a bottle.

It’s going to be the death of him, Harvey’s certain, but so long as there’s breath in his lungs he will never stop hoping that some day, somehow, Jim will choose what he wants over what the rest of the world expects of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	107. Closet Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim catches Harvey watching gay porn and struggles with his own identity.

The call came just as he was winding down for the evening, and the sad truth was that Jim was glad of it. He hated being single, hated being sat around his lonely apartment with nothing to do, nobody to care how his day had gone, and he was already up and searching for his keys and his jacket as the desk sergeant informed him that she hadn’t been able to get a response out of Bullock.

“Typical Bullock,” Jim offered, mentally calculating how long it would take to swing by his partner’s apartment and, if he wasn’t there, two or three of his favorite dive bars. Not long enough to simply let Harvey get away with it, that was his conclusion, so he rounded off the call with, “I’ll find him.”

Harvey’s apartment building was a hive of activity, no matter what the hour, with music blasting and junkies scoring. It was a shithole, the kind of place you expected to find criminals rather than police officers, and he banged extra hard on Harvey’s door, certain it wouldn’t be audible otherwise.

He was just about to give it another go, a few extra knocks before admitting defeat, when the door was finally pulled open to reveal blotchy cheeks and dishevelled clothing.

“How many have you had?” Jim asked, blunt, because he was sick of being forced to work with a raging alcoholic.

“None of your business,” Harvey snapped, and his words weren’t slurred at least. In fact, up close, he didn’t stink of booze either. The flush was less chemical and more exertion, and Jim realized with a start that the fly of Harvey’s trousers wasn’t buttoned.

“Just like that,” somebody moaned in the background, the sound leading him right to the ancient television, and suddenly Jim didn’t know where to look or what to do, because the Academy had never supplied any advice for the moment you found yourself walking in on your partner’s very own self-pity party.

“You’re a big boy,” Harvey drawled to cover his own embarrassment, face turned away as he tucked in his shirt and did up his pants. “I’m sure you’ve seen it all before.”

Jim glanced back at the television and, no, he had never seen any scene quite like that before. On screen two guys were going for it, really really going for it, and when they talked about respecting your colleagues’ lifestyle choices on the diversity training courses, they never had a handout on how to deal with technicolor evidence of just what those choices might entail.

“Fuck, that’s it,” the more vocal of the pair was praising, and the other guy was literally lapping it up, tongue going places Jim was sure it hadn’t any right to, and it was only when Harvey finally - finally - switched the damn thing off that he realized he had been outright staring at it.

“I doubt we’re getting paid overtime for you to stand around here gawping all evening,” Harvey said eventually, cheeks still rosy with lingering embarrassment, and Jim lead the way out to the car rather than attempt to say anything.

Hopefully a double homicide followed by the full contents of his drinks cabinet would be enough to render the entire event forgotten.

* * *

The problem was that no amount of work - and no amount of drink - could make him forget it. He thought of it when Harvey regaled the other guys with dirty jokes and filthy stories of his supposed conquests, and he turned the revelation around and around in his head when Harvey flirted and bantered with the local prostitutes, wondering what kind of guy he normally approached, and whether or not he was holding back on his account.

He wanted to tell Harvey that he didn’t mind, that it wouldn’t bother him, but the words stuck in his throat, pushed down deep when Harvey greeted him with a kiss to the cheek at Arkham, just in case it gave him the wrong idea.

Because he had taken to watching Harvey more closely, determined to spot the signals he had failed to pick up on. He saw the way Harvey’s gaze followed a shapely backside, irrespective of who it belonged to, and he couldn’t help but note the mornings when Harvey showed up to work with a smug smile on his face, reeking of cologne that wasn’t his own.

It irritated him in ways he couldn’t explain, the idea that Harvey wanted to know all the ins and outs of his private life but wouldn’t even admit that he hadn’t spent the night in the arms of a woman, as though Jim wasn’t capable of putting two and two together. The idea that Harvey thought him prejudiced, perhaps, or that he couldn’t handle hearing all about what two guys might do together.

That Harvey, he finally conceded after the nightmare that was Blackgate, would go looking anywhere but at what he had right in front of him.

He wasn’t bad looking, plenty of people had told him so. He worked out, kept in shape, and on the occasions he had played a part for Vice, back when he was still in uniform, it had seemed as though there was scarcely a guy in the place who had kept his hands to himself.

It was just him, he supposed - his baggage and his personality - and he made the most of Harvey’s offer to make himself at home while he was out at work. He drank Harvey’s booze, the constant numb haze yet another reason why even a reformed alcoholic wouldn’t look twice in his direction, and he rooted through Harvey’s cabinet, listening to his records and then loading his stash of personal videotapes into the player.

There weren’t that many, a few hours worth at best, and he sat on the sofa and fast-forwarded through a threesome with a pretty brunette all done up as a dominatrix directing two guys to fuck each other.

The next tape dispensed even with the pretence of coercion, and Jim refused to over think what he was doing, hand pushed into his underwear as on screen one guy went down on another, so into it his dick twitched every time his partner snapped his hips forward. It was hot, hotter than he could have imagined, and when he let his eyes fall shut and pushed up into his own fist he pictured Harvey on his knees, one hand tugging at himself as the other held Jim steady.

He felt sick when he was done. Cold with guilt and flushed with shame, and he scrubbed his hands over and over in the bathroom sink before drinking away the rest of his compensation and going home with Vale, just to prove to the world - to himself - that he could.

* * *

Harvey was the one to pick up the pieces when Vale almost paid the ultimate price for being his validation. When Lee told him yet again to keep his distance and Jim didn’t know how to thank the other man - how to apologize for his previous lack of gratitude.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Harvey told him, uncharacteristically serious, “if it wasn’t for you I would never have got my act together. I wouldn’t be here without you, brother.”

In return Jim sobbed on his shoulder, drunk and maudlin, and back at the precinct Harvey was the one picking up the slack, covering for his disappearances and his one man vendetta against Mario. Harvey was the one who stepped up to the plate after Barnes was carted off to Arkham, and it was Harvey who invited him around when he wanted company, understanding instinctively that he couldn’t bear the oppressive four walls of his own apartment.

On the rare nights when Harvey was busy he had no choice but to make his own entertainment. Justified it as morbid curiosity but deleted his search history afterwards, afraid of somebody knowing, somebody realizing, that he wasn’t the man he had always believed himself to be.

It shouldn’t have been the shock it was, not after all the other soul searching he had been forced to do since returning to Gotham. He was a killer, a liar, a thief. A virus, a curse, a hypocrite. What was an interest in other guys in comparison?

He fought it all the same because perhaps he had never been as tolerant, as liberal, as he had claimed. Perhaps there was a reason why Harvey had never wanted to be open and honest with him.

Perhaps Harvey had simply seen what he couldn’t and hadn’t wanted him to get his hopes up.

Because the more accustomed he became to the idea - the more certain he grew that it wasn’t just some instinctive reaction to what he saw on screen - the more he realized that he was in completely over his head this time. All his life he had been the one chatted up and asked out, back when his friends were all pretending not to care they hadn’t found a date for junior prom, right up to Vale coming on strong as he sat in the corner of some dive bar.

He had never had to do the leg work, didn’t know how to go about it, and with the gift of hindsight he pondered how different his life would be if he had gone through the agonies of unrequited love while he was still a teenager.

It was overwhelming, all consuming, and for the first time he understood why people didn’t just get their act together and ask out the object of their affections. Harvey might laugh at him - might let him down gently, eyes full of pity. Might frown at him, confused like the idea had never even crossed his mind until that moment, and somehow not knowing if Harvey could ever come to be interested in him was better than knowing for certain that he couldn’t.

At least until it wasn’t, and that was when Harvey started noticing something had changed between them because he couldn’t stop staring and he couldn’t quit trying to push closer. He had never been any good at subtle, and he was making a total mess of patient.

Finally he could take it no longer, turning up on Harvey’s doorstep with a take out pizza and a bottle of whiskey, wondering if his chances would be better or worse if he had made it wine and roses. His partner’s apartment building was still a shithole, still all but vibrated with the thrum of heavy bass and suspicious looking characters scuttled in the corridors, eyeing him up curiously as he banged again at Harvey’s door, then started fishing in his pocket for his spare key.

Harvey opened the door before he could find it and all his carefully planned explanations died on his lips. Harvey was fresh out of the shower, hair scraped up and clad in a nondescript t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Harvey said with a sheepish shrug, because the place was a tip and in the background, under next door’s music and upstairs’ argument, he could hear the unmistakable sound of porno groaning.

It wasn’t the same video it had been the first time, though it wasn’t so very different. Still two guys, still enough to have parts of him sitting up and taking notice, and instead of gawping or flustering, he got comfortable on Harvey’s sofa and suggested he leave the thing playing. Made up in bold front what he was lacking in confidence, and Harvey stared at him for a long anxiety inducing moment before moving to sit next to him.

“I didn’t think this was your kind of thing,” Harvey said, carefully neutral, and Jim only felt the flush creep down the back of his neck, the result of the sounds, and the visuals, and Harvey being so close he could feel the body heat pouring off him where their thighs were almost pressed together.

“It didn’t used to be.”

“And now?” Harvey sounded breathless, half afraid of the answer, and Jim glanced back at the screen. Let his legs part a little further, his arousal pushed painfully up against his zipper, and Harvey cleared his throat unsteadily and said, “You’re looking for a helping hand, is that it, Jim?”

He wanted to come across as though he knew what he was doing - wanted Harvey to think that he was in control, that this was casual, because maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad to be rejected for his body rather than who he was on the inside. The problem was that he couldn’t manage it. Couldn’t hide the nerves, and didn’t have the experience to fall back on besides.

“Is that all you’re offering?” He asked, without any of the airy ease he had intended, and Harvey studied his face slowly. Seemed to come a decision based on whatever it was he saw in his expression, and Jim’s heart thumped wildly in his chest, scarcely able to believe that Harvey was really leaning in to kiss him.

That Harvey was anchoring one hand in his hair, the pull just enough to send sparks through him, while the other was pushing under his shirt and down his torso. Trailing up the length of his thigh and putting teasing pressure on his groin, so that his hips shifted up, helpless, and he was clutching at Harvey’s shoulders with both hands, kissing him so desperately he felt light headed with it.

“What do you want?” Harvey whispered into his ear, “Tell me how far you want to go, Jim.”

Up on screen there was some serious deep throating taking place, just the thought making him want with renewed fervour, and it didn’t matter that in his fantasies it was usually Harvey on his knees. He wanted it and Harvey was going to let him have it. Wanted it just as bad, if his judgement still counted for anything, and the noise Harvey made when Jim settled between his thighs and pulled his dick from his underwear was so hot that it overrode his own lingering fears about choking and gagging, and scrubbing graffiti off his work locker.

The noise Harvey made when he put his mouth on him was hotter still. Combined with the slide of his own hand to have him panting and frantic. To go willingly when Harvey hauled him up into a kiss, and they ended up practically in each other’s laps, hands on each other’s dicks as they kissed and kissed, until he couldn’t think of anything beyond it and Harvey was groaning into his mouth, hand tightening around him as he gasped and shuddered.

He felt dumb afterwards, embarrassed and exposed with his pants still hooked on one ankle and the mess on his hand slowly congealing. Harvey just kissed him again, soft and tender, and sacrificed his own t-shirt to the clean up, gaze soppy like the mattress wasn’t creaking for all it was worth over on the TV.

They should probably talk about it, he thought. Ought to hash out the boundaries, and how it might change their working relationship, but Harvey just waited for him to half dress and then handed him a beer and a slice of cold pizza. Cuddled in close, all post-coital bliss, and told him if he was going to make a habit of this wining and dining it might just be the classiest relationship he had ever had.

Jim laughed, startled into it, and Harvey pressed a greasy kiss to his temple. Made it all so natural and so easy, and when it got late he said simply,

“I can’t promise you clean sheets, but I’ve got a double bed and extra strong coffee for the morning.”

“I don't know how you get any sleep in this place,” Jim said in turn, because downstairs were having a screaming match now, and there was a baby crying at the end of the hallway.

Harvey just beamed at him, the kind of smile that made his insides all squirm about, and made him want to ask awkward questions about what this meant, and where things were going to stand in the cold light of morning. Harvey was already way ahead of him, pulling him in for a slow kiss and demonstrating the compatibility he had always been destined to succumb to. 

“I don't recall saying anything about sleeping in that bed. Then, tomorrow night, we can make up for it at your place.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	108. Now You're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a [prompt](http://gothamkink.dreamwidth.org/551.html?thread=103207) on the kink meme: _Bullock/Gordon - Dealing with Death - Basically, Harvey Bullock deals with Jim Gordon's sudden, tragic death. Make it angsty!_
> 
> TW for character death (kind of...), grief, suicidal thoughts, etc.

“The department needs you, you can’t turn your back on it.”

That was what Jim said the very last time he ever saw him, over earnest in response to his own joky hyperbole about the shit pay, and the shit hours, and the shit their colleagues kept heaping on his shoulders being enough to make him want to throw in the towel. He had gazed at Jim hopelessly in turn, pride mixing with adoration in his chest, so that his cheeks burned and his heart pounded double quick with the sight of the sincerity in Jim’s big blue eyes.

He had loved Jim’s eyes, had loved everything about him, and he had hesitated for long moments that night, debating the merits of simply telling him all over again.

Jim was so beautiful, was the reason he had ever believed himself capable of filling the role of acting captain in the first place, and when Jim hugged him drunkenly he clung back, desperate, before coming to the usual conclusion that he just couldn’t risk it.

He couldn’t bear it, wouldn’t be able to live with it, because if Jim were to pull away from him - to hate him for straining their friendship - it would be like having his heart ripped out bare handed.

That was what he had believed in that moment, at least, and he made do with a chaste kiss to Jim’s cheek in place of everything he knew Jim could never give him. Told him to get a good night’s sleep, to try his bed instead of the sofa for a change, and Jim had held him close with a strange intensity and told him solemnly that he was the best friend he had ever had.

Pressed a kiss to his own cheek in turn, and Harvey grinned stupidly all the way back to his own miserable apartment. Touched reverent fingers to the spot, overcome, and wished that he could be happy with what Jim was willing to share, without forever wishing and wanting for so much more.

He had Jim’s respect and he had Jim’s friendship. He had the knowledge that Jim was safe and sound, and that ought to be enough for any man.

Except that night he tossed and turned, falling from one nightmare into another, and when his cell finally woke him at quarter past four in the morning he thought of his Mother, and how she had always claimed some people just sensed when their end was coming.

There had been a fire, it was still burning in fact, and though the building had been evacuated, Jim was unaccounted for.

His heart stopped beating for a moment, just gave up under the weight of the horror, and then he was moving as though in a trance, dressing and finding his keys, and checking his pockets for breath mints because he didn’t want the judgemental cretins from the fire department to know he had been drinking.

Jim would appreciate that, he thought, because Jim always wanted the precinct to be presented in the best light. Jim was going to be just fine, was going to be waiting impatiently for him to arrive on scene, because Jim had come through stabbings and shootings and being buried alive by someone who claimed to love him.

He wasn’t going to go out like this. It just wasn’t possible.

The fire crew was still tackling the blaze when he had Yardley bring him up to speed, ignoring the pitying look on the other man’s face as he admitted that he had no update on Jim’s whereabouts.

“How much longer is this going to take?” An irate driver yelled over to him, the road blocked by the fire truck and the squad cars, and the gathering bystanders. “It’s bound to be a damn insurance job.”

He craned his neck up to see where the flames were licking out through the windows of Jim’s apartment, the sound of one of Jim’s neighbors sobbing over her lost memories ringing in his ears, and when he came back to himself his face was wet and he was retching up the evening’s recreation. He knew, just knew, and the only thing he could do was fall back on decades of training and crisis scenarios.

On co-ordinating his officers and getting residents shipped out to family or an overnight shelter. On keeping the press at bay and redirecting traffic.

On focusing on something - anything - other than the news they were all waiting for, until the fire was finally doused and the onlookers were finally dispersing. Until the body bag was being removed from the building and he was being told not to look, and that it wasn’t a memory he wanted.

He saw it anyway, what was left scarcely recognizable as human let alone the man he had spent years of his life falling deeper and deeper in love with, laid out dispassionately on a bench in the morgue, the new ME eyeing him nervously as he clung to his clipboard.

“Do you think he suffered?” He asked stupidly, voice so scratched up he wouldn’t have known himself, and the poor guy inhaled sharply, telling him everything he needed to know.

The tears came when they gave him the contents of Jim’s locker. His spare clothes and his running shoes. His regulation issue hi-vis and a dog eared paperback copy of All Quiet on the Western Front, complete with a few photographs pushed between the pages.

Jim as a little kid, smiling with his father, and Jim as a serious faced teenager, flanked by his mother. Lee, looking straight into the camera before everything went to hell in a handcart, and a candid shot of the two of them, his arm around Jim’s shoulders. It was the last one that did him in, tore down the last of his defences, and he cried in his office like a baby because he was never going to touch Jim again. Never hear his voice or see his smile, and it hurt so bad he ended up staring longingly at his handgun, unable to understand why he had thought Jim’s rejection would be the worst pain he could possibly be subjected to.

He remembered that last night though. Recalled what Jim had said, serious with the shroud of premonition hanging over him, and he left his gun at the precinct, going home to drink himself numb and imagine he could smell Jim on his pressed and laundered shirts.

The weeks that followed were a nightmare, a blur of agony so sharp he could hardly draw breath, and exhaustion so deep he felt as though he were sleep walking through water. He spoke at Jim’s funeral. Stood at his graveside and watched as his coffin was lowered into the ground, wondering whether Jim was angry he had kept the photographs - too weak to part with them - rather than let them be buried with him.

Accepted the platitudes and the outright lies of their colleagues, about how Jim had been a credit to the force, and how they were going to miss Jim’s presence at the precinct. Broke down completely when it was all over, when he was left alone, and threw his rosary at a wall, followed by a newly empty bottle of whiskey, because Jim was too young and if it had been the other way around nobody would have had to live the rest of their life wretched and heartbroken.

During the days he mostly kept it together. Combed his hair and showered, and dealt with the insanity the city threw at him, determined not to make a mockery of Jim’s faith in him. At night he was a wreck, incapable of anything, and finally he threw himself into the cases Jim had been working on, certain it was either work until he passed out or throw himself off the roof of his apartment building.

Some of the files had already been closed, the usual round of domestics and break-ins gone sour. One had been ruled accidental, just like the fire that had claimed Jim’s own life, and Harvey concentrated on the unidentified victims and the seemingly random killings, knowing the task ahead to be thankless and long winded.

He made headway, slow but sure, and when he was able to bring closure to a husband who had begun to resign himself to never knowing what had happened to his wife, he almost felt something other than crushing despair.

Almost.

It was Mrs Gillespie who first put him on to a reality more sinister, because Mr Gillespie refused to concede that she would have been playing away. Denied utterly that the woman he still loved would have lied to him about her evening classes, not without good reason, and Harvey dug deeper not because he believed the claims, but because it was better than crossing her clean off the list and being one step closer to having to deal with losing another link to the object of his own affections.

The thing was that it checked out, as best as he could tell, and when he started cross-referencing with the last known movements of other victims on his list a pattern began to emerge. There was a morgue photograph of a symbol tattooed on the wrist of a teenaged Jane Doe, and the same symbol etched into the back of a coffee shop loyalty card found in the wallet of a middle aged man going by the name of Trevor Yates, with no known next of kin and no social security number.

He saw it again when he took a pencil to a covering sheet Jim had obviously had underneath a missing sheet of paper he was making notes on. The indentations were there, visible under his electric lamplight, and he felt sick at the sight of a line of indecipherable gibberish, afraid to be experiencing anything approaching optimism after so long without it.

It was probably nothing - Jim’s way of managing idle boredom, or the insignia of some supposedly hip and trendy band he had never heard of. He got people working on it all the same, officially and less so, and when the contact he had had looking into the possibility of code breaking was found hanging from her ceiling, the apparent victim of a suicide, a cold thrill of fear went down his spine because he wasn’t fooled, not for a moment.

This was something big, something dangerous, and the idea began to solidify in his mind that the fire had been no accident. Jim had been murdered for what he knew, what he would have revealed, and he replayed every moment he had spent in Jim’s company those last few weeks, searching for anything which, from this new angle, seemed odd or even passingly curious.

He compiled lists and sketched out timelines. Recorded verbatim every conversation he could remember, and came to the conclusion that perhaps Jim had been afraid. Perhaps Jim had been trying to tell him something, because he hadn’t wanted to go home. Had crashed on his sofa three nights in a row, and one morning he had woken up to find Jim already washed and dressed, cooking breakfast to thank him for his hospitality.

Jim had scarcely eaten a bite himself, had watched him instead, and Harvey wished he had thought of something other than how good Jim looked barefoot in his kitchen, and what he would give to return the favor and bring Jim his breakfast in bed, where he could sit too close and steal kisses in between mouthfuls of pancake and orange juice.

“It’s all supposition,” the Commissioner said when he took her the evidence he had spent months building. “There’s no budget for pet projects.”

He lost his temper at that, far from his proudest moment, but Jim had most likely given his life for whoever - whatever - was lurking behind the reams and reams of information he had collated, and that had to mean something.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable, and he supposed it was writ all too clear across his face, exactly what Jim had been to him.

“How long have you been working on this?” She asked, at least not dismissing it out of hand, and he launched into his theories and the connections he had made, breathless and near shaking by the time he finished.

“If I could assemble a task force,” he reiterated, “if I could put some resources behind this.”

“I want you to sit on it for now, just for a week or two,” she said finally, and there was something strained in her tone that kept him from flying off the handle. “Will you leave this with me?”

She gestured at the files covering her desk and he nodded. He had his own copies, at his apartment, and his lock-up, and a ticketed locker at Union Station, just to be on the safe side. He carried on working on it anyway, unable to stop himself, and he was back at one of the murder scenes at two in the morning, on his knees as he took measurements and estimated angles, when something moved behind him in the darkness.

He turned wildly, the pen torch between his teeth sending unsteady arcs of light into the night, and cold sweat gathered on the back of his neck, because perhaps this was it.

Perhaps they had decided it was time to take him out too.

There was more movement, the scuffling of feet, and he called out with a confidence he didn’t quite feel,

“Come on, don’t hide in the shadows. You want rid of me, do it. I won’t put up a struggle.”

To prove it he dropped the torch to the ground. Followed it up with his handgun, and the back up he kept in an ankle holster for emergencies.

“You think I care what happens to me? You’d be doing me a favor.”

There was no response, nothing at all, and as the tension drained out of his frame so did the fight. So did the energy that had sustained him through the investigation, the obsession with building a solid enough case to convince the brass to put some real money and manpower behind it.

It left him empty, left him with the knowledge that he had taken it as far as he was capable of, and the tears just wouldn’t quit, bringing him to his knees in some filthy back alley, sobbing brokenly for the one thing no amount of closure was ever going to bring back to him.

He thought he heard a sound, a choked off gasp maybe, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care, and he cried until he physically couldn’t, until there was nothing he could do but lay in the dirt and pray for God to have mercy. It had once been his worst fear, to bleed out alone and forgotten, but now he would welcome it. Wanted it so bad he could almost taste it, and when the helping hand finally came he hoped for a moment that it was over, and that they had come to put him out of his misery.

“Bullock, come on, you can’t stay here,” Alvarez said instead, and he just stood there, throat raw and guts aching, obedient as Alvarez gathered his belongings and pushed him into the car, explaining, “Somebody rang it in, anonymously. Knew you by name and said it was urgent.”

Harvey just rested his head against the window, the cold of the glass easing the pounding in his skull, and Alvarez stayed silent for long minutes before continuing cautiously,

“I get that you miss him, that you,” he hesitated, went on anyway, “loved him, but he wouldn’t want to see you like this. He’d want you to pick yourself up and keep going. That’s what he was good at, Gordon. Being a stubborn asshat.”

His lips twitched in a grimace of a smile, eyes watering though he would have sworn that he hadn’t a tear left to cry, and he didn’t argue when Alvarez drove him home rather than to the precinct. Fell into bed, wiped out and helpless when Alvarez saw him through the damn door, sticking around to make sure he didn’t immediately go and do anything stupid.

He hadn’t changed his sheets in weeks. Hadn’t attempted to clean the place in way longer, and it played on the very edge of his conscience, how disappointed Jim would be in his failure to take care of himself, and then even that was gone, everything finally giving way to the pull of exhaustion.

Tuttle called by in the evening. Used a totally illegal skeleton key when he slept through the knocking at the door, and forced him to eat three bites of one of the coronary inducing sandwiches from the cart down the block from the precinct, the one he had taken Jim to the very first week they were partnered.

“Waste not want not,” Tuttle commented when he gave it up as a bad show, taking up the slack himself and dropping relish all over his duvet cover. “The Commissioner herself has been holed up in your office all day, you know. Us mere mortals have to make do with a call from Marten when we’re off sick, bawling us out for messing up the rota.”

Harvey didn’t reply. Just stared up at the cobwebs on his ceiling, but Tuttle had never needed reciprocation in his conversation partners.

“Word is she’s co-ordinating some big operation with upstate. They cancelled all leave pending further notice this afternoon. Opie, over at Arkham, said they’re on high alert too. You always choose your timing, Bullock.”

Tuttle went on in the same vein for an hour, give or take, then finally - finally - took his silence as a hint and left him alone again. Once he was gone Harvey wished he was back there. Wished for some distraction, and he tried to call the Commissoner’s office without success. Stood under the spray of the shower until the water ran cold, then found something relatively clean and made his way to the precinct.

Something was afoot, that much was obvious, and uniform and detectives alike eyed him warily, as though he were a dead man walking. Perhaps he was, he pondered, everything feeling so surreal that it seemed a real possibility that the real him, the corporeal him, was lying dead surrounded by rats and garbage.

“I wasn’t trying to steal your thunder,” the Commissioner announced when he found her directing things from his office, hair scraped up and tone businesslike, “circumstances simply overtook us.”

There were his files spread across the place. His maps and his scene of crime diagrams. It was real. It hadn’t been some deranged figment of his imagination, brought on by grief and loss.

He nodded, accepting, and asked her if there was anything he could do to help.

“Rally the troops,” she suggested, the words glib but her tone serious, then before he went to do just that she called him back for a moment. Looked away, shoulders tensing, before saying quietly, “Whatever happens tonight, we did what we believed we had to do. I can’t give you more justification than that.”

He frowned at her, lacked the energy to decipher the cryptic message, and just went out on the balcony and did what he had always done best. Appealed to what kept them all on the job, in spite of the risks and the nightmares it gave them. Asked them to keep themselves safe, first and foremost, because there were family and friends and complete and total strangers relying on them to keep going out, day after day, night after night, to see the things they didn’t want anyone else to have to.

It worked, or at least it seemed to, and he put on his hat with as much ceremony as he did his stab vest, getting a front row seat to the storming of a run down looking pile on the outskirts of the city. There was instant pandemonium, the scent of death already thick in the air, and he realized with a disgusted jolt that the figures seated around the table were slowly decomposing into the upholstery.

He shoved his sleeve over his mouth, kept moving, and beside him one of the toughest guys he had ever known was doubled over, overpowered by the stench and the sight of it. The living had no intention of coming quietly. Shrieked and howled like something demonic, and Harvey caught sight of the strange symbol carved into pale flesh, stomach crawling with the implications.

It was a cult, some kind of secret society. Was everything he had ever feared and so much worse than he had dared imagine. This wasn’t the city’s great and good putting on masks and toasting each other’s cleverness. This was death built upon death, and he didn’t need a degree in forensic science to work out why the intricate mosaic beneath his feet shone bone white.

He pushed into the back rooms, found more corpses, more suffering, and he was backing away from a sight he knew was going to be seared on the back of his eyelids when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. When he turned, instinctive, and felt ice cold fear like he had never experienced, not on his own account, soulless black eyes meeting his own.

This wasn’t like the Tetch virus, when he knew the humanity was hidden just beneath the surface. This was something else entirely. This was evil, pure and undiluted, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but succumb, frozen to the spot as a hand reached out for him. He needed to yell, needed to draw attention, but it was too late, too much - and then a shot rang out, and another, and still another. A full damn clip if he was any judge, and his gaze didn’t follow the body as it hit the ground.

He looked for the shooter instead, expecting to see tactical gear and a riot helmet. The figure staring back at him, chest heaving, had none of it - not even the hated stab vest.

Harvey shook his head, refused to be taken in by it. Blinked uselessly as his vision blurred, and tightened his grip on his own weapon.

There was no way, no possible way, he was looking into the face of Jim Gordon.

Except Jim wasn’t content to simply stand there. He was checking him over, fingers touching his face, searching for signs of injury. Harvey didn’t know what to do, didn’t understand what it meant, and it was only when Jim sagged in relief, voice wavering as he started talking about how afraid he had been of being too late to prevent it, that it finally began to sink in.

Jim was alive.

Jim was there, in front of him, and he clung to him fiercely, terrified that it was some kind of hallucination. That he was going to disappear into smoke, or slip through his fingers, and he didn’t know what he was saying, what he was confessing, only that Jim was clutching at him in turn, desperate.

“I had to do it,” Jim told him, face pressed into the crook of his neck. “I had to try. I had to try and put an end to this. It wasn’t supposed to take so long. I never meant - I never knew what it would mean, not being able to tell you.”

Jim was crying, the heat of his tears a brand against his skin, and Harvey had to soothe him. Had to cradle Jim’s face in his palms and promise that he forgave him. That he’d forgive him anything, anything at all, and Jim only cried harder. Looked at him with the same eyes he had accepted he would never see again, so blue he couldn’t bear it, and he kissed him just to prove to Jim that he was serious.

Brushed his lips against Jim’s, a barely there touch designed as a distraction, but Jim wouldn’t let him pull away. Kissed him back, frantic, and that was how the special ops team found them, Jim’s hands tangled in his hair and him whispering assurances that it was okay, that it was all going to be okay, in between capturing his mouth, tongue seeking out proof that Jim really was there with him.

He wondered later how it must have looked, two grown men making out in tears, the dead and the dying all around them. In the moment it was Jim who pulled himself together. Jim who scrubbed a hand over his face and ordered people here, and people there, and lead the debriefing when it was over, because he had been in deep cover on the case for almost a year, a fact known only to the selectest of the select few.

Harvey had no choice but to sit and listen to the full tale. To hear how everything had been arranged, how the date had been chosen, and how some poor crash victim was lying six foot below ground, masquerading as Jim Gordon.

It meant some of his own men had known. That the ME who had scarcely lasted three months had been a plant, and that all the time the Commissioner was heaping pressure on his shoulders to knuckle down and get results, she had a direct number for Jim’s handler. One of his own contacts had forged Jim new papers, and Lucius had hacked into the government database rather than risk an official paper trail.

People he had trusted, people he had considered friends - they had watched on as his entire life fell apart. As he mourned the best thing that had ever happened to him, and it cut to his core to see Jim avoiding his eye, confessing that he had spent a chunk of the year in Gotham. That he had watched him, had passed him in the street, once, and had never said a word to end his suffering.

He had followed him to the alley where Yates had been found, and he had stood there and watched as he broke down completely, driven past the point of no return by how violently he needed him.

“We were so close,” Jim whispered, shame tinging the familiar ring of stubborn defiance, “I couldn’t throw it all away.”

Harvey swallowed thickly and voiced the real crux of the matter.

“I’d die for you, Jim, gladly. I’d do anything. Anything. Why couldn’t you trust me?”

There was no time for an answer then. No privacy in which to give it. Jim had to finish what he’d started, had to answer too many other questions, and Harvey went home and opened the windows of his apartment, conscious that he couldn’t even remember the last time he had bothered.

He tided the place up and changed the bedding. Cut his hand open on a broken bottle and almost put a fist through a wall in frustration. He was pathetic. Pitiful. Wanted to punish Jim, to have him feel guilty for doing his duty, and still hoped that Jim was going to seek him out and make it up to him.

It was another hour before Jim was stood in his living room, alive and whole and so miserable Harvey told him that he didn’t have to explain anything.

“I wanted to tell you,” Jim said regardless. “I almost did so many times. I stayed awake here all night the week before, weighing up what to do. Then,” he choked up for a moment, Harvey’s chest aching to be the cause of it, “then I sat at that table watching you and I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk it because if you knew, if they got to you, it would all have been for nothing.”

“I could have helped you,” Harvey said, in spite of his pledges to keep quiet. “I could have gone for you.”

Jim shook his head, face twisting up as he attempted to hold back fresh tears. “I tried to tell you, that night. The department needed you. Needs you. People rely on you, Harvey. Nobody was going to miss me.”

“I did.”

It was little more than a whisper. Felt like it had been wrenched from the depths of his very soul, all the same, and Jim closed the gap between them, insistent. Pressed their foreheads together, so close Harvey could feel the way he was shaking, and curled a hand around the back of his neck, fingers stroking softly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

“Promise me you won’t disappear on me again. Promise me, Jim.”

His tone was demanding, his own hands possessive where they stroked down Jim’s back. Jim kissed him again, lost to the intensity, and when he responded, powerless to do otherwise, Jim pulled away, choking on a sob as he confessed,

“I love you. I love you so much, Harvey.”

It was too much to handle, more than he could bear, and he spilled his own heart to Jim over and over again. Kissed Jim with years of pent up longing. Months of agonized mourning. Went willingly when Jim pushed in the direction of the bedroom, holding him close and worshipping him with everything he had, everything he was, kissing and kissing, and exchanging admissions and promises.

Jim begged him finally, took hold of his hand and pushed it between them, intent and perfect as he told him how much he wanted it. How often he had thought of it, before, when he was so afraid of ruining everything they had to risk asking for more, and after, when he was simply afraid. Afraid for his life and afraid for the lives of everyone he had left behind.

Afraid for Harvey, because he had been stupid, so unspeakably stupid, when working together they would have found the solution in half the time.

He forgave Jim again, exonerated him, and pledged silently that Jim would never need to be afraid again. Said nothing aloud but praise, showers and showers of it, because Jim truly was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, cheeks flushed and eyes trusting, arching up into his touch as he shook and trembled.

It was unlike anything he had ever known, so intense his entire body ached with it, and Jim cried out when he pushed forward enough to kiss him as they moved together, overcome with sensation and the emotional force behind it.

He lay awake for a long time after Jim fell asleep in his arms, simply watching him, still not quite able to believe that it was real. He stroked Jim’s hair back from his forehead, kissed his cheeks and his nose and his temple, and finally held him yet closer and said a silent prayer before closing his eyes.

If he was dreaming, he never wanted to wake up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	109. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim doesn't know what to do when all the evidence on a case he's working points to Harvey being his prime suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dark themes, especially past child abuse. This was the first fic idea I ever had for Gotham - albeit with considerably less Gordlock - based on Harvey's self-destructive behaviour, but I put off writing it because it could only be bleak and depressing...

The precinct was a disaster zone. The latest set of repairs were dragging on, half the bullpen cordoned off for safety, which meant everybody else was crammed in together, scarcely able to distinguish what the person in front of them was saying over the sound of the din in the place.

All the seats in the waiting area were full, and the holding cell was overflowing. Interrogation room three was being used as temporary overspill, and Marten looked like she was on the verge of a total meltdown, especially as the telephone at the front desk just wouldn’t stop ringing.

“I can take details,” Jim offered, because his own caseload wasn’t particularly pressing for once, and she shot him a tired smile and waved him off in the direction of the public.

There were pregnant women and teenage drop outs. Spike haired activists waiting to be interviewed about unlicensed flyering, and two neighbors who wouldn’t quit yelling at each other over the height of a disputed boundary fence. His gaze fixed on a stooped old man in a cassock, hands shaking badly as he attempted to sip at a paper cup of coffee, and because he had to start somewhere, Jim steered him over to his own desk, earning himself a ‘bless you, my son’ for his troubles.

It put a smile on his face, in spite of himself, because only the other day Harvey had been chastising him for not being able to tell the difference between an orthodox priest and a lay minister, and here there was a member of the clergy bestowing praise on him anyway. He did his best to be solicitous. Patient. Not to lose his temper when the old fellow told him the problem in the most rambling way possible, because he had to be at least mid-80s and if his foot was bumping impatiently against the leg of his chair, at least the guy wouldn’t be able to hear it.

He was just putting the finishing touches to the crime report - a simple burglary, so far as Jim could tell - when he caught sight of Harvey, climbing the stairs to the balcony. He looked pale and exhausted, almost always did these days, and Jim offered him a hint of a smile, a shared moment of sympathy.

Harvey just seemed to freeze where he stood. Went paler still, the way he tended to do when he had spent the afternoon swigging cough syrup straight from the bottle, and Jim was about to get up and go to him when he was moving again.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?” He demanded in a tone Jim had only rarely heard from him, and even more rarely directed in his direction, “I’m not paying you to sit around the station pretending to be in uniform.”

Usually, Harvey seemed happiest when he was deskbound and unable to get into trouble. Normally, Harvey would be charming and affable in front of the public. Typically got reverential around churchmen, like he couldn’t quite help himself, and now Jim just found himself stuttering out apologies to Father Brent on his behalf.

“Quite all right,” Brent assured, watching as Harvey slammed his office door behind him like a teenager having a temper tantrum. “It must be very difficult, lots of pressure.”

Jim nodded, aiming for his public relations solemnity, and wondered what the hell Harvey thought he was playing at.

Harvey was still acting weird at the end of the week, like the strains of the job really were getting to him. They went for drinks after work, and instead of the four or five Harvey habitually restricted himself to of a Friday evening, the other man just kept going. Didn’t even drape himself over Jim the way he usually did when drunk, and started talking instead about finding some professional company, words slurring together, like it was the natural way to end the evening.

Jim was pretty gone himself. He must have been because he had made the mistake of trying to keep pace, and because he couldn’t hide the way he was feeling bitter and disappointed that Harvey didn’t want to come back and swap secrets on his sofa.

“I don’t understand why you bother. Your right hand will do the same job for a fraction of the price, you know.”

“I don’t want to be the one getting off,” Harvey said in turn, as though it should have been completely obvious.

That made more sense, Jim supposed, startled but drunk enough to consider the concept. He thought of Lee - the scent of her soap and her skin, and the breathy noises she used to make. The way she twisted a hand in his hair when he was doing well, and the taste of her, as she pulsed hot and wet against his tongue. There was nothing his right hand could do to match up to that.

He had to shift on the bar stool, to hide the effect the memory was having on him, and Harvey smirked and asked if he was sure he didn’t want to go on to the sleazy brothel his partner usually frequented with him.

“Your loss,” Harvey said, unsteady on his feet as he disappeared into the darkness of Gotham’s night, and Jim made his own way home alone, trying not to feel hard done by because Harvey’s arm wasn’t slung around his shoulders.

What Harvey really needed, Jim thought, was for someone to just be there for him. To look after him a little, or at least nag him not to drink so much, and remind him that sensible lunches did not consist of three candy bars washed down by a can of Red Bull. He ruthlessly silenced the part of him that whined about how it ought to be his job, because the truth was that he would, gladly, if he thought Harvey were interested.

Harvey wasn’t though, so it was a waste of time to think about it.

Utterly pointless to touch himself beneath his blankets, sighing and shivering as he imagined the way Harvey would look at him, and how good Harvey’s ass would feel, if only he could get his hands on it.

He rolled over when it was done, head clearer, and pledged that if he couldn’t be the one to give Harvey some TLC, setting Harvey up with someone who could would be the next best thing.

The next morning the idea was still stuck at the forefront of his mind, only bumping up his list of priorities when he rapped at Harvey’s door needing some requisition forms signed off, only to find the man popping pills and swigging them down with a swallow of whiskey

“Don’t give me that look,” he warned, though Jim had thought he was keeping the judgement to a bare minimum, “a true friend wouldn’t have let me end the night anywhere but my own bed.”

That hurt. That riled him up, pissed him off, and he fumed all day until Harvey’s hand found his shoulder, thumb almost caressing.

“Good work on that report on the Reilly case,” Harvey said in lieu of an apology, and Jim let go of the last of the resentment, remembering all over again that Harvey acting like a bear with a sore head was a problem to which he had the solution. He got back with the program and looked around the precinct with fresh eyes, scouting out potential candidates.

The issue was that Harvey had a strange relationship with women, to Jim’s mind. A kind of disconnect between the things he said and the way he acted. Because he claimed to like women who knew their place and kept their mouths shut, but invariably turned to mush the moment a woman proved her mettle. Said he wanted someone who wouldn’t put any expectations on him, but had bleached parts of his apartment he had probably forgotten existed the instant Scottie Mullens showed the slightest inclination.

The reality, so far as Jim could see, was that he liked them feisty. He liked women who took charge and stood for no nonsense. Marten on the front desk he thought a few days later, chewing absently on the end of his pen as she demanded Harvey sorted out the issues with the call logging database, right that second, for all that she was only five foot nothing.

Jim wasn’t much good at being endearing and sociable. Had never really had to work on mastering the skill, so it was a pleasant surprise that when he bluntly asked Marten if she had a friend she would like to bring to dinner, she only frowned for a moment before agreeing to the invitation. Harvey was easier still, lit up like a Christmas tree when Jim said he had made restaurant reservations, then seemed to go off the idea right at the very last minute, when Jim asked if he thought he ought to bring Marten’s friend flowers.

“I thought we were getting dinner, not sweet talking half the department.”

“It’s not half the department. It’s a double date, Harvey.”

Lee had always used to say they were the best thing for smoothing over the initial awkwardness. If it had left him with positive memories of a man who had put him in prison, then it had to be the venue to ensure Harvey didn’t self-sabotage things with Marten before they had a chance to get started.

At least, that had been the logic behind his decision.

Now he was forced to sit in awkward silence, paying for two near strangers to eat dinner while he texted Harvey for a third time.

“It’s alright,” Marten said, patting his hand, tipsy on the vodka cokes coming out of his pay packet. “It was a nice gesture, really. He’ll come around.”

“Yeah,” the friend, an officer from traffic, agreed, subtly distancing herself from the cheap grocery store bouquet he had given her for the occasion, “He’ll be touched when he’s had chance to think about it.”

Jim pushed his food miserably around his plate and tried not to let on how much he doubted it.

He had fucked up. Had made assumptions and pushed the boundaries, and Harvey was intent on letting him know it. Didn’t pick up the phone when Jim tried ringing him to apologize, and didn’t answer the door when Jim went around to his apartment. He waited in the hallway for a while, just in case, then finally gave it up as a bad job and went home to stare up at his ceiling.

Harvey looked awful at the morning briefing, like he had slept even less than Jim had, then piled more work on all of them before leaving for a meeting at City Hall, ignoring him the whole while. Jim threw himself into his cases, wanting the distraction, and he jumped at the first call out, even though it was in one of the roughest of the city’s neighborhoods and would likely mean no witnesses and a thousand suspects.

Except when he got there it was no run of the mill mob hit or gang shooting. Father Brent was sprawled across the floor of the priory living room, his housekeeper sobbing hysterically at the sight of the blood seeping into the carpet.

It was a break in gone wrong, that was Jim’s first instinct, and he wished he had followed up the home security visit he had promised, because perhaps for the sake of a deadbolt and a safety chain this scene could have been avoided. Brent had been hit over the back of the head with the heavy base of a standing crucifix, hit hard, and Jim could already see the headlines and the public hysteria that would follow once the media got wind of it.

The neighborhood was a powder keg as it was, a melting pot of warring factions, and he warned uniform to tread carefully even as Mrs Gillespie, the housekeeper, repeated over and over that she had gone to bed early with a sleeping pill, as though her frail frame would have been any defence against the kind of thugs who would kill a priest in cold blood.

Jim got all the preliminaries underway. Met with forensics and oversaw the door to door enquiries. Was proud of the way things were progressing when Harvey got back from his meeting, and when he called him into the dubious privacy of his office. They were going to make up and move on, Jim was sure, and then he would be able to give old Father Brent his full attention.

“Why are half my unis knocking doors on the East Side?” Harvey demanded instead. “I want them back on the beat and you focused on the Kowalski shooting.”

“You can’t be serious?” Jim countered, incredulous. “If we don’t clean this up quick there’ll be riots. We won’t be able to keep it out of the papers long, and the last thing we need is more religious tension down there.”

“We wouldn’t have to worry about the papers if you didn’t have every Tom, Dick and Harry going around talking about it! He was, what, 90? Could have fallen down dead any damn moment.”

Harvey pushed a hand though his hair, looking about a decade older to Jim’s eye than he had the day previously. He still looked hot, he conceded silently, and the thought made the anger bubble over. Harvey was the one being unreasonable here, not him. Harvey was the one making it personal, chewing him out for doing what any detective in the department would have done, and he yelled back.

Was grinding his teeth so tight together his jaw ached when Alvarez drove them out to re-interview some of Kowalski's associates, and he almost put a fist through the car window when they heard over the radio that they had reports of shots being fired in the old slum district.

“Screw this,” Jim spat when Muzar spun them another web of lies, untouchable behind his expensive suit, and disobeyed orders to go back to the East Side and go over the priory again in an attempt to determine if anything had actually been taken. The housekeeper said no, but she was in such a state that Jim was reluctant to take her word for it.

Alvarez helped walk her through the kitchen, and he went upstairs because while there was no evidence to say they had got that far - there was no evidence to say they hadn’t, either. He ended up in Brent’s spartan bedroom, and if he hadn’t still been so frustrated at Harvey he probably would have missed it. Probably wouldn’t have bothered tipping up the drawers of the dresser, determined to be by the book and thorough, and he probably would never have found the collection of photographs stashed underneath a false drawer bottom.

Some things started to slot into place after that, because Brent had been a priest in the East Side for a long time and Harvey had been brought up a devout Catholic. Harvey’s family had been dirt poor, living all on top of each other in one of the tenements that had since been demolished, and Brent had been renowned for his work with disadvantaged youth in the community.

Because Jim’s stomach was churning, bile burning in his throat, and he had seen enough of Harvey in the showers and the locker room to recognize the birth mark on his shoulder, if the shaggy red hair and the freckles dusted along the exposed collar bone hadn’t been enough of a giveaway.

There were a dozen pictures. A dozen different boys on their knees, and Jim thought distantly that this was going to be a big operation. There would be more victims, there always were, and the kids in the snapshots would all be in their 40s or 50s now - each and every one of them a potential suspect, along with their friends and their family. SVU were going to want them all tracked down, were going to want to tear open old wounds, and there was going to be no way to keep the media out of it.

He heard Alvarez’ tread on the stairs and it was like time was passing in slow motion. Like he was watching from outside of himself as he slid the photograph of Harvey into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and spread the remaining eleven pictures out, waiting for Alvarez to agree that they call it in.

“Jesus Christ,” Alvarez breathed, tone all twisted up in disgust, and Jim got out his cell and dialled Marten, asking to be patched through to SVU directly. It ought to have gone through Harvey, by rights, but Marten didn’t ask questions and Alvarez was too busy shepherding Mrs Gillespie and her tea tray away from the discovery.

He needed to talk to Harvey, needed to warn Harvey, but their counterparts at the Special Victims Unit must have been having a slow day because they were there before he could do anything, and his gut squirmed with guilt as Harvey went paper white and clammy at the sight of the photographs. Then Harvey pulled himself together, acted every bit the professional faced with some new situation, and if Jim didn’t know him better he might even have been fooled by it.

Jim renewed his efforts out on the streets, the photograph weighing like a brand against his chest, and he very deliberately didn’t think about the fact that Harvey had gone AWOL the previous evening. That Harvey had been acting out of character since the moment he had clapped eyes on Brent at the precinct, and that Harvey was more than capable of cracking a senior citizen’s skull open.

He had killed in the line of duty, and he had killed because it was either that or go for a swim with the fishes. He had beaten a man to death once, so the whispers around the department claimed, half crazed with the image of his then partner being burned alive for daring to be competent.

“That’s him!” a guy with a thick accent exclaimed, finally, pointing at the smiling snap of the pair of them on the screen of his cellphone, “a big man, with a beard. He shouted. Was very angry.”

Jim thanked him and didn’t write it down in his notebook.

If Harvey had murdered Brent, Jim didn’t know that he was the person to judge him for it.

It was late when he had chance to actually speak to Harvey alone, away from the listening walls of the precinct. He turned up on Harvey’s doorstep. Sat on Harvey’s sofa without waiting for an invitation and felt sick as he pulled the picture from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table. The silence stretched, him afraid that whatever he said would be the wrong thing, and Harvey choosing to cross the room and pour a generous measure of whiskey rather than look at it a moment longer.

“I was 13,” Harvey said eventually, draining the glass with a hiss. “It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it stopped mattering,” Jim offered, thinking of the gleaming shine of the shoes he had worn to his father’s funeral, and how far an extenuating circumstances defense would get them with the right jury, the right lawyer. “Doesn’t mean you can just forget it happened.”

Harvey closed his eyes. Rested his forehead against the side of the cabinet, visibly struggling for composure, and Jim fought back the urge to go over and hug him. You had to give back the choice and control; he had been on all the training courses. Harvey sucked in a breath, swiped at his face as surreptitiously as he could, and said quietly,

“I should have got the bastard put away when I still had a chance. Now some poor sucker is going to have to serve time for doing the world a favor.”

He knew better - had been trained better - but the surprise showed on his face. Must have done because Harvey’s own hardened, his tone going cold and flat,

“You thought it was me, didn’t you? You really thought I’d throw it all away.”

“I tried to speak to you last night,” Jim stuttered in his own defence. “Somebody saw you arguing on his doorstep.”

Harvey pinched at the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Sniffed through a broken mess of a laugh and went on in that same awful dead tone.

“I never doubted you, Jim. Not once, not for a moment.”

This wasn’t the same, wasn’t the same thing at all, because he would have told Harvey if he had killed Pinkney. Had confessed about Galavan in a flood of tears and bad whiskey, and couldn’t get through any crisis without unburdening all his hopes and fears on Harvey’s shoulders.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he said, “I can’t imagine what it was like, Harvey.”

It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to approach it, and he thought for a moment that Harvey was going to hit him. Braced himself for a blow that never came, instead finding himself stood back in Harvey’s hallway, Harvey thrusting the picture into his hands and telling him to get out and not bother coming back.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he tried again, desperate, but Harvey didn’t back down. Didn’t pull him close, or clap him on the shoulder, or any of the things that usually followed an exchange of harsh words between them.

“Turn it in, Jim,” he said roughly, “Go on, be a hero.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Sat staring at the back of it all night, unable to stomach turning it over, and finally held it over his kitchen sink and set fire to it. He watched the paper curl and wither away into nothing, wishing for Harvey’s sake that the memories could be erased as easily.

Harvey hadn’t done it. Wouldn’t do it.

If he had Jim would find some way to cover it up.

Would empty his savings account of the last of the blood money he had accumulated through his stint bounty hunting, and they would go and start someplace new. Somewhere without an extradition treaty, where the long arm of the law couldn’t reach them.

His reflection was gray when it stared back at him from the bathroom mirror in the morning. The dark smudges under his eyes only added to the image he made, and his limbs ached as he buttoned his shirt and knotted his tie, the lack of sleep mixing with the guilt, and the nerves, and the sense of complete and utter impotency.

When he arrived at the precinct it was already too late to do anything. Harvey was being interviewed by IA of his own volition, admitting to his and Brent’s history, and keeping Jim’s name out of everything.

“You couldn’t have known,” Danziger told him, almost sympathetic, and Marten sought him out when Harvey was sent home for the duration, because ‘I left at half ten and walked the streets for a few hours, I don’t remember where’ was a spectacularly flimsy alibi.

“I’m so sorry, Jim,” Marten said, so earnest his stomach lurched with the realization that Harvey might as well have just stood in the middle of the bullpen and announced what had happened to him. “If you want to go home with him, Tuttle and me - we’ll figure something out.”

“He doesn’t want to see me right now,” Jim managed, undone by the truth of it.

Harvey didn’t want to see him that evening either. Refused to pick up his calls, and refused to help himself, every bit as insistent that he couldn’t remember which part of the city he was wandering at the time of the murder to Tuttle as he had been to Danziger. Jim didn’t believe it, couldn’t quite stamp out the embers of suspicion, and he only hated himself more for going through everything they had so far with a fine tooth comb, waiting to find the damning link that put Harvey standing over Brent with the murder weapon.

In the end Harvey’s alibi came to them. Walked right through the doors of the station, because there was a reward in place now for information, and because the Gotham Gazette were printing their usual array of unsubstantiated rumor and speculation complete with Harvey’s photograph. The kid was 19, looked younger, and Alvarez snorted incredulously when he launched into a tale about how some old guy had approached him not long before midnight and asked him how much it would be for a blow job.

“You want us to believe a police captain gave you $50 to suck his dick?”

“No. He gave me $50 to suck mine.”

Alvarez couldn’t keep the shock off his face, but the kid carried on talking,

“I told him we could go somewhere else - around the back of the market, maybe, by the railings - because he was wearing a suit and the ground was wet where it had been raining. He didn’t care though, just wanted to get right down to business.” 

Jim could see it all too clearly. He had heard Harvey imply it, had even seen the bruises and the finger marks in the days afterward. Had had night after night to sit around his lonely apartment and put two and two together, trying to make sense of Harvey’s behavior.

Getting used and abused was what did it for him and it did it, Jim thought miserably, because he couldn’t imagine any other scenario in which somebody else would want him.

“Do you believe it?” Alvarez asked him afterwards, hushed and secretive, and Jim didn’t know where it was coming from but he shook his head, adamant.

“The kid’s just looking for some quick cash from the newspapers.”

It was a lie, an awful thing to say, but Alvarez nodded and accepted him at his word rather than have to sift through the implications. Jim went to Harvey’s straight from the precinct, detouring only to pick up a hoodie from a market stall a few blocks away. Harvey’s apartment building was being watched by IA, Jim had no doubt, so he pulled the oversized sweater on over his jacket, flipping the hood and modifying his gait a little. Harvey’s neighborhood was rough, the building rougher, and he slouched and shoved his hands in his pockets, to blend right in with everyone else who was in and out of the place at all hours.

Once inside he climbed the stairs and finally stripped the stupid thing off as he knocked at Harvey’s door, shifting impatiently as he waited for Harvey to answer.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” was how Harvey greeted him, leaving the door open as he retreated back to the sofa. As he staggered, really, the air thick with cigarettte smoke and the smell of booze all pervasive. Jim looked over the state of the place, the state of his partner, and heard his own voice saying,

“Your alibi came by the station. He says you were so desperate to get his cock in your mouth you tipped him $20.”

Harvey blanched. Looked like he might be sick, then pulled the mask back in place.

“If you know all the details already why the fuck are you here, Jim?”

Before Jim could answer - before he could begin to try to explain - he went on,

“You want me to talk about it, is that it? You want me to tell you that I cried into my pillow every night and prayed for the bad man to stop hurting me? You want to hear how I’m still so ashamed for being into dick that I’d rather be thought a murderer than a fag?”

Jim looked away, ill equipped to deal with Harvey voicing all of his worst fears on the subject. Harvey just shook his head, frustrated.

“That was never how it went. I liked it, Jim. I wanted it. The only time I ever cried was when he told me it was over and that I wasn’t to bother him again. I don’t give a fuck what anyone scrawls on my locker, I just don’t want to lose my job for sucking off a rentboy. Are you happy now?”

Harvey was panting hard, angry, and Jim wished he could use one of the platitudes, the GCPD approved strategies, he usually employed in these situations. This wasn’t some stranger he was professionally empathising with though. This was his best friend in the entire world, the man who had been willing to die for him, over and over again, and all Jim could do was forget the handbook and the seminars, and haul Harvey into his embrace.

Clutch him close, holding tight until Harvey stopped fighting it. Until he clung back, the facade crumbling, and Jim stroked circles into Harvey’s back as he sobbed into his jacket shoulder.

The truth, Jim guessed, lay somewhere between the two scenarios. The indifference Harvey so wanted, and the hurt he couldn’t actually let go of. It had him shifting so that Harvey was all but in his lap, his own throat choked up with emotion and his eyes stinging. Had his fingers petting at Harvey’s hair, the exact same way he had too often dreamed of doing.

“Is this the first time you’ve talked about it?” He asked eventually, little more than a whisper, when the sobs subsided into shuddering hitches in Harvey’s breathing.

“Fish. Fish knew.”

Somehow it didn’t surprise him.

“Scottie?”

There was a sharp intake of breath that made Jim tighten his hold, soothing until Harvey relaxed back into position, cheek pressed into his shirtfront.

“She was already too good for me. I never wanted her to know.”

Jim rubbed the tips of his fingers into his scalp, pleased when Harvey let out a juddering sigh at the sensation. Scottie had probably known there was something there. Might have guessed and hit the jackpot, Jim wouldn’t be surprised, and he wondered if that was part of the reason they had fallen apart. Her wanting to help and Harvey unable to confess that it had ever happened.

“I’m going to clear your name,” Jim promised, “you’re going to be back at the precinct before you know it.”

Harvey shifted a little, words hot and damp through the material of his work shirt.

“What have I told you about making promises you can’t keep?”

The words were light but exhausted. Resigned to it all being over for him.

Jim allowed himself to drop a single kiss into Harvey’s hair.

Failure wasn’t an option.

He kept up his investigation. Went back to the priory and asked the housekeeper again if she remembered anything unusual or suspicious. Anything at all out of the ordinary.

“I’m sorry,” she told him as she poured him tea into the best china, insisting so desperately he deemed it better all around if he simply accepted, “I want to help you. I wish I could help you.”

“I know,” he consoled with a sad smile.

So far the kid’s statement had been kept out of the press, and his colleagues were still torn over its veracity. Jim did his best to talk himself out of the idea. Forced himself to think of all the ways it could backfire, and how it would be both their careers in tatters.

But he couldn’t unsee Harvey in tears. Couldn’t bear the thought of strangers passing judgement on his partner, looking at Russell’s baby faced mugshots and jumping to all kinds of ugly conclusions.

“You know I’m not underage, right?” Russell asked when he went ahead anyway, sliding a bulging envelope across the diner table. “He won’t serve time for soliciting. Murder, that’s life. Voluntary manslaughter, that’s still 15.”

Jim’s lips quirked, amused despite the unrelenting grimness of the situation. “You ever think of law school?”

The kid sipped at his coffee and pulled a face. Tore another two sachets of sugar open and dumped them into the cup.

“I’m saying that I didn’t come forward for the money. Not just for the money,” he corrected, “that guy got what was coming to him. I can change the times up if it’ll help any.”

“Harvey didn’t do it,” Jim said simply, the strength of his own conviction easing the ever present knot of worry in his stomach, “but if he admits to being with you he’ll be writing out traffic tickets until retirement.”

Russell fell silent for a moment, considering. Finished his coffee and his dinner, and a slab of cake, and finally agreed to take the envelope. Slouched into the precinct the following afternoon and withdrew his statement, claiming that one guy looked much like another, and how was he supposed to know it had been such a big deal to get them mixed up anyway?

SVU accepted it. Gave Russell a half assed offer of counselling which the kid turned down, preferring to catch a Greyhound out of the city wearing new sneakers and carrying an expensive cellphone.

“What do you know about it?” Harvey asked, relatively sober this time and breath mints at least attempting to mask the scent of the cigarette smoke, “If you did what I think you did I, just - thank you.”

Jim shrugged. The money had played on his conscience anyway. Had reminded him endlessly of those dark months after Blackgate, when it had felt like things were never going to get any better, and in the present he thought of all the nights Harvey had spent just sitting with him then, letting him talk and, when he couldn’t find the words, keeping him company in silence.

He wanted to repay the favor. Came right out and admitted to having a conflict of interest, and got himself barred from working on the Brent case so he could spend as much time as he wanted at Harvey’s apartment without the cloak and dagger treatment. Alvarez kept him up to date anyway, as did just about anyone else he cared to ask what was happening.

Assured him over and over again that they were on the verge of a breakthrough, and apologized every time it fell apart regardless.

“Maybe I am ashamed,” Harvey said in the aftermath of one such shattered hope, gaze fixed deliberately on the television. “Maybe I’ve always been ashamed. That’s how it started, really. I got into a fight, after school, and he promised that there wasn’t anything wrong with it, and that if I’d let him show me he wouldn’t have to tell my Mom what we had been fighting over.”

Jim’s skin crawled, the anger making his fingers itch to curl into a fist and seek retribution for a kid he had never even known.

“What did you talk about that night?” He tried, as close to neutral as he could manage, and Harvey was quiet so long he figured they were dropping the subject entirely. The ancient film they were watching wrapped up and merged into another, the beer he was drinking replaced by a second and he was just thinking about getting up to to raid the fridge for a third.

“It’s why I became a cop,” Harvey said then, from nowhere, “if I could do enough good, keep enough people safe, it wouldn’t matter anymore that I’d cared more about myself than the kids who came after me. Then - then he was just sat there, with you, like he was worthy of your time, and I.” Harvey broke off, his hand shaking where it reached for his own beer, “I don’t know, I couldn’t let it alone. I wanted him to say sorry to me. I wanted him to say he felt bad about what he’d done. That it wasn't my fault, I guess.”

Jim reached a hand out, tentative, and put it on Harvey’s shoulder. Held his breath when Harvey tensed up under his touch, then let it out when Harvey slowly relaxed, weight pressing ever so slightly closer.

“He said that he had only gone there because I looked like I wanted it, and that I hadn’t changed at all because - well, because,” he hunched into himself a little and Jim moved closer to be supportive.

“Because he saw the way I looked at you,” Harvey finished, barely audible, and it him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from his lungs and leaving him numbed, unable to school his expression or think about appropriate reactions. His hand fell away without any conscious input, and his mind stuttered around and around on a loop, because it was kind of everything he had ever wanted to hear, wrapped up in the most awful thing he could imagine.

“I -” he tried, lost entirely, and then his cell was ringing, Tuttle’s voice on the other end of the line sounding frantic. “I’ve got to go,” he told Harvey, and he didn’t know what to do or how to get across his own confusion. He wanted to kiss him. Wanted to throw his arms around Harvey’s neck and promise things he really couldn’t, like how everything would be okay now, and how he wouldn’t be disappointed, at all, if Harvey decided he didn’t want to go there with him. “I’ve got to go,” he said again, stupidly, and settled for squeezing Harvey’s arm for one beat, two, before making for the precinct.

Muzar had slipped up at last, had moved in on Kowalski's assets, and Jim worked the next 36 hours straight, his eyes gritty and his legs feeling weak and unsteady when he finally booked Muzar into custody.

He went back to his apartment and fell into bed, sleeping the sleep of the dead until he woke with a start to find the room swathed in darkness, the traffic outside his window dimmed to its early morning lull and his cellphone blinking with a dozen missed messages.

There had been a new development while he was out for the count. Mrs Gillespie, Brent’s housekeeper, had signed a confession. Had wrapped her cardigan tight about herself and made a tearful statement.

“I should have done it years ago, that’s what she said,” Alvarez told him, obviously uncomfortable but determined to keep him informed on progress. “She said she couldn’t live a lie any longer.”

Things moved quickly after that. Harvey was reinstated and SVU found another station to work out of. He tried to give Harvey space, told himself he should wait until Harvey made the first move, and their interactions turned strained and stilted, so that he began to fear that this was how it was always going to be now. Perhaps he was a reminder, something Harvey wanted to move on from, and Jim didn't say anything when he saw the pamphlets and the business card from the Force counsellor in Harvey's waste paper basket. It wasn't for him to dictate how Harvey ought to deal with it.

Harvey visited Mrs Gillespie, flanked by an impartial onlooker though she was out on bail, and Jim had to battle for composure when he turned up on his doorstep afterwards, and described how she had cried and hugged him.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Harvey said, thinking of the details of her statement. Of how she hadn’t taken a sleeping tablet after all, how she had overheard every word he had said, and saw the mess he was in, hurting and desperate.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jim said in turn, adamant, because it wasn’t. None of it. “She’ll be okay, the DA’s pushing for a suspended sentence.”

Harvey didn’t look convinced, couldn’t even look at him, and rather than broach the elephant in the room - the unresolved business lingering in the air between them - he arranged to visit the woman himself, uncertain what he was expecting to get out of it. She looked even frailer than he remembered, face haggard and bony fingers clutching at her rosary.

“I never could bear to see men cry,” she told him, matter of fact like it was the only way she could get the words out, “it doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

Jim sat silent, waiting for her to continue, when she lifted her head to look right at him. Searched his face for something, then nodded to herself a little and asked him if he and Harvey were more than colleagues, so that Jim wondered if Brent had spoken of him by name, or if he really was that obvious.

“We’re friends,” he said, his voice rough around the edges because he knew that wasn’t what she had been getting at. Because it was like saying the ocean was wet or the sky was blue - true but so completely inadequate to describe the scope of the thing. “I love him,” he amended, suddenly aware that it was the first time he had ever admitted it.

“I’m glad. Please tell him that, won’t you?”

Jim replayed the exchange over and over again, slowly coming to the conclusion that he was a coward. More yellow bellied than even his CO had ever accused him of being, because Harvey had already laid himself bare and he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to acknowledge it.

He didn’t bother with the cut price bouquet this time, or even the restaurant reservations. Went and rapped on Harvey’s office door and asked if he was just about finished for the evening.

“I can be,” Harvey said, glasses perched on his nose as he looked up from his paperwork. Jim’s heart clenched at the sight, even as his skin burned, and they went back to Harvey’s place because he wanted Harvey to be comfortable. He wanted Harvey to know that he could kick him out if he’d had enough, or if he changed his mind, and maybe he just wanted to be surrounded by Harvey’s things and Harvey’s smell, because being close to Harvey was always where he wanted to be.

“Do you know why I tried to set you up with Marten?” Jim asked once the door was shut and it was just the two of them, blunt with the over eagerness to go through with what he had set in motion.

“You hate me? You don’t think I suffer enough in my day to day existence?”

Jim ignored the questions, ignored the drink being held out to him, and went on intently,

“I didn’t like seeing you lonely and -” he sucked in a breath, forcing himself to continue before Harvey took real offence to the statement, “and I didn’t think you’d ever be interested in me.”

The reaction he expected never came. Nor did the reaction he had hoped for. Instead Harvey just stood there, shoulders tensed up, and looked him right in the eye as he ground out,

“Don’t do that. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” Jim countered, pushing to his own feet so that they were standing nose to nose, “I’ve never pitied you.”

There was a flash of something in Harvey’s blue eyes, anger maybe, and Jim put a hand on his cheek. Did it kind of slowly, gave Harvey chance to push him away if this really wasn’t what he wanted, but he did it all the same.

“I’ve felt bad for you. I’ve been mad at you. I’ve not known if I want to sock you in the jaw or kiss you senseless.”

He stroked his thumb along Harvey’s cheekbone, his chest twisting up at the way Harvey leaned into his touch, ever so slightly.

“But pity, no. I’ve got to save it all for myself, don’t I?” He smiled as he said it, hoping Harvey didn’t think he was being glib, and Harvey just made a kind of startled noise. Lurched towards him, sudden and half desperate, and then they were clutching at each other, kissing like the world was ending.

It was raw, frantic, and though it hadn’t been his intention - though it wasn’t a particularly smart idea - he wasn’t known for his impulse control and neither was Harvey. He wasn’t known for his ability to slow things down, to keep things casual, and Harvey’s head had barely hit the pillow when he was babbling helplessly about how bad he wanted this. How bad he wanted Harvey, how long he had wanted him, and Harvey groaned into the crook of his neck and returned the favor.

“Never thought you could want this,” Harvey confessed, the words panted out against the possessive mark he was raising, “never thought you could want me.”

“I want you. I love you.”

There didn’t seem to be any point in holding back. Didn’t seem to be any danger, not when Harvey was gazing into his eyes, transfixed by whatever it was he saw there.

“I’m not - “ Harvey started in return, gaze lowering, and Jim recognized that tone and understood the body language. Refused to let it come between them and kissed Harvey all over again, breathy noises escaping his own lips at the way Harvey responded.

“You’re everything I want. Way more than I deserve.”

Harvey couldn’t help but rise to the challenge. Couldn’t help but put his needs - his issues - before his own, and Jim didn’t feel guilty at playing the situation, not when it was in both of their interests. Because Harvey looked so good, smelled so good, and by the time they were both naked Jim was so hard it was almost embarrassing. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep his hands off what he wanted, and Harvey watched him with heated eyes, the slightest hint of confusion as Jim pushed him back instead of letting him switch places, half wild with the thrill of being allowed to grab handfuls of Harvey’s backside.

He kissed up the inside of Harvey’s thighs. Nosed along the length of his dick and sucked at his balls, his mouth flooding with saliva as he licked still lower.

“Please, can I?” He managed, voice rough and scarcely recognizable, because he needed to remember that plenty of people didn’t like it but he was so turned on at the idea he could hardly think straight.

“If you want to.”

It wasn’t exactly the enthusiasm he dreamed of but it would do, was more than enough to be going on with, and when Harvey obligingly rolled onto his front Jim’s dick twitched with excitement. He lost himself to it, his head spun with it, and when Harvey started making noise, started pushing back into the stimulation, his cheeks burned and his entire body ached with arousal.

“Fuck, Jim. Oh, fuck,” Harvey ground out, barely coherent, and Jim couldn’t take it, had to get closer, work himself deeper, and the feel of his own tongue sliding against his fingers had him afraid he was going to come without any more encouragement.

He had to stop, had to do something, and somehow he worked against the haze in his head to get back against the pillows, his hands on the thick muscle of Harvey’s thighs as the older man crouched over him.

“You sure about this?” Harvey asked him, a thousand insecurities rolled up in it, from his own ability to deal with a real relationship after the fallout with Lee and Barbara, through to ridiculously misplaced concern about Jim not wanting Harvey’s weight crushed on top of him.

Jim couldn’t even speak, was too far gone, mouth hanging open as Harvey sank down further. After that there could only ever be one outcome, Harvey’s bedsprings creaking and sweat dripping down his temple, his body only nominally under his own control as he whined and begged, his hips bucking up frenziedly. Harvey was just as into it, was so unspeakably hot, neck arched back and dick leaking against Jim’s stomach. He wrapped his hand around it, felt a fresh jolt of lust at the sound Harvey made, and then it was too much, way too much, and Harvey was coming over his hand as he shook and gasped and pulled Harvey into a slick mess of a kiss.

“I don't know if that was a good idea,” Harvey said later, when he had his breath back and Jim's legs had stopped shaking. 

“Probably not,” Jim conceded, even as he pressed closer against Harvey's side, one hand tangling with his partner's. He should have taken it slower. Should have spent more time talking, and less whimpering filth about what the sight of Harvey invariably did to him. “I hope you want to do it again though.”

He tilted his head up to look at Harvey, losing himself in the eye contact, the breathless fog of want it inspired, even if his body was refusing to run with the signals his brain was giving it. Harvey touched his cheek tenderly. Cupped his jaw and stroked the ridge of his ear, and finally kissed the tip of his nose, just to tease.

“Not right this second.”

Jim squeezed at his hand, overwhelmed at finally being exactly where he wanted, and Harvey got it without him saying a single word. Wrapped his arms about him, just on the brink of too tight and suffocating, and Jim clung back just as eagerly. He wasn't the most well-adjusted guy, and maybe Harvey wasn't either. They both had issues, were both a little broken, but together - together, he knew they'd bring out the best in each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	110. The Widow and The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Total smut because deawrites' [latest fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11639565/chapters/26180331) was very inspiring in terms of Jim being a little too demanding! Titled for the [infamous folk song](https://youtu.be/tXNHQm-j6rE?t=43s). :)

“What happened to you?” Alvarez asked, just as subtle as ever, and Harvey tried to stand up straighter. Tried to walk like an acting police captain, not a guy who been kept up half the night by a raging nymphomaniac.

The male equivalent, at any rate, because Barnes had once warned him that Jim Gordon was going to be the death of him. He probably just hadn’t envisaged it being by sex induced heart attack. 

Jim was demanding like no guy he had ever been with. No woman either, for that matter. He was insatiable, never satisfied, and while on the one hand it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced, on the other he couldn’t remember what it was like not to feel exhausted.

“I’m beat, Jim,” he tried that evening, struggling to keep his eyes open on the sofa, but Jim just straddled his lap and sucked at all the sensitive spots on his neck until his dick was straining for attention regardless. Until Jim was sheathing it in tight heat, his own dick leaking all over Harvey’s stomach, and begging Harvey to fuck him harder, Harvey panting and sweating as he did his best to oblige him.

For anyone else that would have been enough. A kiss, a cuddle, a bone melting orgasm, all followed by a quick shower and an early night so they could greet the day ready to do it all over again. For Jim it was just the beginning, because they ended up in the shower together, Jim sinking to his knees and pleading for him to come on his face, so that his entire body spasmed and shook, unable to deny the kind of request he had once thought the sole preserve of porn stars.

From there they did fall into bed, but his hopes of sleep were dashed when Jim pushed in closer. When Jim’s fingers started wandering, skirting along the waistband of the pajama pants he had taken to wearing as protection from Jim’s insistent groping, and a stronger man would have told Jim he would have to wait until morning.

The man he was couldn’t resist the pretty flush in Jim’s cheeks and the way he gazed devotedly at him with those big blue eyes, vulnerable and so very needy.

He had to use his fingers. Had to carry on working through the muscle ache, and Jim writhed and whined and acted so damn wanton that his dick managed to get hard again, Jim wasting no time in hauling him in close and trying to get it in him.

“Please, like that, please don’t stop,” Jim implored, all breathy moans and whimpers, and Harvey wanted nothing more than to please him, holding eye contact as he kept his thrusts slow and even. Jim spread his legs wider, hands around his own ankles, and attempted to rock back against the intrusion. It was so hot, such an incredible turn on, and his abdomen cramped up as he came for the third time in as many hours.

He sucked Jim to completion, fingers picking up where his dick had left off, and afterwards Jim finally let him sleep, cuddled into him with his head pillowed on his chest.

The problem was that it was already late, and although he was out like a light almost the second he shut his eyes, Jim woke him up again before dawn, hand fondling his balls and mouth pressed against his ear, whispering filth about how badly he needed him.

Jim fucked him this time, so perfect that it didn’t matter how tired he was, how drained, he couldn’t help but stroke his hands all over Jim’s beautiful body anyway. He had to groan at the blissed out expression on Jim’s face, and he had to describe to Jim - in explicit detail - all the reasons why he was the sexiest man he had ever laid eyes on.

He got some respite at work at least, Jim believing in regulations and professionalism, though he had still let himself be fucked across Harvey’s desk one night, just to ensure every moment Harvey spent in there was shrouded in the sensory memory of Jim crying out in ecstasy and hitting himself in the chin with his own ejaculate. 

“You look awful, Bullock,” Tuttle told him at lunchtime, eyeing the way he winced as he lowered himself into the booth of the diner. “Seriously, you coming down with something?”

Tuttle had a point he thought when he finally clocked off duty. His eyes were underscored with dark smudges, and his complexion was paper pale. He looked a mess, every bit his age and still more, but when Jim arrived back from his Union meeting it was like love really had blinded him.

“You drive me crazy,” Jim purred, plucking the glasses from his nose and treating the newspaper he had been trying to catch up on with cavalier indifference. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, Harvey.”

Harvey had been planning to say no. Had determined, resolutely, to tell Jim that the good Lord had gifted him a right hand for a reason. Felt his resolve slipping through his fingers the second Jim made his intentions clear, hands squeezing at his backside through his trousers, because he wouldn’t even have to contribute much to the scenario.

Because it was just so good, too good, Jim groaning low in his throat as his hands wandered and his tongue pushed into him, until he simply couldn’t bear it. Until he was crouched over Jim, hands clutching at the headboard for leverage as Jim gazed up at him with a look of wonder. It couldn’t be an attractive sight, he thought, not a guy of his size - just not him in general.

Jim disagreed fervently, vocally, every word of praise inspiring Harvey on to greater effort, his heart pounding and his lungs burning, desperate to see Jim come apart beneath him. Jim was even louder than usual, more frantic, and Harvey collapsed on top of him the first moment he could, panting for breath as spots floated across his vision.

“I think you’ve killed me,” he managed, only half joking, and maybe something in his tone penetrated through the ever present haze of lust in Jim’s head because he set about coddling him, chaste and tender. Pressed soft kisses along the side of his face and stroked his hair back from his forehead, and almost didn’t wake him up a couple of hours later when he was pushing up into his own fist, his other hand splayed across Harvey’s stomach.

Harvey could feel the way it was trembling, fingers tensing and untensing, and he reached out to draw Jim into a kiss, all slick tongue, then whispered encouragement into his ear about how it was always something straight out of a wet dream, getting to see Jim come for him. He hugged Jim close after he had done just that, petting at his hair and rubbing at his back, and he could sense that Jim was just as needy for the intimacy and the reassurance.

“Nobody’s ever made me feel the way you do,” Jim confessed into the darkness, face hidden, “I know it’s a lot. I know I’m a lot. It’s just - every time I look at you I can’t think for how bad I want you.”

“I love you, Jim, you know that.” More than he had ever believed it possible to love anyone, though he wasn’t about to go around saying it. “I’m just old. I’ve got to take it easy occasionally.”

He softened the blow with a kiss to the top of Jim’s head, and he felt Jim smile against his skin.

“I’ll try and calm it down a bit, promise.”

The thing was that Jim really did try. Kept it to one long drawn out session a night rather than three of them, and disappeared into the bathroom at regular intervals, like Harvey couldn’t hear the stroke of his hand and his unsteady breathing. It made him feel guilty, invariably got him all worked up anyway, and he ignored the creaking protests of his knees, desperate to get Jim’s dick in his mouth.

From there it was Jim braced up against the wall, or Jim on his back, or Jim bouncing in his lap, head tipped back as he rode his dick like his life depended on it.

“Sorry,” Jim rasped afterwards, sheepish, and somehow they ended up going again, Jim sobbing out odes to the thickness of his fingers, and him unable to bear the idea that Jim might think he didn’t want this.

That Jim wasn’t the very best thing to have ever happened to him. 

He just had to approach the problem from a different angle, that was the conclusion he came to, and he fell asleep at his desk only to find some joker had thought it hilarious to leave his web browser open on Gotham’s premier purveyor of sex aids. It was completely unprofessional, exactly the kind of thing the idiots in his command deemed amusing, and he was hurriedly clicking away from the site when the solution to his problems suddenly became obvious.

Jim was highly sexed - sex mad, really - and it wasn’t that Harvey’s spirit wasn’t willing, it was just that his flesh was weak. He needed some kind of outside help to keep Jim happy, a little extra assistance, and a week later he took delivery of a nondescript brown box, a thrill of relieved excitement shuddering through him.

There were all sorts of things in that box, things he wasn’t sure how to operate or even what their purpose was. They made Jim’s eyes go wide when he got home all the same, and then they went dark and beseeching, color flooding over his cheeks and up to to the tips of his ears as he asked Harvey if he had been waiting for a test subject.

“I don’t know, doesn’t seem the kind of thing you’d be interested in,” he teased, loving how easy it was to get Jim fired up, and Jim took control of the situation, pushing him bodily towards the bedroom. Pressing him down into the covers and looking through his purchases with a smile that grew ever wider.

He seemed to have a better idea of what they were supposed to do, grinning at him devilishly as he got to the lube and the batteries. It was hotter even that he could have imagined, watching Jim touch himself, get himself worked up, and he couldn’t help the sounds that escaped his own mouth, when Jim demonstrated his deepthroat technique on something other than his erection. It throbbed in his pants, neglected, and he had to grind against Jim’s thigh when they fell into a heated kiss, though for once Jim refused to give him a helping hand.

“I want you to watch,” he said, the words alone enough to make him shiver, “and then I want you to use it on me, and then,” he kissed him again, brief but intense, “I want you to fuck me through the mattress.”

All he could do was nod, words failing him, and Jim went right ahead putting the plan into practice, slowly torturing himself with something that buzzed and had him babbling incoherently. Harvey couldn’t look away, not for a second, and Jim twitched and jolted, spurting across his stomach before biting at his lip and slicking up more vibrating plastic.

It was so good it was painful, had to be if the agonized bliss on Jim’s face was anything to go by, and Jim just got louder and louder, cursing and writhing until he came all over again. Then Jim was rolling on to his front and reaching out for him, ready for the next round, and Harvey spent some time getting familiar with the thing, working out which angle had Jim’s leg kicking out in reflex, and how much pressure Jim could bear before he was sobbing into the pillow.

Eventually it reached the stage where Jim was just sobbing anyway, was so oversensitized he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, but when Harvey suggested he just stroke himself off because it really wouldn’t take much, not with the show Jim had put on for him, Jim grabbed at his thigh with a sweaty hand and begged him to finish what he started.

It didn’t last long, couldn’t, and when he shifted position, getting Jim onto his back and his legs in the air, Jim blinked up at him through wet lashes, so gorgeous Harvey moved his hips in tight circles, just to hear him cry out again.

“Come on,” he begged, swiping his forearm across his face before returning the hand to its job holding Jim’s leg up. “You can do it for me, come on, Jim. That’s it.”

Jim was shaking his head, insisting that he couldn’t, though his hand was creeping back between them all the same. Harvey had a brainwave, a flash of inspiration, and he fumbled clumsily with the controls, his own hips lurching forward as he held the vibrator against Jim’s balls and watched as he arched up off the bed, mouth hanging open as Harvey wrung yet another orgasm from him.

“Oh God,” Jim moaned as he came back to himself, sweat slick hair sticking up in all directions and his face blotchy. “Oh, _God._ ”

“Yeah, I am kind of amazing,” Harvey agreed, all smiles, and though he was worn out and sated, it didn’t feel like he was about to pass out from it. He felt good, felt like he was doing something successfully, and for once Jim was the dead weight, too far gone to move or to sort out the blankets.

Harvey did it for him. Pulled him in close and watched as he gave in to sleep, limbs going limp and heavy instead of curling tight around him. Harvey relaxed into his own pillow, contented smile playing about his lips.

A few more sessions like that one and it would be Jim begging for an early night for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	111. Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reversing the situation in the last chapter - Jim just thinks sex is overrated.

The problem with sex was that it was overrated.

Not bad, exactly. Usually kind of exciting once it was actually happening. It had just never been particularly high up on his list of priorities. Not when he was a teenager listening to his friends talk of nothing else, and not now he was an adult with a thousand and one better things to be doing.

It was why he and Harvey fit so well together, he thought privately. Harvey was older, had done it all before, and wasn’t afraid to smile at him apologetically after a long day at the precinct and ask if he would be put out if they didn’t do anything too energetic.

Jim never minded. Preferred it, really, because he had already hit the gym and been for a run. Had showered and cleaned up, and enjoyed it more than he could say, just having Harvey’s attention all to himself without the frantic urge for completion getting in the way. They could talk, and touch, and kiss each other, soft and slow, with no goal to work towards to. When they did go to bed Harvey didn’t even complain about the way he liked to plaster himself against the older man’s side, so close it had to be suffocating.

Harvey was just good about that kind of thing, period. Was content to let him pet at his hair and hold his hand, thumb stroking soft circles while he held his book open with the other. Didn’t shrug him off, exasperated, although his past experience was what people initially praised as him being courteous and gentlemanly inevitably became a sore point between them, with accusations of his being overbearing and clingy.

Barbara had lost her temper sometimes, snapping at him to give her space and stop acting like a lost puppy at her heels. She had cried at others, demanding answers he couldn’t give about what she was doing wrong, and why he’d rather sit and trail his fingertips up and down her arm for an hour than hitch her up against a wall and prove that he found her attractive.

He had tried, had done his very best, and he hated himself not her for the relief he felt every time she came home smelling of somebody else’s perfume.

Lee had approached the topic differently, carefully casual and openly understanding, and he had stared silently up at the ceiling unable to find the words to tell her that it wasn’t the stress of the job or the horrors of the army.

It was just the way he had always been.

He hadn’t missed it on his first tour, for all that he had dreamed of the softness of his girlfriend’s hair and the smell of her laundry detergent, and he hadn’t missed it afterwards, when there was nobody back home he needed to be faithful to. It simply wasn’t important, wasn’t something that he spent much time thinking about, and he loved that Harvey was comfortable enough in his own skin to know that the frequency with which they did it had absolutely no bearing on how much he loved him.

Except six months in and it hit him with a jolt that perhaps that wasn’t the case at all. That perhaps he was making Harvey doubt himself, making him miserable, because when Harvey’s hand slid up and under his undershirt in bed one night, the smell of drink on his breath, Jim pushed it away, firmly, and reminded Harvey that they had an early start in the morning.

“You don’t want to,” Harvey sighed, rolling over and away like he never once had sober, “of course you don’t. You never do, Jim.”

Harvey fell asleep within minutes, snoring loudly, but Jim lay awake until light crept through their bedroom window, a cold knot of worry twisting in his stomach. It hadn’t been that long since they had last had sex, he reasoned at first, a few weeks maybe. Then the panic set in because he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared about anything beyond having Harvey close by, and if Harvey were to start looking elsewhere Jim didn’t know how he would stand it.

He couldn’t bear the idea, despised the thought of Harvey sharing that intimacy with someone who wasn’t him, and the following evening he groped at the older man, insistent, until Harvey took the hint and hauled him into his lap on the sofa. Kissed and sucked at the skin of his throat the whole way through, robbing Jim of his sense of reservation, of anything but the thrill of sensation, and when he came the awareness was almost distant, nothing in comparison to Harvey’s mouth on his skin and Harvey’s strong hands on his back.

“I love you,” he promised as Harvey held him close in the aftermath, “I really love you.”

It smoothed things over, kept the questions at bay, but ultimately it was only a short term fix and Jim tried harder to keep track of what they did and didn’t do, and how Harvey reacted to it. Pushed for more where before he would never have bothered, and wished again and again for the way he had felt the morning Harvey had congratulated him on spending the night in another’s bed, like he was the same as any of the other guys at the precinct.

Like he wasn’t a constant disappointment, an outsider with no hope of fitting in, and he dropped heavily to his knees one evening, terrified that there was more to the physical distance Harvey kept putting between them than the other man wanted to admit to. He fumbled with Harvey’s belt buckle, kept his eyes shut and deliberately didn’t think about the spit running down his chin or the inordinate length of time it seemed to be taking.

Not until Harvey pushed him back, at least, pressure gentle but sure, and then his blood ran to ice, nausea washing over him, because Harvey was shaking his head as he said quietly,

“This isn’t working.”

His hands shook and his throat clogged. His eyes stung and his heart hurt, the pain of it worse even than he had feared it was going to be.

“You’re not into it,” Harvey was saying as he fixed his clothing and dragged a hand through his hair, “you’re not into me. It’s okay. You can’t force yourself to be.”

“Don’t say that,” Jim managed, and he clutched at the hand Harvey held out to him in spite of it all, his limbs clumsy and uncooperative as he was pulled to his feet. “That’s not how it is.”

“Then tell me, Jim,” Harvey said simply. “I’m not a mind reader.”

He wanted to - tried to, even - but the words wouldn’t come, wouldn’t make any sense, and in the end he stood and watched, helpless, as Harvey took his coat and his hat from their peg by the door and told him not to wait up for him. He felt numb when the door shut. Got angry when the dismissal began to sink in, enough for him to take it out on the punch bag, teeth clenched tight together.

Finally the tears came, hot and humiliating, because if he had been satisfied with Harvey’s friendship this wouldn’t be happening. If he wasn’t so desperate for more of Harvey’s open displays of affection he wouldn’t be about to lose everything they had already had.

He just felt empty by the time he heard Harvey’s key in the lock. Cried out and hollow, and he hoped it would stay that way when he actually laid eyes on him. It didn’t, never could, because his heart twisted up tight in his chest, on top of the same rush of belonging he always experienced.

“This is the thing,” Harvey started, and he wasn’t as drunk as Jim had expected. Wasn’t drunk at all, not really, and his gaze was focused when he moved to sit beside him. “I can deal with you wanting out. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll live with it. If that’s what you need, if that’s what’s going to make you happy,” his voice choked up, Jim’s chest clenching still tighter, “I’ll let you go. I won’t make things difficult.”

He reached for one of Harvey’s hands - couldn’t stop himself - and Harvey swallowed thickly. Went on, voice scratched up and barely audible.

“What I can’t deal with is the not knowing. You have to talk to me, Jim, because I’m going out of my mind here.”

Jim searched his gaze, saw the truth of it, and forced the words out of his mouth. He owed Harvey that much.

“It’s not you, it’s me.” Harvey rolled his eyes, exaggeratedly, and a smile tugged at his own lips in spite of himself, “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s true, trust me.”

He played for time, sipping at the fingers of whiskey he had been slowly making his way through in Harvey’s absence. Put the glass back down, just so, and bit at his lip for a moment.

“I am into you. I love you. I’m just not - I'm not really that into sex. Never have been - not with anyone. I want it more with you than I usually do,” he risked a glance up at his partner, gleaning nothing from his expression. He thought of his lacklustre attempt earlier, of the way he had scarcely been able to wring a reaction out of the man he was attempting to convince to stick with him. “It’s still not enough though, is it?”

Harvey stayed silent for a long minute, Jim’s nerves fraying ever further, and he sucked in a startled breath when Harvey finally responded.

“So, what, you think I’m the type of guy who’s going to keep on and on at you until you do it anyway? That you either pretend to be up for it or be forced to lie back and think of merry olde England?”

“No.”

That wasn’t it at all, left him shocked that that it was the conclusion anyone might come to, and he guessed the surprise showed on his face because Harvey dropped that line of questioning, tone softening.

“Then I don’t understand what the problem is. Just tell me you don’t want to, or you’ve got a headache - you know how it goes. Don’t do whatever the hell that was earlier. I’ve -” Harvey hesitated before going ahead, hand slipping back into his own. “I’ve been with people who aren’t interested, Jim. I’ve paid good money to bad actors and I never want to go back there.”

“What about people who don’t have to act?” Jim heard himself ask, the whiskey digging straight to the crux of the matter.

Harvey got it, there was no doubt about that. It was clear in the way his gaze went tender, blatant in the fingers that touched his cheek carefully.

“I’ll never understand how a guy as smart as you can be so damn stupid.”

It wasn’t high romance, maybe, but it got the job done. Had him pressing forward blind, Harvey kissing back so perfectly it made his heart ache. Made his head swim and his skin tingle, lost to the intensity and the proximity. This was exactly what he wanted, what he dreamed of - loving and being loved, understanding and being understood.

“So, we’re good?” He followed up eventually, relaxing into Harvey’s grip, certain there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. Harvey just tightened his hold for a moment, the two of them still fully clothed but too comfortable to move. Just proved again how they struck the right balance, why they were so good for each other, by sighing and pressing a kiss into his hair.

“Don’t play dumb. Of course we’re good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	112. Last To Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody on Tumblr asked why would they give Jim a new love interest when his boyfriend is literally right there?? 
> 
> Because Year One taught us all that Jim has trouble keeping it in his pants...

The first time he heard the rumor he refused to believe it. Might have hissed a threat of physical violence and stormed off home, almost a full drink left on the bar, seething with anger at the idea anyone thought they could say something like that about Jim and get away with it.

Because, yeah, maybe Jim wasn’t joined at his hip but that was no bad thing. Jim had his own interests, liked his own space, and if he was happy to waste an evening at some thankless GPU meeting while Harvey enjoyed a pint or two, well, that was just the kind of guy Jim was.

He was one of the good guys, always going out of his way to try and do the right thing. He was gorgeous, all toned muscle and big blue eyes, and Harvey knew he was punching above his weight. Knew exactly how lucky he was and, to prove it, sat up and actually finished the paperwork Jim had been nagging him about until Jim’s key sounded in the door.

They had been living together, essentially, for months because Jim hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty apartment after escaping his own coffin, and Harvey never wanted him out of his sight for a second longer than necessary. He had been the one to suggest Jim share his bed instead of give himself backache on the sofa, and without any further conversation his closet started filling up with Jim’s clothing, and his bookcase strained under the weight of the boring tomes Jim considered light reading.

Finally, one night, all his pathetic hoping and dreaming on the subject came true, and they drank too much beer, and then too much whiskey. Ended up kissing desperately on the hated sofa, before he pushed Jim back against his bed sheets, keen to show off the kind of tricks you only learned through experience.

Jim came apart beneath him, flushed and beautiful, and Harvey pledged in that moment that he would do anything to ensure that the two of them went the distance.

He respected Jim’s boundaries and he didn’t heap expectations on Jim’s shoulders. He didn’t tell Jim to simply give up the lease on his apartment, for all the sense it made, and he didn’t push Jim into making it public, though he wanted to shout his good fortune from the rooftops.

That night he worked all his frustration through with action, and Jim gasped and groaned and sprawled half atop him afterwards, asking breathlessly what had got him so hyped up and frantic.

“Just thinking about you,” he answered, deliberately vague, because Jim didn’t need to know the kind of shit the other guys at the precinct had said about him.

The things they kept saying about him.

It wasn’t just the guys either. He heard some of the female officers gossiping around the water cooler about the fuss Jim was kicking up about working with the Penguin, when he was happy to turn around and go crawling into bed with a Falcone. He saw the pitying looks some of them sent his way afterwards, because trying to keep anything a secret was an uphill battle in a police station.

They had it all wrong though, had it all twisted backwards, because Jim wouldn’t do that to him.

Surely.

Except Jim didn’t come home that night, and he scraped the food he had made into the trash like some suburban housewife, reminding himself over and over that Jim had his own place, and that it didn’t necessarily mean anything.

They had been through too much together for Jim to throw it away so easily. They had seen each other at their lowest ebb, had shared secrets never told to anyone, and he had taken Jim to meet his family, because he was so ridiculously proud of the man Jim was and because they could still love the sinner even if they hated the sin.

Jim was it as far as he was concerned. The best thing that had ever happened to him, the reason he continued to put up with the shit the job threw at him, and he sat in dazed silence after watching Jim slam his way out of his office, disgusted that he wasn’t going to stand up to the Penguin.

It wasn’t that simple - there wasn’t just the two of them to consider. He was responsible for hundreds of officers now. The decisions he made meant life or death. Kiddies growing up without parents and members of the public blown away when he could have done something to prevent it.

Jim understood that. Had to. Just didn’t care, apparently, because finally he could deny it no longer, watching on in disbelief as Jim wound an arm around the waist of Falcone’s daughter.

Falcone watched him in turn, too knowing, and Harvey thought of the blank check he had once written the man, willing to sell his very soul if it meant freeing Jim from the horrors of Blackgate.

“I don’t have to approve of the means, so long as my children are happy,” Falcone said later, sure enough, looking out across his ill gotten gains rather than face him. “I’ve always thought you were an intelligent man, Bullock.”

Harvey snorted. Drained the rest of his drink - a month’s pay, probably, even on his new pay grade - and walked away without looking back. Didn’t wait for Jim, and didn’t bother with the social niceties. This was it, this was the favor being called in, and Harvey wondered why he had ever thought he was past all that.

He was sick of trying to be someone he wasn’t.

The reality was that he was a loser. A washed up waste of space who had been on course to drink himself to death before he made retirement. If he had truly thought that Jim would settle for that, he had only ever been lying to himself. If he had really believed he could change enough to make Jim proud to be with him, that was a sign of his own stupidity.

Part of him wanted to be petty. Wanted to take a scissors to Jim’s shirts and dump the rest of his stuff out with the garbage. Wanted to rant and rage and sock Jim in the jaw for breaking his heart in two.

None of it would do any good though. Wouldn’t even make him feel better, not for longer than a few moments at least, and he made do with getting blind drunk and rehearsing a cutting speech he never got to give because Jim was too busy in bed with a ruthless murderer.

He had read the files and seen the evidence. Had left it all on Jim’s desk though it hadn’t made the slightest difference. Couldn’t have, because Jim was with her and not him, and when the tears came he was glad nobody was around to see him hit rock bottom.

“I want my keys back,” he managed a few days later, Jim dropping into the diner booth beside him as though nothing had altered between them. “I’d appreciate it if you came and picked your stuff up.”

Jim just blinked at him, confused, and Harvey curled his hand into a fist beneath the table because it was better than breaking down in front of him. He had to cling to what dignity he had left. He couldn’t spend every night hoping that Jim was going to choose his company, if only for a couple of hours.

“I’m not into sharing, Jim. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

That hit home, he could see it in the color that infused Jim’s cheeks, and the panicked look in his eyes.

“But it’s not like that,” Jim started and for a moment - one sickeningly pathetic moment - he thought that Jim was going to tell him that he had it all wrong, and that he wouldn’t touch a former mob boss’ daughter with a barge pole. Then Jim kept right on talking and it was all he could do to remember they were in public. “You and me, we’re not - we weren’t. I mean, I know what people are saying at the station but we were never together.”

He had imagined the early nights and the late mornings, he supposed. Had mistaken Jim’s hand on his dick for something other than brotherly friendship, clearly, and wilfully misinterpreted the gracious way Jim accepted his family’s congratulations and commiserations on being stuck with him.

It was his fault for not seeing what other people tried to tell him. For covering his eyes and sticking his fingers in his ears, not wanting to admit to something which must have always been obvious.

“Just clear it out, yeah? I need the space.”

To do what with, he didn’t know. It sounded reasonable - sounded sane - and that was the best he could do. The very best he could manage, and he drew a couple of notes from his wallet and left them on the table for the food he could no longer stomach.

He was always going to have Jim’s back, that went without saying. He was going to be there when Jim needed him, and he was going to go after anyone who dared threaten him.

They were partners.

It didn’t mean he had to be able to stand the sight of Jim’s face right now.

He was sure that even Jim could understand that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has a sequel, [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26761155).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	113. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey tells Jim why he can't quit Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of child death.

For all his faults, Harvey was good with kids. He genuinely didn’t seem to mind the endless questions and the clamouring at public engagement days, and was always happy to let them try on his cap and badge, and smile for photographs.

If he could employ the same attitude with the media, Jim thought ruefully, the department wouldn’t face half its PR problems.

“You’re a natural,” was what he actually said when Harvey finally escaped from their latest school visit, “I’m jealous.”

Harvey grinned at the drawing he had been handed on the way out as though Jim was entirely serious and, later, Jim wasn’t surprised to see it tacked up on Harvey’s office notice board.

“It’s because I’m young at heart,” Harvey explained another day, after dealing with a sobbing kid who had lost sight of their mother in the city’s largest shopping mall, “you were born old, Jim. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Didn’t you ever want kids of your own?” Jim asked as they made their way back to the car, and as soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could retract them. It was too personal, really none of his damn business, but they told each other everything these days and he was genuinely curious.

Harvey didn’t answer at first, insulted perhaps by the suggestion he wasn’t going to have any in the future, or maybe just not willing to dignify it with an answer. Jim was going to let it go, change the subject, but then Harvey was talking, attention fixed determinedly on the steering wheel.

“I had a daughter. She died.”

The words took a moment to make sense. Another to really sink in. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and he supposed that his attempts at hiding the fact were worse than useless.

“She was 10 months old then. In May she would have been 30.”

He tried to picture it. Harvey little more than a kid himself, in the scheme of things, doing his best to keep going and deal with it. He reached a hand out uselessly, then let it fall away again. Opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the radio crackled into life and Harvey seized on it to give their current location.

End of conversation.

Jim couldn’t forget it so easily though. Thought of it when they were through for the day and Harvey was tiredly shrugging into his jacket, and he thought of it a week later when they were at some interminable public meeting at City Hall, watching as Harvey made small talk with a woman and her hyperactive toddler.

It had to hurt, he figured. It still took his own breath away, sometimes, the recognition of how old his own baby would be. All the milestones they would never experience.

“What was her name?” He asked afterwards, then had to explain himself because Harvey assumed he was asking about the debate moderator, or else one of the support staff. They ended up back at Harvey’s apartment, his partner handing him a whole album of faded photographs.

“Bridget, for Lisa’s grandmother. We tried, you know, after - but without Bridget we realized we didn’t really have anything in common.”

There was a picture of her, or so Jim assumed, smiling at her unseen audience with a baby in her arms. She looked so young, a snapshot of another world entirely, and he turned the page only to find Harvey looking younger still, beaming like he couldn’t possibly be any prouder of the kid he was holding.

He felt the emotion clog in his throat, the knowledge of the fate that was about to befall their happy little family, and Harvey stared too intently at the beer bottle in his hands and said scratchily,

“She looked like she was sleeping. Like if we just - if I just -”

Jim put the book down, carefully, without a word. Got up and sat beside Harvey, pulling him close with one arm, relieved when Harvey didn’t struggle. When he lay his head obediently on his shoulder, the exact same way he had let Jim curl in close to him, when everything simply hurt too much to handle on his own.

They sat like that for a long time, until he drifted off and woke with a start to find early morning light filtering through the window blinds and Harvey still draped heavily over him. He shifted awkwardly, joints stiff and aching, but when Harvey stirred he only pulled him back into position, not wanting to examine the whys but not wanting to let go, not just yet.

When he woke again Harvey was dressed and brewing coffee, the empty bottles from the night before in the trash and the album stashed away in a drawer of the cabinet. Jim didn’t say anything about it. Just drank his coffee and got himself ready for work.

He didn’t comment a few days later either, when he was back on Harvey’s sofa and his gaze fell on a framed photograph of a baby that hadn’t been there before. Harvey followed his line of sight anyway.

“She’s why I can’t give up on this city, Jim. It holds too many memories.”

Jim relaxed his posture a little, just enough that his knee brushed against Harvey’s, and wondered what Harvey would say if he knew his own reasoning for not being able to quit Gotham, and how tied up it was with Harvey’s refusal to leave.

It was where he wanted to make his own memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	114. Chapter 114

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to chapter #112 '[Last To Know](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26676357)' in which Jim ditched Harvey for Sofia. Basically just some angst based around Sofia's comics identity of The Hangman.

Harvey took the news hard, Jim could tell, for all that he refused to show it. For all that he turned up at the precinct the next morning just the same as usual, eyes a little swollen but trying to act as though nothing had happened.

“When’s the funeral?” Jim asked finally, already mid afternoon as he waited for Harvey to sign off on a pile of equipment requisition forms. “Have the family asked you to speak at it?”

It was pushing his luck, he got that, but it had been a tough few days. A tough few weeks, really, because overnight they had gone from best friends to distant work colleagues. Overnight, more or less, he had managed to fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Harvey just scrubbed a hand across his face and Jim couldn’t help but note how ill he looked. The weight he had lost and the unnatural pallor in his cheeks, and the rattling quality to his breathing, though Jim had spied him swigging cough syrup straight from the bottle through the office window.

“They’re not releasing the body yet. It could be weeks.”

Jim frowned at that. Yardley had been found hanging in her apartment the day previously after failing to report for duty two shifts in a row, a strange typeset suicide note laying on the coffee table. Jim hadn’t really known her, had never been one for loitering around the water cooler or showing his face after hours unless Harvey was there to make it worth his while.

He didn’t know how likely or otherwise it was that this was a case of foul play rather than suicide, and he wished again that Harvey would just talk to him, because he knew that he was blaming himself either way.

“All done,” Harvey said instead, handing back the paperwork. “Give me an update on the Harrison case later, if you can.”

Jim nodded, accepted it as the dismissal it was, and wandered miserably back to his desk, the sound of Harvey’s painful coughing following behind him. At his desk he tried to concentrate on the paperwork in his in-tray. Stared unseeingly at the words on the page, then finally gave in and went over - yet again - the stupid decisions that had got him into this mess.

Because it wasn’t as though he had set out to be callous. It wasn’t that he had ever intended for Harvey to look at him like he was just counting down the seconds until he no longer had to. It was just that it had all been so easy with Harvey, so casual, and when he woke up naked, plastered to Harvey’s side with a pounding hangover, Harvey didn’t even say a word about it.

Just carried right on like nothing had happened, like it was perfectly natural for best bros to fall into bed together, and Jim was happy to follow the older man’s lead rather than spend time over-analysing the situation.

The truth was that he had already been spending too much time in Harvey’s bed. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to face his empty apartment, and Harvey just offered it up like it was the obvious solution. Kept up the same take it or leave it approach even after they had screwed in it, so that it wasn’t awkward - wasn’t weird - when Jim slowly pressed closer in the dark, sober and wanting.

Harvey responded eagerly, one hand coming up to cup his neck as he kissed him, so that he lost himself to the excitement of letting somebody else take charge for once. The thrill of knowing Harvey wasn’t going to push for too much, wasn’t going to demand anything he couldn’t give. They were just friends making the most of the proximity, and Jim wondered why he couldn’t find a real relationship that felt so right and so secure.

In the present he settled for sighing and finally knuckling down to do some work.

He had just been blind to what he had until it was too late, that was the problem.

* * *

Yardley’s death was moved to the official caseload the following morning, on the basis of the autopsy report and Lucius’ initial findings about the note she had been found with.

“Whoever did this,” Harvey said solemnly, sticking Yardley’s picture in the dead center of the active investigations board, “we’re going to nail the bastard.”

He broke off into painful coughing afterwards, so bad Tuttle went and got him a cup of water, and Jim reigned in the urge to go and help. Harvey had made it clear he didn’t want his assistance.

Instead he concentrated on his own investigations. Went out asking questions, and swung by the Iceberg Lounge yet again, just to let Oswald know that he was keeping tabs on him.

“To what do I owe this privilege?” Oswald asked, eyes bright with amusement, “Miss Falcone and her flunky, both visiting my humble establishment on the same day. I would have thought you’d be co-ordinating your schedules better, Jim.” He said the last as a mock conspirator, a smile curling across his face at Jim’s discomfort.

“I’m here on police business.”

“And your girlfriend?”

“She isn’t my girlfriend.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what they were. He had thought it was heading that way, certainly, but Sofia blew hot and then cold. Came on strong one night and ignored him the next, on account of his being clingy and dependent.

It was confusing.

“Is that so,” Oswald said simply. “Shame, I hear the Falcones put on a spectacular wedding feast.”

Jim seethed all afternoon at the memory. Kissed Sofia insistently when they met up for the evening, relieved when she kissed him back with equal intensity, the two of them ending up in his bed, Sofia pinning his wrists above his head. She got off on that, on being in charge, and Jim was willing to let her.

Was always willing to lie back and let someone else do all the work, a nasty voice in the back of his head accused, and suddenly it was a struggle to stay in the moment. A fight to focus on the here and now, and not give in to the guilt and the regrets and the crushing sense that he had been cut adrift and left alone in the world.

“I hope you’re going to make it up to me,” Sofia said as she brushed her hair out afterwards. Touched her make up in the mirror and met his gaze with something that looked an awful lot like pity, “I trust even the GCPD pays you well enough to take me somewhere half decent.”

She was trying to spare his feelings the best way she knew how, and he thought bleakly of the days when he had believed Falcone to be an ally. To want to see him clean up Gotham on behalf of his father, and what he would have given then to walk into a ready made family, even one based on crime and violence.

He had changed since then though. Had a greater tolerance for the latter, maybe, but a better idea of what he wanted from the former.

He had a stark reminder of it a few nights later when Sofia was busy with business of her own, and he was eating alone at the corner table of a restaurant, desperate to pretend that he wasn’t aching with loneliness.

“Jim, you have to come sit with us!” A woman with fiery red hair and a wide smile exclaimed.

“If you want to,” her partner chipped in, as calm as she was exuberant.

“We won’t take no for an answer!”

“Unless you really don’t want to.”

“Of course he wants to,” Kathleen countered, exasperated, and, for once, in spite of how out of character it was, he really did want to.

Harvey’s family were like Harvey himself - easy to like, easier still to get on with - and he was welcomed to their table like he wasn’t some uncaring dick who had had to watch Harvey blink back actual tears when he went around to pick up the bulk of his wardrobe. He hadn’t registered how much time he really spent at Harvey’s, had taken for granted the way Harvey had been washing his shirts with his own laundry, and inviting him to Bullock get-togethers like he really was part of the family.

“I don’t know what he did,” one cousin started up, to get it out of the way, “and I don’t need to. It’s between the two of you.”

“Unless you want to tell us,” Kathleen offered, misinterpreting the tears that stung behind his eyelids, “and I will kick his ass for whatever it was he did that was the final straw.”

Jim couldn’t meet her eye, didn’t trust himself to speak, and the topic was dropped in favor of raucous family gossip. It hurt, even as he was included and a smile pulled at his lips, helplessly. Harvey had obviously let them think that it was his own fault, that Jim had been fully justified in calling an end to what they believed had been going on between them, and when it was done, when Kathleen had pulled him into a crushing hug and told him again how sorry she was that it hadn’t worked out, he stared at his cell phone for a long time before sending a text to see how Harvey was doing.

‘Switch the news on,’ was what he got in reply, short and sweet, and he obeyed to be met with the sight of Harvey giving a press statement.

“I can confirm that Officer Lyle did not take his own life,” Harvey read out to the popping of flash bulbs, “we are following a number of potential lines of enquiry and will release further information as and when it becomes available. I will not be taking questions at this time.”

The response from the press pool was immediate, frenzied, and Jim went straight to the precinct, stomach turning at the crime scene photographs depicting all the typical signs of asphyxia.

“It’s the same guy as got Yardley,” Alvarez opined, shoving more gum into his mouth the way he did whenever he was actually about to get serious, and Jim partnered willingly for a change, determined to make headway.

* * *

As the days turned into weeks they didn’t seem to get any closer. Every step forward resulted in three backwards, and Harvey sounded like death warmed up at every briefing, coughing and wheezing and wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Jim asked eventually, unable to keep quiet any longer, and Harvey just shrugged, defeated.

“When have I got time to see a doctor?”

Jim saw his point, really he did, because another of their number had been found dead. A detective this time, one of his own colleagues, hanging from a bridge down town with a typed code on a morgue ticket tied to her pinky finger. He caught himself looking at the photograph of two smiling children on her desk, some of the debris still there so it looked like she was just out to lunch and would be back at any moment, and his throat clogged with the unfairness of it all.

When he went on lunch himself, lonely as he ate a sandwich he didn’t taste on a bench not far from the precinct, he wondered who would miss him if he was the next victim. He hadn’t heard from Sofia in over a week, hadn’t seen her in longer, and he could read between the lines. He wasn’t stupid.

Or maybe he was, because the only person likely to grieve for him was Harvey, irrespective of what the older man might say on the matter.

He chewed mechanically and thought of the smile on Harvey’s face when they ate dinner on his beat up sofa, knees touching as they bickered over what to watch on the television. As they sat in companionable silence, closer than any friend he had ever known, his fingers petting through Harvey’s hair the exact same way he would have done with Lee or with Barbara.

That night he had a nightmare, waking up alone and disorientated on his own sofa, heart racing with the lingering fear that another body had been called in, and that he was going to get to the scene only to find that it was Harvey. He groped for his cell, telling himself he only wanted to check the time, then the next thing he knew he was dialling Harvey’s number, as though it wasn’t two o’clock in the morning.

“Jim?” Harvey said groggily, and the relief that washed over him was so strong that his voice wasn’t steady.

“Harvey.”

“What’s wrong?” Harvey demanded, sounding more with it now, “what’s happened?”

“Nothing, it’s not work. I just -” He swiped his tongue over dry lips, pulse still hammering. “I missed you.”

Silence stretched over the line, so long he was half convinced Harvey must have fallen asleep again, then it was broken and Harvey was saying brokenly,

“Don’t do this to me, Jim. I don’t deserve it.”

Harvey hung up after that, his apartment feeling even emptier than it had before. Jim went to bed and, for the first time since Harvey asked for his keys back, allowed himself to cry over it.

He looked a state in the morning, knew he did, and when he was granted entrance to Harvey’s office he closed the door behind him, because he had to do it now before his courage deserted him.

“If this is about last night,” Harvey started, warningly, and Jim surged forward, cutting him off by pressing their lips together.

Harvey made a startled noise, hands falling on his shoulders, and for a moment the whole world made sense again. Then Harvey was pushing him away, hard.

“What the hell was that, Jim?”

“I miss you,” Jim reiterated. “I never knew - I didn’t realize. I was so stupid, Harvey.”

Harvey just stared at him, seemingly lost for words, and Jim was going to beg. Was about to plead that Harvey ignore everything his brain was telling him and just give him another chance to prove his sincerity.

But there was a knock at the door, and then Marten was sticking her head around the door with a glare for him that said she knew everything.

“Gordon. Your girlfriend’s at the front desk waiting to speak to you.”

* * *

“I didn’t think we were doing this anymore,” Jim said as Sofia sipped at her latte. He had never called it off with anyone before, wasn’t sure how to go about it. If the public setting of the coffee shop around the corner from the precinct was a faux pas, or if he should be bracing himself for a slap across the face.

“Why not?” Sofia asked, pretty face pulling into a frown, “We’re just having fun, Jim. It’s not like I’m about to ask you to walk up the aisle.”

Jim looked away, struggling to come up with the words that would explain without making her hate him.

“Oh,” she smirked, “so that’s how it is? What’s her name then?” At his silence the smirk only grew wider. “His name?”

His expression must have said it all.

They parted on good terms, or at least they seemed to, and he got back to find the precinct in pandemonium because they had made an arrest, and this time it seemed like they might actually get a confession.

He stood in the observation space of interrogation room two, watching intently as Harvey asked questions.

“He didn’t do it,” Jim said after a few minutes, shaking his head. “Look, there, he’s got no idea what Harvey’s talking about.”

“Or he’s a good actor,” Tuttle shot back. “We’ve got three dead officers, Gordon.”

“And if we waste time with the wrong guy we could end up with four.”

Tuttle didn’t have a comeback.

He went straight to Harvey as soon as he was out of the interview, but Harvey was already on the same wavelength.

“I know,” he sighed, “it wasn’t him.”

They fell into step with each other, force of habit too strong to do otherwise, bouncing ideas and talking shop all the way up to the balcony and Harvey’s office. Kept it up for the next three hours, the only interruptions the ringing of the telephones and Harvey’s coughing.

Jim handed him the medicine bottle when he started up afresh, finally looking up from the timeline they had been working on,

“You’ve gotta take a day off or something. You sound awful.”

“What do you care, Jim? Are you going to come around and nurse me?”

And just like that they were where they had left off earlier, Harvey demanding explanations and him clueless as to where to start.

“Sofia and I, it’s over. I finished it.”

“Yeah? So now you’re looking for a substitute for your right hand again.”

The words might have been okay, a return to their usual banter, but the tone was anything but. It was all wrong, all frustration and pent up resentment, and Jim stood by helpless as Harvey coughed and struggled for breath, done in by the outburst and the energy it had drained out of him.

“I want you. I want a chance to show you how it could be, if - if you forgave me.”

He wished they weren’t still at the station. Wished that they were in the privacy of Harvey’s apartment, surrounded by familiar sights and smells, where he could curl up close with Harvey and let the intimacy start to heal the rift between them.

“I can’t do this now,” was what he actually got. “I just can’t. When this is over, when we’ve got the scumbag in custody. Then we can talk about it.”

If that wasn’t incentive to give the investigation his full attention, Jim didn’t know what was.

* * *

Another Monday morning, another dead police officer.

It was a traffic officer this time, a fresh faced rookie barely out of the academy, and Harvey almost broke down at the press conference, because he had come straight from telling the kid’s parents.

Jim watched him, heart aching, then holed himself down in the quiet of the records' room, spreading everything out around him and going right back to the very beginning.

Yardley’s death was the messiest, almost opportunistic in some ways, given the timeline of where she had been and where she was going. Jim frowned at the scene of crime photographs and got out his tape measure. Took the lot over to Yardley’s apartment and set up a recreation, trying to work out what it was that was bothering him.

It was the length of the rope, he decided eventually. Yardley’s feet were brushing the floor, but Yardley had been capable and competent. Would have known how much more difficult it would be - how much longer it would take. It was no wonder the officers on the scene had marked it up as suspicious from the off.

Why, though, that was what Jim was struggling with. The killer must have known it too, and it seemed a dumb risk to take. Unless, they wanted it to be seen as murder, he supposed.

Unless they couldn’t get Yardley’s dead weight far enough off the ground to make it look as though she had actually needed the chair found kicked aside.

The other murders had all been at bridges, over the sides of buildings, railings - nothing that required much heavy lifting beyond the up and over. He drew up a new profile of the killer. Threw out the media speculation about India Hill freaks - it wasn’t Oswald’s style - and burly mystery men, and went back instead to an early witness statement about a woman seen in the street outside Yardley’s apartment building.

It could be a woman. There was no real reason why the investigation hadn’t already gone there, not beyond their own blinkers, and if he was right about the rope then perhaps they should have been looking in that direction long ago.

He got Alvarez working on the new line of enquiry with him, sent out a couple of unis to pick up some CCTV tapes, then reeled back in shock in the video suite, not wanting to believe what he was seeing.

“Go get the Captain,” he told the technician, his blood running to ice as he moved the tape on, frame by frame. It was, it had to be, and when the technician came back with Alvarez to tell him that Harvey was out - wasn’t answering his cell or his radio - he had to cling to the back of a chair just to stay upright.

“What is it with you, Gordon?” Alvarez yelled at him twenty minutes later, as they followed Harvey’s trail down to a pharmacy located in one of the rougher areas of the city, but the nearest from the location of his last meeting. “You hit first base with a chick and they start going crazy. By the time you’ve made a home run they’re only good for the asylum.”

“Shut up,” Jim warned, but it lacked real bite. Harvey was missing, his latest ex was a murderer, and it was looking all too likely that the two things were related.

In the end it was Harvey’s coughing that saved him. His desperate hacking caught his attention, lead him down the right alley, and up the right stairwell. Into the right abandoned apartment, even, some horrid little dive in the middle of The Narrows, and Sofia smiled at him sweetly when he entered and told him it was fitting for a man to die in the place he had been born in.

Jim looked around the place with new eyes, contrasting it mentally with the neatly clipped lawns and white picket fence of his own childhood memories, then trained the gun on her steadily, as though he wasn’t so afraid he felt sick with it.

“Let him go,” he tried reasonably. “Let him walk out of here and I won’t need to shoot you.”

She tilted her head to the side, as though she were thinking about it. “No.”

Harvey started coughing again, powerless to stop it, and Jim shifted his grip on the gun because Sofia already had the rope knotted around his neck, and it was clear his partner could scarcely get a decent breath in anyway. She pulled it tighter, so that it dug into the flesh of Harvey’s throat, deeper, and deeper, and though he fired a shot, she dodged and made a run for it, knowing that he was never going to chase when Harvey needed him.

He dropped the gun like he had never even been through basic training. Tugged frantically at the knots in the rope, then pulled the penknife from his pocket and started cutting. Harvey was looking at him in panic, was gasping and choking, and Jim couldn’t breathe either, couldn’t think for the fear, and then - then - Harvey was falling forward into his arms and he was clinging to him too tight, not caring what any of the others thought as they finally burst through the door as backup.

* * *

“Did you ask about that cough?”

“Hello, Harvey, how are you? I’m fine, Jim, thanks for asking.”

Jim ducked his head, contrite, but pulled the chair closer to the bed before sitting down, all the same. Harvey breathed heavily and sank back against the pillow.

“Stress, that’s what they’re saying. I ought to try taking it easy.”

“It couldn’t do any harm,” Jim offered, daring to reach out and take one of Harvey’s hands in his own. When the other man didn’t pull away, he stroked his thumb along the skin, like the simple motion could convey to Harvey how desperately happy he was to be touching Harvey. How terrified he had been that he would never get the chance again.

He looked up to find Harvey watching him closely, gaze soft, so that Jim had to swallow thickly and try to focus on something else. Something that wasn’t the mottled bruising around Harvey’s throat either.

“She’s Interpol’s problem now,” he said, because Sofia had skipped town already, and they had contacts they could lean upon when they needed to, “the department will get by without you.”

Harvey blinked up at the ceiling, throat working with the effort of holding back emotion, and Jim just couldn’t take it. He brought Harvey’s hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and then cradled it between both his own.

“I’ve never been so afraid,” he managed finally, his own throat aching with the honesty, “you need to take care of yourself. I can’t lose you, Harvey. Not again.”

“You never lost me, Jim,” Harvey said, voice scratched up and eyes shut like it would make it easier, “you just wanted more than I could offer you.”

That had never been it at all. He hadn’t known it was on offer - had never consciously thought about what he would do if it was. Not until Harvey was telling him to keep his distance, and then it was all he could think about. All he wanted, really, and he pressed another kiss to Harvey’s hand, in a bid to keep his composure.

“Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t think I wanted more,” Harvey warned, seeing through him just as effortlessly as ever. “I was cooking your dinner and ironing your goddamn shirts. I took you to meet my family. I told you I loved you and you said it back to me. You said it back to me, Jim.”

His voice cracked at that, the sound tearing at Jim’s heart. It was true, it was all true, because he had been accepting Harvey’s love as a friend and a brother. Had been affirming it in turn as a partner and a soul mate. The only thing lacking had been the connection in his own head as to what it really meant, what every instinctive action he made around Harvey was trying to tell him.

“Don’t cry,” Jim croaked, not able to obey his own command, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Harvey.”

Harvey let him press close. Let him bury his head in his chest, the tears refusing to dry up, and tentatively put a hand in his hair. Squeezed the other one, still tangled with his own, and sighed, voice little more than a whisper.

“God help me because I can’t help myself. We both know I can’t say no to you, Jim.”

Jim just clung closer, too far gone to speak.

He only hoped he could prove to Harvey, somehow, that he had made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	115. Chapter 115

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The domestic curtain!fic sequel to the last chapter. :)

Harvey hadn’t wanted Jim to drive him home. Had refused all his offers of assistance, turned down his suggestion that he try and sweet talk Tuttle into letting him take a day off to be with him, and Jim got the impression that he wasn’t particularly keen on even the dinner date he had finally agreed to.

Dinner date was stretching it really, Jim knew, shifting the boxes from Harvey’s favorite pizza place just enough to allow him to knock at his door. He would have been willing to go anywhere, do anything, desperate to prove to Harvey exactly how seriously he was taking this second chance. Harvey had shut down the suggestion though, something strained in his tone that made Jim hesitant to push his luck, so that left him standing in the hallway with cheap take out and a bunch of flowers, feeling like an idiot.

The flowers had seemed a good idea when he was buying them. Had seemed to him like the kind of gesture his father might have made, childhood memories of his mother’s face lighting up after a long day spurring him into action. Now he wasn’t at all convinced of the wisdom of the decision, not when Harvey pulled the door open and swept a wary gaze over them.

Harvey might be insulted by it, he thought belatedly, panic rising as he waited for Harvey to say something.

Anything.

“They were my mom’s favorites,” he said finally, taking the offering from Jim’s sweaty palm, and Jim had to clear his throat before he could manage,

“I know.”

He did. He remembered everything Harvey had ever told him about his mother, stashed away in his head alongside his own memories of his father. Special moments it meant a lot to share with anyone, lest they get mangled up beyond recognition.

Harvey nodded, coming to a silent decision, and Jim was relieved when he went to go and put them in water so he could have a moment or two to compose himself. He hadn’t been in Harvey’s apartment for weeks, not since the awful night he had brought a holdall to pick up a few shirts, and left weighed down with four cardboard boxes full of stuff because he had been too stupid to see that he had all but moved in with his partner.

Had taken for granted everything Harvey had done for him, and now he looked about at all the small changes - the gaps on the shelves where his books had been, and the empty spaces on the sideboard, where all the hard liquor Jim had been encouraging Harvey not to drink had resided.

“So, how did you all manage to get through the day without me?” Harvey asked when he returned from the kitchen, handing him a beer, and it was a relief even as it was a disappointment, to talk about work and eat pizza.

A relief because at least Harvey was talking to him. A disappointment because he wanted so much more.

“Can I - do you want me to stay?” He asked when it started getting late, his fingers itching to reach out for Harvey. To stroke through his hair and caress his jaw as they kissed, soft and slow and comfortable until both of them needed more.

Harvey’s gaze fell to his lips for a moment, lingered so that Jim’s pulse quickened with the implication. Then Harvey shook his head and made a show of clearing empty bottles.

“Maybe some other time,” Harvey told him, all false cheer, and Jim pressed a solitary kiss to the older man’s cheek before he left for the cold dark of his own apartment.

He couldn’t expect the rift between them to be mended overnight.

Things continued in the same vein all through Harvey’s short mandated sick leave, and right on in to Harvey’s return to the department. Because everything would be wonderful one minute, the two of them laughing and joking and lost in each other, and the next it would be as though Harvey had remembered what had happened, and how he was going to ensure it didn’t happen again.

He was aloof in a way he had never been with Jim before. Kept his guard up, maintained distance, and Jim wished he knew the right things to do and the right things to say to convince Harvey that he didn’t need to worry about getting hurt again.

It didn’t help that the funerals were finally being scheduled, Harvey agonizing every spare moment he had over what he should say, and how the families were likely to take it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jim said one evening, finding Harvey still in his office long past finishing time, crumpled up balls of paper filling the waste paper basket. “You have to stop blaming yourself.”

“Of course it’s my fault!” Harvey snapped back, the force of it startling. “They were under my command. I should have seen -” He cut himself off, as though he were afraid to say too much, and Jim didn’t care who was loitering out on the balcony. Reached out to push Harvey’s unruly hair back behind his ear and encouraged,

“Should have seen what?”

Harvey closed his eyes. Leaned into his touch, just slightly, so that his heart clenched up in his chest, the pain of it unbearable when Harvey gave in and confessed quietly,

“I knew she was dangerous - what she was capable of. But I didn’t even think to look at her any closer because I was too hung up on how I felt about you.”

“How were you supposed to know -” Jim started because he hadn’t known. He had spent time with Sofia, had been to bed with Sofia, and not once had the thought crossed his mind. He knew her past, knew full well what it meant, but nothing she had ever done had sounded alarm bells.

“You mess with my head, Jim. You make me lose what little sense I was born with. It scares me.”

Jim didn’t have an answer for it. Stuttered out a helpless apology, and ended up back at his too quiet apartment, angry with himself for not doing better. He should have said something reassuring. Should have done something other than sit there, silent, until Harvey claimed he had work that still needed doing.

He scrubbed his hands over his face. Tugged at his hair like it would help him make sense of the situation. He wondered, miserably, if this was how Harvey had felt when it was he blaming himself for impossible situations, and Harvey watching on with no clue how to help him.

Except that wasn’t true at all. Harvey always knew what to do. Simply sat with him and kept him company, quiet and unobtrusive, or pulled him close and let him sob into his shoulder, the way he never could with anyone else.

He jolted to his feet, nervous energy making his movements awkward. That was what he should be doing, where he should be, and he could barely keep still as he waited for Harvey to answer the door. He banged at it again, desperate, and then Harvey was stood in front of him, obviously dragged from his bed, stripped down to nothing but a t-shirt and his boxers.

Jim swallowed thickly at the sight. Acted on pure instinct and surged forward, one hand sliding into Harvey’s hair as he kissed him with all the passion he had spent the last couple of weeks carefully withholding. Harvey kissed him back, gave every bit as good as he got, and somehow the door was kicked shut behind him, even as his other hand came up to frame Harvey’s face.

He was shaking by the time he broke away enough to press their foreheads together, overwhelmed and overawed.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harvey. Not unless you want me to. Even then you’re still going to be here,” he grabbed for Harvey’s hand, placing it over his own frantic heartbeat. “I love you.”

“I never thought you would be like this,” Harvey said, kind of waterlogged, and before Jim could start worrying he gave him an unsteady smile, “flowers and love declarations. You know I’m too much of a sap to stand it.”

There were tears in Harvey’s eyes, for all that he tried to blink them into submission, and Jim could only respond with a watery smile of his own. Could only kiss him all over again, lest his own sentimentality get the better of him. When they fell into bed it was even better than he remembered, the emotional all mixed up with physical, and if the ‘I love you’ Harvey crooned in his ear had him swiping hastily at his own cheeks, it didn’t matter.

Harvey wasn’t going to judge him harshly for it.

Instead he only held him tighter, touched him more tenderly, and it wasn’t that a couple of orgasms - awesome though they might have been - changed the world and flipped everything up the right way again. It just confirmed that they both wanted the same thing. Re-established their commitment to working towards it.

Because in place of shutting him out, Harvey started inviting him in. Asked for his help with the eulogies that were keeping him awake at night, and didn’t shrug off the supporting hand Jim put on his shoulder, nor the soft kiss he pressed to his temple before he had to put his uniform cap on and go face the music.

In turn Jim began to quit second guessing his every thought and action, and started trusting Harvey to simply tell him if he didn’t like something. If he was moving too fast, or being too overbearing, and it surprised him, legitimately, when Harvey assured him that he had no issue with it.

“You were just so casual about everything before, well before,” Jim reasoned, the twinge of guilt still there but soothed into something manageable by the press of Harvey’s thigh against his own, “I don’t want to come on too strong.”

Harvey put his food down on the coffee table. Divested Jim of his own plate too, so that a thrill of pleasurable anticipation went up Jim’s spine, and said honestly,

“I was trying not to scare you off. Not to put any pressure on you. If you want to write poetry and sing love songs, I’m not going to stop you.” Harvey grinned, mischievously, “I can’t promise I won’t laugh at you, but I won’t stop you.”

Jim grinned back, happy and comfortable, and when he attempted to pull Harvey in for a kiss the other man went willingly, moving to straddle his lap and press him back into the cushions of the sofa. It always did it for him, never failed to get him going, and Jim clutched eagerly at Harvey’s back, wanting him still closer.

He groaned when Harvey obliged - pinned him in place and kissed up the side of his neck, so that he arched into it and made all kinds of embarrassing noises as Harvey hit all the spots that drove him wild.

They trailed clothing all the way to the bedroom, and lay contentedly together later, his head pillowed on Harvey’s chest, and Harvey asking him if it had inspired his inner Byron.

“I could go off you,” Jim warned, words half muffled into Harvey skin.

“Could you?”

Jim groped blindly for Harvey’s hand, recognizing the uncertainty in the older man’s tone, even beneath the bluster.

“No, of course I couldn’t.”

To prove it he took Harvey to meet his mother, though it was awkward and stilted, because he wanted Harvey to understand that there was no part of his life he didn’t want Harvey to be a part of. She didn’t approve, did a poor job of hiding it, and Jim couldn’t help but think of the time they spent with Harvey’s family, and how even after he had confessed that it had all been his fault, that Harvey had never driven the wedge between them, all Harvey’s favorite cousins followed his example and forgave him.

“She’ll have to get used to it,” Jim offered up, wishing it didn’t sting so much, and Harvey did his best to kiss it better, thanking him for the invite as though it hadn’t been a dismally depressing experience.

“I’m here to share it all with you,” Harvey explained when Jim said just that, “the good and the bad. We’re a team, Jim, partners. I’ve got your back, always.”

Jim didn’t have the words to do his own feelings justice, and settled for kissing instead, and gazing into Harvey’s eyes, drunk on the way it made his skin tingle and his head spin.

It put ideas in his head, turned his silly daydreams into concrete plans, and as the lease on his apartment came up for renewal he took the plunge and asked Harvey how he’d feel about living together.

“I know, I know,” he interrupted before Harvey could point out the obvious, “I practically live here anyway. But I want to do it properly. We should get somewhere bigger. Nicer. With neighbors who don’t threaten to murder each other.”

“That happens everywhere,” Harvey said easily, “out in the suburbs it’s just harder to hear them.”

At the longsuffering look on Jim’s face he only smiled wider.

“I’ll follow you wherever you want to go. Especially if it’s got a working elevator.”

Just like that they were actively looking for somewhere. Trawled through adverts whenever their lunch breaks coincided, and managed to free up a whole afternoon to actually go and see the places in person. He couldn’t keep the goofy grin off his face watching Harvey start to get into the spirit of the thing, couldn’t help picturing sickly sweet futures with pets and kids and home improvement projects.

A couple of weeks later he was stood in another hallway, precariously balancing pizza boxes and flowers in one arm, while he fished his keys from his pocket with his free hand. Harvey was already there, had been clever enough not to get roped into an evening public engagement meeting, and Jim pressed a kiss to his cheek in greeting and told him frankly that he had paint on his nose.

He ended up with paint on his own nose, as well as in his hair and smeared across his cheek, the pair of them sat on the floor with their backs against the bulk of the dust sheet covered sofa.

“I still say the other one was better,” Harvey said, chewing pizza and motioning at the wall with his beer bottle.

“That’s because it’s still wet,” Jim shot back, because half a shade made a world of difference, “see, over there. You can’t tell me that’s not a color worth staring at.”

“I can’t believe we’re sat here watching paint dry,” Harvey deadpanned, like he wasn’t struggling to hold back a smile, and Jim just plucked the food from his hand and dropped it into the box, pushing it further across the bare floorboards.

“It’ll still dry, even if we’re not watching it.”

“Is that so?”

“Maybe,” Jim breathed, blood heating up at the hungry look Harvey was giving him and so stupidly happy to be free to act on it, “I guess we’ll just have to test the theory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	116. Chapter 116

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr - 'Harvey comes home and finds Jim wrapped under the Christmas Tree waiting to be unwrapped.'

Last Christmas he had worn his heart on his sleeve. He had agonized for hours over what to buy Jim, the perfect moment to gift it to him, and his face had ached with the stupid smile he couldn’t shift, when Jim agreed to accompany him to the traditional Bullock family Christmas get together.

Jim had charmed them all with his big blue eyes and his boy scout smile, and his favorite cousin raised an inquiring eyebrow when Jim sat so close as to be almost in his lap, because space was kind of at a premium. Jim had hugged him, even, as the snow drifted around them both outside his apartment building and, though they didn’t actually kiss, Harvey fell into his own bed with the almost certainty that things were headed that way.

Last Christmas he had been a fool, basically, because he had allowed himself to get his hopes up.

He had dared to dream of how things might be twelve months in the future, imagining a world in which he would wake up on Christmas morning with Jim in his arms, the two of them so sickeningly in love with each other he feared his teeth might rot with the sugary sentimentality of the situation.

The truth was that it was barely New Year before Jim began disappearing on dates with some new unsuitable woman, and he was left attempting to hide the hurt and the humiliation, unable to believe he had ever been such an idiot.

Jim wasn’t interested, was never going to be interested, and this year Harvey pledged that he wasn’t going to let his pathetic pining for Jim break his heart all over again.

She was out of the picture, at least, nothing but a bad memory and a few additions to the scars littering Jim’s body. Jim always went for the kind of woman who ended up wanting to murder him.

Literally.

Not that it mattered, Harvey reminded himself ruthlessly, and two weeks before Christmas his mood slipped still further because new additions to the Bullock clan necessitated the regular family gathering being held outside the city. He was invited, of course, but he was working Christmas Day - just the same as he always did - and by the time he finished there would be no hope of getting out there before everyone had succumbed to a food coma.

“You don’t have to work it,” Tuttle pointed out, “you’re in charge now.”

He was, he supposed, now that the promotion to Captain was finally official. But it didn’t seem right, wasn’t the kind of guy he was, and he fell back on the justification he used every year. It was a big deal for those with kiddies and responsibilities. For him it was just another shift to get through.

Jim put his name down for the day too, on the same basis, and Harvey sighed at the sight of it. He wanted Jim to be happy. He wanted Jim to have the white picket fence and the rosy cheeked children. The picture perfect Christmas tree with all the trimmings, and the playful snowball fight out in the yard, the type everyone seemed to indulge in on television.

Instead all he got was a vicious pelting by a bunch of teenagers while out following up leads in The Narrows, and Harvey did his best not to watch him change into a clean shirt when they got back to the station. He pulled a dry pair of socks from his own locker, his shoes not up to dealing with the winter slush, and when he looked up it was to find Jim watching him, shoulders all tense like he was was bracing himself for something.

“Are you free tonight?” Jim asked finally, and the part of his head that didn’t want to regress to the level of teenage crush every time Jim glanced in his direction warned him to play it cool. The other part, the part that had nothing planned but TV and take out and pitifully imagining how much better it would be if Jim were sharing it with him, had him sounding breathless and overeager as he assured Jim that he was available for whatever he might be needed for.

He had expected unofficial overtime, or perhaps an evening of staring at some televised sport or other, as a front for providing Jim with a shoulder to cry on. What he got was Jim fishing two tickets to a carol concert from his pocket, and explaining that he hadn’t been able to get out of buying them.

“I figure it would be something to do,” Jim finished, awkward, and Harvey couldn’t help but be suspicious. There was probably some new potential girlfriend waiting in the wings, the kind who sold charity concert tickets and seemed perfectly sweet and innocent until they had the blade of a knife against Jim’s throat.

When they got to the church it was a little old lady who greeted Jim however, clasping his hand and thanking him for showing an interest. She did the same to him when Jim made the introductions, and made such a fuss over him when she learned that he was the very same GCPD Captain who had been on the evening news three days previously that Harvey couldn’t quit blushing.

It didn’t help that he and Jim were ushered into a narrow pew pressed up tight against each other. So tight he could feel Jim’s body heat and smell his cologne mixing with the wool of his overcoat. Jim shot him a bashful little smile when they were encouraged to push still closer, and he spent the next couple of hours in an ecstasy of agony, hyper aware of every tiny movement Jim made.

They went for drinks afterwards, and somehow Jim ended up at his place, sleeping beneath a blanket on his sofa. Harvey simply stood and watched him for longer than he could ever explain away, heart twisted into knots in his chest because it was like last year had taught him nothing.

There was no getting over Jim Gordon.

It was less than a week to Christmas when Jim asked him whether or not he was going to make any concessions to the holiday season. They were eating pizza at his apartment, matching bottles of beer on the coffee table, and Harvey blustered through some excuse that did little to hide the fact he was too depressed to bother.

He usually bought a tree. Typically stuck tinsel and tacky decorations up all over, and had a complicated system of displaying Christmas cards according to his feelings about their sender. Jim’s always got pride of place on the sideboard. Just the thought of that got him still more maudlin, because Jim hadn’t even given him a card this year - took his complaints about the waste and the rainforests at face value - and it had finally hit him that this was how it was always going to be.

There was no marriage on the horizon. No kids and no pets and not even a casual hook-up. There was just him, growing older and more lonely, and he dropped the rest of the food he had been eating back into the box.

Suddenly he wasn’t hungry.

Three days to Christmas and some jackass decided to stage a bank robbery. While they were still dealing with the fallout there was a breakout from Blackgate and a bomb scare in the central shopping district. The annual department children’s Christmas party in the middle of it all, complete with Tuttle as the world’s least jolly Santa, and by the time it was done he was glad he had turned his back on seasonal sentiment.

He was just working on his shirt buttons, beyond ready for the day to really be over, when a knocking at his door revealed Jim standing on the threshold.

Jim standing there with a scraggly looking tree, no less, and a couple of packs of cheap baubles.

“I thought you could use cheering up,” Jim said, too earnest for him to get mad at, and all his good intentions went out of the window.

He had been head over heels in love with Jim last year, and all the intervening months had done was make him fall harder and deeper. This time next year it would be the same, and the year after, and doubtless the year after that. He was going to wish and want for the rest of his life, probably, and in that moment he couldn’t even find the will to care because Jim was smiling up at him.

Because Jim had done all of this for him, to make him happy, and he let the radio play all the Christmas hits he had been pretending to be sick of, watching on fondly as Jim rooted through the box of decorations he kept in his own closet. The careful way he handled the flaking ornaments given him by the children of cousins, and the way he understood without being told the significance of the battered old trinkets which had been favorites of his mother.

Jim claimed the sofa again, rather than brave the cold, and Harvey lay awake for a long time, wondering if Jim had any idea how much he really meant to him.

Christmas Eve dawned cold and gray and Harvey came to the conclusion that it was probably for the best that Jim remained oblivious. He didn’t want to make things strained and awkward between them. Couldn’t bear it if Jim started trying to avoid him, or began to refuse his hospitality.

As it was he made breakfast while he trusted Jim to brew the coffee, and it made his heart flutter, the entire scenario too close to one of his misguided fantasies.

They met up again for lunch, snagging their usual booth at a diner not far from the precinct, and Jim pulled a slightly crumpled envelope from his inside pocket.

“I keep forgetting to give you this,” Jim said, focus on the menu as though they hadn’t been coming here regularly for four years now.

It was a Christmas card. The Christmas card he had been sure Jim wasn’t going to send him, with a generically festive scene on the front and Jim’s familiar handwriting, proclaiming him to be the best friend he had ever had. Harvey pulled him into a hug, uncaring how little space there was. Planted a kiss on Jim’s cheek and told him, frankly, that the sentiment was returned a hundred times over.

Jim flushed up, but carried on smiling, and Harvey’s throat clogged with emotion, determined to be content with what he had. If he couldn’t stop wanting Jim, if he couldn’t let go of the infatuation, then all he could do was channel it into being the best friend to Jim he possibly could. If he couldn’t help feeling jealous, if he couldn’t stop being selfish, then the least he could do was ensure that Jim never realized it.

The next day he handed out impersonal token gifts to everyone on duty, and tried not to let his gaze linger on Jim, and the way he ran his fingers over the fabric of the tie he had just known would bring the blue of Jim’s eyes out beautifully.

He sent them all home a little early, enough of the crossover shift already in place for them to go and have their Christmas dinner and see their families. It hurt, just a little, that Jim didn’t even offer to stay behind, but he forced the feeling down. Jim wasn’t close to his family, maybe, but he might want to go home and ring them. Had made plans to meet up with friends, perhaps, or there could be some pretty young thing just waiting for him to be free of the need to protect and serve for a few hours.

If he was the kind of friend to Jim he really wanted to be he would be satisfied with the knowledge that it was none of his business, no matter what Jim was rushing off to do, and he buried himself in his paperwork. Busied himself with any and every pointless task he could get his hands on, and only left for the day when the desk sergeant assured him for the fourth time that they had everything under control.

He got the message.

They weren’t expecting his presence tomorrow at least, reward for working the weeks up to and including Christmas, and he trudged up the stairs of his apartment building wondering how many police captains were stuck living in places with elevators that were never in order.

When he opened the door he simply stared for a moment. He hadn’t left the fairy lights on - he had attended the scene of more than enough accidental dwelling fires - but they were twinkling away now, like something off the front of a Christmas card. That was nothing though, nothing at all, not in comparison to the figure bundled in the throw from the back of the sofa.

Jim must have grown bored of waiting. Had, for some reason had decided the floor was more comfortable than the couch, curling up with a cushion and a blanket at the foot of the tree like the best Christmas present anybody could wish for. His skin looked kind of golden in the light, soft and warm and inviting, and it was about then Harvey realized that there seemed to be an awful lot of it on display, Jim’s bare arm leading up to an equally bare shoulder.

Before he really had chance to think about what he was doing, he was crouched beside Jim, his fingers trailing up the length of his arm until he regained some semblance of reason and gently put a hand to Jim’s shoulder. Watched as Jim blinked himself back to awareness, a smile curling across his face like he was just as happy to see him as he always was to clap eyes on Jim.

“If you were that tired you could have crashed in my bed, I wouldn’t have minded,” Harvey started. Kind of meandered halfway through, voice distant and strangled, because Jim sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist to show that he really was bare chested beneath it. To reveal the tie he had given him earlier wound around one wrist, set off in a crumpled but competent looking bow.

He was dreaming, probably. Had fallen asleep at his desk back at the precinct, his mind going straight to the one gift Jim just couldn’t give him. Except Jim was looking at him nervously, expectantly, and when the words just refused to come it was Jim who broke the silence.

Jim who tried to tug the blanket up around him, cheeks flushing as he stuttered apologies, and Harvey finally caught up with what was happening. Finally managed to co-ordinate his limbs into action, so that he was cupping Jim’s face in his hands, on his knees as he kissed him with the breathy tenderness of someone who still couldn’t quite believe this was reality.

It was overwhelming, better even than he had imagined, because Jim was kissing him back insistently, shifting closer so that it became clear he was wearing nothing but the tie and his boxer shorts. Until it became obvious that kissing wasn’t going to be enough, not for either of them, and it was all he could do to pull himself to his feet and hold out a helping hand to Jim.

To stumble through to his bedroom, his hands stroking down Jim’s flank to rest at his hips, lips latching onto a sensitive spot on Jim’s neck that had him making helpless breathy noises.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Jim was panting, moaning as the fingers in his hair tangled tighter, encouraging him to continue, “I kept trying but I’m no good at it.”

Harvey captured his mouth again. Kissed him until Jim started tearing at his shirt buttons, no finesse but plenty of eagerness, and Harvey was doing his best to help, movements clumsy as he kicked off his shoes and tugged at his belt buckle. He tried to calm it down when they fell into bed, sucked in deep breaths and concentrated on not losing himself to Jim’s enthusiasm.

He wanted to touch Jim, taste him. Tease him until he was a trembling mess, and then maybe give him just enough of a breather that he could do it all over again.

Jim had other ideas, was beyond done with being patient, and though Harvey had aspirations to withstanding the onslaught, he was only human. Jim’s hand was too hot, his mouth too perfect, and it took everything Harvey had simply to give as good as he got.

“We can take it slow next time,” Jim whined finally, squirming up into his grip and answering any questions he may have had about whether or not Jim intended on going anywhere, “we’ve got all day tomorrow. Right now, I just need - I just want -”

Jim’s hand clamped tight around his own wrist, guiding, and Harvey watched on helpless at the way Jim gasped and writhed and threw his head back, mouth hanging open. He came off himself without much further stimulation, kissing Jim messily as his pulse raced and Jim clung to him, legs twitching like his body wasn’t convinced it couldn’t go again.

He slumped next to Jim, heavy and sated, and it was only when Jim shifted a little that he noticed that the tie was still bound around his wrist.

“I don’t know how you ever plan on topping this,” Harvey murmured even as he carefully pulled it free. “This has to be the best present I’ve ever had.”

He was grinning like an idiot, couldn’t do a damn thing about it, but Jim was beaming right back.

“Is that a challenge?”

Harvey just curled a hand around the back of Jim’s neck and kissed him again, his other arm pulling him still closer, so he could whisper truths to Jim that he wasn’t sure he could manage any louder.

There wouldn’t be much point in setting one - if Jim was serious about this, if this was for the long haul, then Jim had already given him everything he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one also has a [companion piece from Jim's POV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27603360).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	117. Chapter 117

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey made a promise to get Jim back, now he's got to fulfil it.

“Shhh, go back to sleep.”

The words were quiet and comforting, the accompanying kiss to his forehead tender and reassuring. Jim forced his eyes open anyway because it was Sunday morning, neither of them were scheduled to be working, and on such occasions Harvey was usually dead to the world until Jim gave him no choice but to get out of bed and do something productive.

“What is it?” He asked, worried, because Harvey was actually getting dressed. In shirt and tie, no less, though outside the sky was a dark wintry gray and the rain was lashing against the windows. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harvey assured, knotting his tie in the mirror, “I’ve just got to go out for a little while.”

Jim sat up at that, shivering as cold air replaced the warm cocoon of the blankets. Winced as the movement pulled at the stitches in his side and stomach, his bruised and aching limbs protesting the decision. Harvey was just as bad, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed and encourage him to lie down again.

Usually Jim wouldn’t begrudge the precinct Harvey’s presence, not even on a rare day off. It had been a long week though. A really long week, complete with press conferences, and hospital visits, and - for him, at least - almost 72 hours spent tied up in a dank cellar, beaten and gagged and terrified that he was never going to see Harvey’s face again.

“You’re going to think me stupid,” Harvey said with a sigh, taking one of Jim’s hands in his own, “I made a promise I’ve got to keep.”

Jim’s stomach churned, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Harvey had been desperate to find him, he knew. Would have done just about anything to get him back safely, because Jim would have done exactly the same, had their situations been reversed. Now Harvey was going to suffer because of it. Owed some favor or other, and was going to put his career on the line - himself at risk - in order to fulfil it.

“I want to go with you,” Jim stated solemnly. “Please, Harvey.”

He wouldn’t be much use, maybe, in the state he was in. He could still call for back-up if they needed it though. Could still point and shoot a gun if Harvey was in danger.

“Oh, Jim,” Harvey whispered, his free hand reaching up to cup Jim’s face, his touch reverent as he leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“I don’t care. You got into this because of me. I won’t let you face it alone. You’re -” He swallowed thickly, having to take a moment to compose himself, “you’re all I thought about down there. You’re all I wanted.”

Harvey pressed their foreheads together, the hand at his cheek stealing around to the back of his head, fingers stroking through his short hair. The sensation made his skin tingle, warmth suffusing through him from both the heat of Harvey’s hand and the certainty that everything he felt for Harvey was returned in equal measure.

“I was so scared,” Harvey confessed, seeming to confirm all Jim’s worst fears, “I was frantic, Jim; desperate.” He pulled back a little, their gaze remaining locked and their hands linked. “I just -”

“Go on,” Jim managed, squeezing at Harvey’s hand. Whatever it was, they would find a way to get through it. Whatever Harvey had had to do, they would find a solution together.

Harvey dropped his head, color flooding his cheeks as he finally came right out with it,

“I promised God that if He spared you I’d go to Mass, okay, and seeing as He held up His side of the bargain I’ve got about twenty minutes to get over to St. Michael’s.”

The relief was instant, the rush of fond adoration overwhelming. He loved the man in front of him so much, so very much, and if this was going to make him feel better about the nightmare they had just lived through then who was Jim to deride it?

Who was Jim to say it wasn't worth Harvey's while?

“I suppose you’re going to get extra brownie points then, for bringing along a heathen.”

Harvey kissed him in gratitude, soft and sweet but with the intensity of everything it represented just beneath the surface. Harvey helped him dress, and tied his shoelaces, and wound an arm around his waist to guide him into a pew because he really was in a lot of pain, though they both knew he was too stubborn to renege on the idea.

He wanted to be there anyway - legitimately - because it meant a lot to Harvey, and to him Harvey meant everything. It was boring, long-winded, uncomfortable, but it wasn’t in a filthy cellar, and he had Harvey’s solid warmth beside him, the scent of his cologne and the sound of his voice things Jim had pledged never again to take for granted. He had lived through worse Sunday mornings, no question.

“Did you promise you’re going to go every week?” He asked when it was done, relying heavily on Harvey’s physical support to get out to the car, and Harvey just gave him a sheepish look.

“For a month or three, it was kind of a big favor to ask for.”

“You must really love me, huh?”

For once Harvey didn't wisecrack or bluster. Didn't even give him the long-suffering eyeroll. Instead he pressed a kiss into Jim's hair and said simply,

“Yeah, I really must do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	118. (Not A) Love Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the [commentfic prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/592034.html?thread=82682530#t82682530): _Gotham, Jim Gordon/Harvey Bullock, i don't know / what the fuck / true love even is / but i do want / to hang out with you / for basically the rest / of my life._.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't need to read them for this to make sense, but this kind of serves as a sequel to the Fish/Harvey fics I've written - [Needs Must](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10140497) and [Too Much Is Never Enough](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11802105).

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Harvey asked, frowning, and Jim supposed that it was a fair question. He had so much to atone for, too much for even a man like Harvey to forgive, and he clarified what this apology was for specifically.

“Fish. I know what she meant to you.”

It had been weighing on his conscience since he took the antidote. Before then, even, because the virus only made it easier not to care. It didn’t erase the ability completely.

Harvey shook his head and took a long pull of his beer. Let the silence stretch for a long moment and then said,

“No, you don’t. You haven’t got the first idea.”

His stomach churned at that, the guilt and the shame almost completely overpowering. He had never meant to do it. He had never wanted to do it.

At least, that was what he wished he could say, but it wouldn’t be true.

Harvey deserved better than that.

“We were useful to each other,” Harvey said slowly. “We needed each other, maybe. It wasn’t the love story you’re imagining.”

“I’m still sorry.”

It wouldn’t bring her back. Would never make it right, no matter how many times he said it.

Harvey simply placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know, Jim.”

* * *

Jim thought back on the conversation after yet another showdown with Oswald at the Iceberg Lounge. It reminded him of the first time he had encountered the other man, disgusted at Fish’s attitude and furious at Harvey.

It had been obvious, even then, that there was something between the two of them. Something more than a little envelope to ensure Harvey looked the other way and, back in the present, he met Harvey at a bar not far from the precinct and drank and drank until he heard himself say,

“How did you meet her? What did she offer you?”

He didn’t know what they had actually been talking about. It wasn’t important, couldn’t have been, and though Harvey gave him an out by asking him what the hell he was on about, Jim was in too deep to quit now.

“On the job, where else?” was Harvey’s answer, “She liked control and I like to give it up. Do you want me to draw you a diagram?”

Jim ran his tongue over his lips. They tasted of whiskey.

“So you were fucking her?”

He didn’t swear much - his mother hadn’t liked it - but he didn’t know how else to phrase it, not when Harvey had already told him it had never been about flowers or romance.

“No.”

“You said it was about sex,” Jim countered, accused almost, because that was manageable. That meant he hadn’t done to Harvey the same thing he had done to Lee when he had pulled the trigger on Mario.

Harvey just sighed and drained the drink in front of him.

“There’s more to sex, Jim, than sticking your dick in someone.”

* * *

It played on his mind at night, alone in his bed, and it played on his mind in the day, whenever he allowed his thoughts to wander.

When he was working cases which took him to some of the city’s less salubrious establishments, and when Alvarez told off-color jokes in the car, or a brothel Madam smirked too knowingly and asked him to convey her regards to the acting police captain.

He couldn’t credit the idea at first, Harvey on his knees and begging to be punished. Harvey was too laid back. Too big and too broad and too bound up in Jim’s dreams of things that would never be.

“It’s not about the pain,” Harvey tried to explain when drink once again got the better of him, “it’s about being at somebody else’s mercy.”

Jim knew about both. He had been tied up and beaten. Tortured, even, on and on and on, and it was the loss of control that terrified him more than anything. Barbara had suggested it, before - well, before any of it. He hadn’t been able to then, when there was absolutely nothing to fear. He had freaked out and panicked, and she had rubbed at his back as he shook and shivered, caught up in the memories of car crashes and bombed out buildings.

“It’s not for everyone,” Harvey finished, shrugging, and it was that concept which haunted Jim’s every waking moment.

He had hurt people. All his life he had been doing it, though he never meant to.

Except for the times when he had, and he thought of Fish’s face all over again. Of Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin himself, labelling him a monster. Of Lee, the person he had once believed he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, calling him a virus.

Perhaps it would be a suitable punishment.

To be given what he most wanted, and to hate every moment of it.

* * *

“You’re not serious?” Harvey scoffed, dismissive, their knees so very close to touching on Harvey’s busted up old sofa. Then he turned to look at him, really look at him, and Harvey shook his head dumbly. “You’re not serious.”

“We need each other,” Jim stated quietly, thinking back to the discussion that had started it all, “it doesn’t have to be a love story.”

He wanted it to be, that went without saying. The things he really wanted were things that Harvey would laugh at. Everyone else had. The kisses and the hand holding and the promises of a forever that would bring more than suffering.

They could have been good for each other, in another life perhaps. He could have made Harvey happy, maybe, in the world that wasn’t.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Harvey pushed, blue gaze so intense Jim could hardly bear it.

“I’m asking if you want to.”

Harvey simply stared at him for long moments. Studied his face for something while his own heart hammered in his chest, the nervous tension building and building.

“All right,” Harvey said finally, sounding resigned rather than eager, “okay, Jim.”

He didn’t really know what he was doing. Had nothing to work off beyond the scenes he had witnessed in the line of duty, and the stories of dubious provenance he had been forced to listen to back in the army. He did his best, all the same, twisting his fingers too tight in Harvey’s hair and looking down at the bowed line of Harvey’s shoulders.

Afterwards he wanted to kiss Harvey. Wished he could hold him and be held in return, like real lovers. Fish would never have done that though, would never even have wanted to, and Jim folded his arms across his chest while Harvey redressed, to help fight the temptation.

* * *

Jim wasn’t sure if he got better at it - or if they both got better at pretending. Harvey sank to his knees willingly, either way, and obeyed his orders not to look and not to talk, and later acted as though none of it had ever actually happened.

He wondered if it had been the same with Fish. If she would have allowed Harvey to treat what they had done so casually.

If she would have cared at all, no matter what he did.

Jim struggled for indifference. Had to fight for apathy.

Clung to particular moments for when Harvey was gone - a hitch in his breathing, or the way he leaned into Jim’s touch, just for a second - to be relived as make believe.

“It’s all right,” Harvey had to assure one night, when Jim went too far and had to sit before his knees buckled. Had to clench his trembling fingers into fists, because the blood was welling too bright against Harvey’s pale skin, and he was sure he would be sick.

Was afraid he might cry, and then Harvey would never let him touch him at all.

“It’s not,” Jim managed in turn. “Nothing about this is right, Harvey.”

They didn’t make eye contact as he unbound Harvey’s wrists, nor as Harvey pulled his clothes on. They didn’t speak, and they didn’t make plans for a next time. They simply nodded in acknowledgement at the door.

Jim crawled into bed fully clothed when it was done, shivering with cold and exhaustion, and spent the night falling from one nightmare into another.

It was all his own fault.

It always was.

* * *

Harvey was the one to crack, to tell him they needed to talk about it, but Jim wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

He played dumb and changed the subject, over and over, until finally he had no choice but to acknowledge the issue when they got called out to a scene of submission gone horribly wrong.

“Stupidity,” the ME said snidely when asked the cause of death, before adding redundantly, “Asphyxiation.”

Jim glanced over the shackles and the collar, and froze when Harvey moved to stand beside him. They hadn’t gone that far, but that wasn’t the point. They could have - they might have - and suddenly he was pushing out of the room, retching like a fresh faced rookie.

The other party was easy enough to track down, a terrified roleplayer in place of a calculating murderer.

“I never meant to,” she repeated, face wet with helpless tears, and Jim thought of his own failures. Thought of the blood on his hands, and the blood on Harvey’s skin, and had to leave the rest of the interview to Alvarez because he just didn’t trust himself to keep it together.

“You’ve got to talk to me, Jim,” Harvey insisted that evening. Turned up on his doorstep and refused to go away until Jim quit prevaricating. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on up here.”

Harvey tapped two fingers to his temple. Made him sit, and looked into his face, so that Jim’s own gaze lingered on the other man’s lips. So that Jim fixated on the truth that they had never once kissed. Harvey’s mouth had been everywhere but his lips.

“You would never have gone that far,” Harvey said, as though it were comforting, “not even if you wanted to.”

Jim flinched and looked away.

“Did you want to, Jim? Is that what the problem is?”

There was no accusation in Harvey’s tone. No disgust and no fear. It made him feel worse, somehow, to know that even Harvey believed him capable of it. He got up in search of a drink. Sloshed it into a glass with hands that weren’t steady, then tipped it back in a single swallow.

He should have foregone the glass, he thought distantly.

“Did you want me to?”

He drank straight from the bottle this time, the burn of it more satisfying than it had any right to be.

“Of course not.”

That, at least, was something.

* * *

His own breaking point came not long later. A few more weeks of pretending - too many nights of regretting.

“Do you ever wish you hadn’t started something?” He asked, not quite drunk but plenty maudlin, and Harvey saw right through him. Knew exactly what he was referring to and said simply,

“It wasn’t what I’d have chosen, maybe, but if I did it over again I’d still say yes to you.”

 He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure that was what he wanted to hear.

“What would you have chosen?”

Harvey shrugged a little. “Something you actually enjoy doing, that would have been a good start.”

Jim blinked at him, startled. Couldn’t hide the shock quickly enough, clearly, because Harvey turned to look at him properly. Took the glass from his hand and placed it down on the coffee table.

“What do you enjoy doing, Jim?”

“It’s not the same thing you enjoy.”

Harvey’s lips quirked in a half smile, and Jim might have taken offence at that. Might have riled at being an object of amusement. But Harvey just kept talking,

“A man can enjoy more than one thing. It’s part of what makes life worth living.”

That made sense. A whole lot of sense, really, because he was never going to be Fish - and maybe Harvey would like it better if he didn’t try to be. If he concentrated on being himself, perhaps, and before Harvey could go any further Jim shifted forwards.

Touched his fingers to Harvey’s cheek and searched his face for proof that it was okay. That he wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusion.

“Why don't you show me?” Harvey whispered, more breath than sound, and Jim finally closed the distance between them.

It wasn't a love story. It didn't mean that someday it couldn't be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a request on Tumblr: Jim gets turned into a woman, but Harvey still wants to have sex with him even though he's a she.

He had seen some weird shit since arriving back in Gotham. He had witnessed things that gave him nightmares, and things he drank to escape from the memory of. Humans acting like animals, evil itself outing. He had watched people rise again from the dead. Stood by helpless as people were turned into things he had no words for, even as he accepted blood money for their capture.

He had experienced some of it for himself, even. The sick awareness of the Tetch virus working its way through his body. The anger, and the hatred, and the overpowering need to hurt someone. To lose control of himself, completely, and tear his best friend in the world limb from limb.

Bare handed.

This was different though. This wasn’t something he could hide, and it wasn’t something he could fight down until there was a better time to deal with it. Because the face looking back at him from the mirror wasn’t his own. The hands he was patting frantically down his side, nausea rising, were all wrong.

It couldn’t be happening, he didn’t want it to be happening, and suddenly he was rushing for the bathroom, shaking and retching and finally sinking to the floor, back braced against the side of the bathtub.

Out in his bedroom he could hear his cell vibrating across his bedside table. Could see his suit hanging on the door, taunting him with the fact he wasn’t going to be wearing it.

“Where the hell are you, Jim?” Harvey all but yelled in his ear the instant he got himself together enough to seek help for the situation. “I’ve been calling you all morning.”

Underneath the impatience was the concern, the desperate gut wrenching fear Jim recognized from all the other horrors Jim had put Harvey through, and he swallowed thickly before managing to force the words out.

“Maybe you were right about that lab. I shouldn’t have gone there.”

* * *

“The first time in our entire partnership you admit I’m right, and you’ve gotta go ruin everything by not letting me gloat over it.”

Jim huffed a strangled laugh, even as he sobbed harder into Harvey’s shoulder. He had broken down in Harvey’s embrace before, had been drunk and maudlin and desperate, and clung to Harvey like he was the only thing in Jim’s life that was stable.

He was, Jim guessed, now more so than ever.

Harvey just held him close in return, strong arms wrapped around him, because Jim couldn’t turn off the waterworks. Couldn’t get a grip on himself - and that inspired a fresh bout of hysteria, because he wasn’t only talking figuratively.

Lucius had gaped at him first, followed by what felt like enough doctors to staff the entirety of Gotham General. He had been poked at and prodded at, and subjected to scans and tests and a thousand different questions.

They all lead directly back to the same awful conclusion.

Some way, somehow, whatever had been in the glass jar he had accidentally knocked over had radically altered his appearance. Had done a similar job internally and Lucius had sat with him patiently, very deliberately not looking down at the outsized GCPD t-shirt and sweatshirt Jim had swaddled himself in, and told him that the changes had gone so far as his genetic make-up.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harvey said, so determined Jim wished he could believe him, “this isn’t going to be forever.”

Jim just thought of the DNA chart he had been shown and Lucius’ simplified explanations about chromosomes.

It all seemed rather final.

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Harvey asked him a week later, watching as he knotted his tie with the same precise movements he had every other morning of his non-combat working life.

“I can’t sit around here all day, waiting for a miracle.”

He was going out of his mind, completely stir crazy, because there was nothing to be done but wait. Nothing he could do but hope. That left over 23 hours of each day stuck in his own mind, fixating on the horror of it. He had put a fist through the bathroom mirror. Turned the one in his bedroom to face the wall.

Hadn’t bothered opening the blinds all week, just on the off chance, and even that hadn’t made it possible to forget for longer than a few moments.

Because he had been taught to view his body as a tool. To know it well, to know its limits and then to push past them, and now he was going to have to start from scratch all over again because everything was off kilter and nothing was responding the way it ought to do.

Harvey was doing his best, was really going above and beyond, but he shifted and hesitated now, trying and failing to speak until Jim looked up at him, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“You want to come back to work, I’m not going to stop you. I’ve got no right to stop you. And I’ve got no right to say what I’m about to say to you. But, Jim, as your friend you might - I’m just saying - do you really want to wear that shirt to the precinct?”

He felt his cheeks flush at that. Felt the heat burn down his neck and up to his ears, because he glanced down and maybe Harvey had a point about the slim fit of his shirt and what that now meant in practice. He hadn’t really thought about it. Had done his level best not to look or touch, to be faced with evidence that it was all real, and before it became too much - before the entire day was a write off - Harvey simply handed him one of the shirts he had left during some drink fuelled stay or other, along with a cotton undershirt.

“It pains me to say it, but some of my officers are pigs. They’re not even going to care that your face is part of the package.”

Jim tried to smile. Failed, miserably, but got changed and refused to let on how his stomach churned with nerves all the way to the precinct.

This wasn’t going to mark the end of his life - the end of the job he had dedicated it to.

He wouldn’t let it.

* * *

One week became two, and two weeks became a month. He made no progress on tracking down anyone associated with the lab who was still breathing, and it didn’t matter how much money or manpower Lucius’ former colleagues had to work with, they were just as baffled by it all as they had been that very first day.

Jim concentrated on the job, the only way he knew how to deal with anything. At least the only way that didn’t involve drinking. Harvey was keeping too close an eye on him on that front, as though he wasn’t perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

“You’re not my mother,” Jim snapped when Harvey caught him on his fifth whiskey, “why do you keep acting like it?”

“I’m looking out for you,” Harvey countered, temper fraying. “You don’t seem to understand what this means.”

“I don’t understand what it means!? Of course I understand. I’m the one living with it. I’m the one with this,” he gestured a hand down his front angrily, “I’m the one sat here _bleeding_ into my _panties_.”

Harvey paled a little at that, something Jim took petty satisfaction in because this wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some pay-per-view fantasy. He wasn’t sitting around his apartment feeling himself up, or loitering around the women’s locker rooms thinking about how lucky he was, no matter what stupid bullshit people kept spouting.

This was his mess of a life, stuck in a body that wasn’t his own - that he couldn’t even bear to look at, let alone do anything else with.

“That’s what I’m trying to say to you,” Harvey said after a moment, quiet and controlled, but all the tension underneath was clearly audible. “When you were sat here as a 170 pound guy, the only thing you had to worry about was somebody wanting to punch you right in your pretty face. Look around you, Jim. You really think any of these scumbags would be content to leave it at that?”

Jim did look. Squinted really, because it had been beer before whiskey, and the world wasn’t exactly level. It was enough to make out the way the bar’s other occupants were looking at him. The way people kept looking at him, like the softened features of his bare face were an open invitation, and the clothes he had always worn, the haircut he had refused to abandon, were simply a challenge.

“Yeah, it sucks. Yeah, it really shouldn’t be the way things operate. But they do, that’s how it is, and if you’re not careful bleeding into your knickers is going to be a problem you wished you had.”

He punched Harvey. Didn’t think about it, just acted, and for all the strength he had lost he still had plenty of muscle mass. Still knew exactly how to use it, and Harvey staggered back a step or two, hand coming up to cradle his bloody nose. He didn’t fight back though, didn’t retaliate, and that more than anything drove home the reality of the situation.

Even Harvey no longer saw him as Jim Gordon, not deep down.

* * *

In the days that followed, Jim only seemed to be given further proof of Harvey’s real feelings. Because Harvey was always watching him, always hovering around him, and whenever he had problems of any kind, Harvey was always ready and willing to step in and attempt to fight his battles.

“He’s acting the same way he always does,” Alvarez said frankly when Jim tried asking his opinion on Harvey’s behavior. “You could be throwing yourself into the pits of Hell, and he’d still be flinging himself in after you.”

Jim narrowed his eyes at the man’s tone, but it didn’t get him anywhere. Alvarez either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. It was their usual working arrangement.

It was Alvarez, all the same, who followed up a rumor he had heard down in the club district, and before the month was out Jim found himself sipping tea in Oswald Cobblepot’s ostentatious living room.

“You’re Ivy Pepper.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice, because he had worked that case. He had been the one to destroy the only stability she had ever known, as troubled as it might have been, and he had gone around all his usual contacts, the near certainty that it was already too late like lead in his gut.

“You’re one of the cops who killed my dad. I guess we both look kind of different.”

That was an understatement.

She could have walked by him in the street, while he was showing someone her misper poster, and he wouldn’t have looked twice in her direction.

“It was weird at first,” Ivy said, shrugging easily like it was the most natural thing in the world, sitting next to a notorious crime boss and talking about the weird science that had aged her a decade in moments, “but, you know, it’s not all bad. People look at me differently, treat me differently. They’re stupid, and if I pretend to like them they’ll do anything I want them to do.”

Jim eyed Oswald up suspiciously because she was still a kid, appearances notwithstanding, but the other man looked as sickened by the conversation as he was. Ivy didn’t seem to notice, slurped at her drink and gave him a conspiring smile,

“I expect you know all about it.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. It might be his body, nominally, but he hadn’t done anything to lay claim to it. Washed it, clothed it, and otherwise did his best to disassociate himself totally. He thought of playing up to it, of flaunting it for some scumbag, and shuddered so hard he had to fight not to let Oswald see it.

“If Ivy wants to give you a blood sample, that’s her business,” Oswald said when it was just the two of them, “but she’s a kid. I’m not going to let you take her off somewhere for testing. If it weren’t you, I wouldn’t let her do this much.”

The urge to snipe and hit back was just as strong as usual, but Jim forced himself not to give voice to it. This could be a break through. This could be a step closer to reversing whatever it was that had been done to him.

“Thank you,” he managed, simply, and Oswald’s expression softened, as though Jim didn’t spend a big chunk of his working life trying to bring down the man’s business empire.

Oswald stared at him openly, the way other people he had known well before avoided doing.

“You look so like you, yet nothing at all like yourself. I hope for your sake you’ve managed to find a bright side.”

“Not really,” Jim said, too gruff and too honest, and Oswald tipped his head to the side, considering, for a long moment before smiling dismissively at him and reaching for his wine glass.

“I suppose you’re doing all your own sting operations now. That’s a balm to your pride, isn’t it?”

* * *

He thought of Oswald’s words long after they were spoken. Long after they started working on Ivy’s blood sample, and long after they warned him not to expect results any time in the near future.

It was true, that was what rankled. He had always hated sending in undercover female officers. Had always wanted to act the white knight and the hero, and perhaps he had been too harsh on Harvey, for doing the exact same thing he would have done in his situation.

He would have been worse, probably. Over-protective and overbearing, and though it wasn’t as though he had gone longer than ten minutes before making things up with Harvey, he had still been angry over the situation. Had still been snappish and stand-offish, every time he caught Harvey making allowances, and when he finally tried to explain it - drink greasing the wheels - Harvey slouched further into his sofa cushions and watched him too intently.

“I’m not looking out for you because I think of you as a woman,” Harvey said when he was finished, brow furrowed like he was actually struggling to get his head around the idea, “I’m looking out for you because you’re my partner and you’re dealing with something I can’t even begin to imagine. You don’t like it, you never do, but I did it when you got out of Blackgate and I did it when Tetch got his claws into you. I’m always going to look out for you, Jim, because that’s what friends do. It doesn’t matter how many punches you throw at me.”

“You didn’t hit me back,” Jim said, too aware of the accusation in his tone, and Harvey tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, the drink putting color in his cheeks.

“Only Jim Gordon would sit there bitching about someone not swinging for him.”

Jim grinned in spite of himself and slouched beside Harvey, limbs heavy and the companionable silence stretching.

“You really don’t think of me differently?” He questioned finally, feeling rather than seeing Harvey shaking his head. It sent a warmth through his chest, comfortable and reassuring. It had him trying to wisecrack, feeling more normal than he had in a long time. “You don’t think I’m hot then?”

Harvey only relaxed into his side, obviously half asleep and wanting to get there fully.

“Of course I do. You’re still you, aren’t you?”

* * *

It made sense, once he had time to process it. Harvey was always telling him he loved him. Never missed an opportunity to tell him how great he was, or to press kisses to his cheek, like that was something either of them did with any of their other friends. It wasn’t something Jim had managed to do with own girlfriends, let alone his boyfriends way back when the only locker he had to worry about getting defaced was located on his liberal college campus.

In the present he thought about it tentatively, rolling the idea of Harvey around his head, surprised by the effect it had on him. He liked Harvey. Loved the man, really, and his mind didn’t have any problem merging the concepts of platonic and anything but together. Supplied him with images of all kinds of things that weren’t going to be happening, like Harvey groaning wantonly around his dick, or Harvey spread out beneath him, greedily clutching him closer.

His abdomen clenched up with a sharp stab of arousal, his body reacting in ways that made itself known, for all he generally did his best to ignore the physical aspects of the changes that had taken place. It didn’t go away, only seemed to get more intense, and he found himself caught in a cycle of attempting to ignore the demands of his body even as his brain bombarded him with yet more imagery of Harvey on his knees. Harvey’s hair falling around his face, damp with sweat. Harvey’s hands, and Harvey’s mouth, and the thick muscles of Harvey’s thighs, until he reasoned that it wasn’t as though he didn’t know how it was supposed to work. He had always loved to watch, had never failed to get off on it - and thinking about that really wasn’t doing anything to ease the situation.

He was tentative at first, hesitant, sprawling back against his pillows and stroking his thumb over a nipple, through his shirt. It made him squirm, had his skin tingling, and he kept at it until his face was heated and he could feel the want throbbing between his legs, as strange as it was insistent.

It wasn’t something he had tried so far, wasn’t something he had been interested in. Now it was all he could think about, because it had been months and he could be stuck like this forever. He needed release, wanted it desperately, and he unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. Pulled the sheets back and shucked his trousers, climbing underneath the bedcovers like it would make it easier if he couldn’t see what he was doing. It was, especially when he closed his eyes tight, fingers pinching at his peaked nipple even as he imagined what it would feel like to have Harvey’s mouth on it.

Amazing, he guessed, sucking at the tips of his fingers and shivering at just the sensation of slick wetness when he rubbed them over the oversensitized flesh. He needed more, had to get off somehow, and finally edged his fingers along the hem of his underwear. He hadn’t touched himself there, not unless it was absolutely necessary, and perhaps that was the only reason he was doing it now, because he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t quite keep still, and he gasped helplessly at the brush of fingers over fabric.

It was awkward though, not at all instinctive, and he thought of the death grip Barbara had used to employ on his wrist, demanding he keep it slow and soft and steady, regardless of what he had seen in any of the blue movies he hadn’t liked to admit to watching. Tried to replicate it until there was sweat streaking down his temples and his thighs were shaking.

His whole body was pulled tight, his jaw clenched up hard, so close he didn’t know what to do, how to push over the precipice, because this was when he would usually tug at his balls or work his thumb just under the head. Would twist just so on the upstroke, and just the thought of that had still more moisture trickling down his face. He pressed his hand flat against himself, whimpered pitifully for the peak that was just out of his reach, and finally gave up and sobbed into his pillow, frightened and frustrated.

How was he supposed to live like this?

* * *

He kept trying - kept failing - and maybe it was a mental block. Maybe he just wasn’t physically capable. He felt like he was going out of his mind, either way, because the more he was denied, the more frantically he wanted it. Needed it, even, because sometimes it was all he could think about, his brain proving just as treacherous as his stupid disobedient body.

Sometimes it was so all consuming he felt he would say anything, do anything, if only he could come. If only he could find the kind of relief he was used to, the kind that left him drained and sated in body, even if he was still just as miserable and lonely. And he was, so much so that when he found himself in some filthy alley, gun in his face, he wondered - just for a moment - if perhaps the shooter wouldn’t be doing both of them a favor.

Then Harvey was there, panting for breath even as he aimed his gun at the back of the guy’s skull. Even as he demanded he drop his weapon, right the fuck now, if he didn’t want to get his brains blown out. Jim stood there, useless, as the gun clattered to the ground and Harvey pushed the guy face first into the dirt, knee pressed into the small of his back more firmly than was strictly necessary as he put the cuffs on him.

“I’m here for you, Jim,” Harvey told him later, one hand cupping his too smooth cheek, the other at the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together, “anything you need, big or small, I’m always here for you.”

It wasn’t a good idea, Jim knew that. It was only going to make things more complicated. But, then again, things couldn’t get much stranger than they already were. He had narrowly avoided death, was living in the wrong body, and had fallen head over heels for a man he would have once professed to hate. He couldn’t even blame the drink this time around, only on the second beer of the evening, his own hand finding the curve of Harvey’s neck.

“I need you to help me. I just - I need you, Harvey.”

“Help you with what? Tell me what I can do to make things better.”

Harvey, to his credit, didn’t choke to death on the shock of his answer. He settled for a strangled noise, eyes wide, and Jim couldn’t wait any longer. Harvey smelled too good, looked too good, and it was almost five months since he had had an orgasm. He couldn't really be blamed for not thinking clearly.

He pushed in closer, breathed in the scent of Harvey’s cologne, head feeling fuzzy with it, and clumsily pressed their lips together. Harvey kissed him back, soothing the worst of his fears, and suddenly it felt like he was a teenager all over again, breathless and desperate, clutching at the back of Harvey’s shirt and hoping to God he wasn’t going to change his mind and suggest they wait until the next time they had the place to themselves.

Except he was a grown up now, was in Harvey’s apartment not his childhood bedroom, and when Harvey’s hand fondled at his breast it was he who froze up and freaked out about it. Harvey made to pull away, all solicitous concern for his well being, and Jim came to a snap decision. He could have a crisis about it later. Could spend all night hyperventilating so long as he got off first. He took hold of Harvey’s hand and pushed it back to his chest, defiant. When that didn’t work he reached out and groped at the erection straining out the front of Harvey’s work pants, because that was one area in which Jim knew exactly what he was doing.

“Jim,” Harvey groaned out, gratifyingly undone, and all thoughts of stopping were forgotten, Harvey’s shirt getting flung somewhere in the direction of the sofa, Jim desperate at the feel of all that flesh under his palms.

They ended up on Harvey’s bed, Jim breathless with excitement. He tugged at Harvey’s clothing first. Stripped him down to his boxer shorts and felt the want ratchet still higher, the feel of heated skin and the sight of his covered erection making his mouth flood with saliva. In turn he wriggled out of his trousers. Shed his shirt and let Harvey slowly push his undershirt up his torso, kissing and touching the skin he uncovered, so that he twitched and squirmed under the attention.

He had given up being bothered by nudity in the army but here, now, Jim felt shy and exposed. Nobody had seen his overdeveloped chest, at least not anyone who wasn’t conducting medical tests on him, and he swallowed thickly, wondering for the first time what Harvey saw when he looked at him. He wasn’t exactly hitting the feminine ideal, not if the glossy magazines boredom compelled him to read in the doctor’s office waiting room were anything to go by.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey whispered when he was down to nothing but his jockeys, and Jim’s stomach twisted with the realization that this was it. That it was too weird, perhaps. That Harvey just didn’t find him attractive. But Harvey was kissing him all over again, hands reverent as they stroked up the length of his leg. “I know you hate this. That you don’t want to think of any of this as part of you. But you just look so good. I want you so badly. Fuck, Jim, you’ve got me so fucking hard for you.”

It wasn’t a love sonnet, but Jim had never been much into poetry.

“I wish I could suck your dick,” Harvey went on, and he wasn’t joking, not based on the hard heat pressed against his thigh. “Would that do it for you, Jim? You ever think about fucking my mouth with your dick? You ever just think about fucking me?”

It took a moment to register that the pitiful sound that followed was coming from his own mouth. That he was shifting about, aching with how badly he needed it, the feel of the slick wetness building between his legs not as disturbing as he usually found it. The idea of it still frightened him. He still wasn’t convinced he could actually go through with it - could actually let Harvey touch him, let Harvey fill him. He was willing to try though. Was desperate enough to push his own fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear, only for Harvey to catch hold of his wrist.

“Not yet, okay? Trust me.”

Jim whined. Begged, just a little, and he could see how close Harvey’s resolve was to snapping. Harvey clung to it though, kissing him hard and passionate, and pressed his wrists into the pillow on either side of his head. Kissed and sucked at the skin of his throat, the scratch of Harvey's beard driving him wild, and then treated the entirety of his left arm like it was an erogenous zone - touching and teasing, and nosing into the hair at his armpit until he didn’t know what he was saying, only that it was absolutely imperative that Harvey not stop touching him.

By the time Harvey finally took one of his neglected nipples into his mouth, Jim knew he was so wet it had to be visible. Had to be slowly soaking through his underwear, and when he finally succeeded in working his hands free he twisted one tight in Harvey’s hair, holding his head in place, and used the other to pinch roughly at his other nipple, crying out at first that, and then Harvey’s fingers tracing feather light over damp fabric. Harvey kept alternating, between that and teasing at the skin of his thigh, his sides, his abdomen, until Jim was past caring about the details. He simply wanted more stimulation.

“I want -” He managed, squirming, “I need - Please, Harvey!”

He had heard things about Harvey, comments from women who had been paid, and from those who hadn’t, and they all seemed to agree that Harvey knew exactly what he was doing. Knew how to do it again and again, over and over, and Jim really hoped they hadn’t been exaggerating because he was so worked up he was going to need more than an hour in the gym if he couldn’t get off this time.

“Shhh,” Harvey soothed, even as he rummaged through the drawer of his bedside table, “it won’t be long now, I promise you.”

This was it, Jim supposed. This was when he should try to relax - try not to think about how this was all kinds of weird - but Harvey was always prepared. Always liked to have the right tool for the job, because it wasn’t a rubber he had been searching for but a piece of shockingly bright plastic. Harvey grinned at him, the expression absolutely filthy, and shifted up the bed to lie beside him. Kissed him soft and slow, building the intensity up and up until Jim was biting at Harvey’s lip and grinding himself against the thigh Harvey had worked between his legs.

It wasn’t enough, nothing was ever enough, and then Harvey was fiddling with the base of the vibrator, Jim scarcely aware of anything until it was touching him through the barrier of his underwear. Then he was aware of one thing only, because he knew he was making a lot of noise, knew he was spreading his legs and yanking hard at Harvey’s hair. It was just kind of distant, not something he could focus on, and then Harvey’s mouth was back on his nipple, his hands wrapping Jim’s own around the vibrator, giving him the control. Jim took it eagerly. Twisted the dial up higher and arched and squirmed and shoved his head back into the pillow, mouth hanging open in a soundless scream as he finally, finally came from the onslaught of sensation.

Except it didn’t wipe him out in the way he was used to. Didn’t provide the kind of contentment he had been so certain it would do. Harvey was already way ahead of him, settling on his knees and asking his permission to remove his underwear as his hands came to rest on Jim’s hips, thumbs stroking circles into the skin there.

“It’ll be easier if I can see what I’m doing.”

Jim nodded, chest still heaving, his whole body still responsive and wanting. It was going to be weird, no question. Was probably going to have him hyperventilating with panic, just as soon as it was over. But Harvey surprised him again, taking the vibrator from his fingers and pressing it just so, circling it just so, and Jim lost himself entirely, shaking and trembling and whining out his approval. Harvey just kept at it, bringing him to the edge and plunging him over, again and again, until his face was wet with tears and he was almost certain he couldn’t take any more.

Until he couldn't distinguish between good and bad ideas, because he loved Harvey more than anything, but he still hated the circumstances that had lead to this moment.

“You’re so wet, Jim,” Harvey said, breaking through his reverie. He sounded kind of awed and a lot turned on. He sounded kind of like Jim felt, and when Jim succeeded in getting his eyes open and looking at him he shivered all over. Harvey looked completely wrecked, and he hadn’t even come once, let alone lost count of it. Harvey carried right on teasing, regardless, fingers trailing paths up the soft skin of his thighs. “You can say no if you want, you know that. But I want to taste you so bad.”

He had gone this far, couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t thought about the idea, and his fingers tensed in Harvey’s hair at the first delicate touch of his tongue, everything so sensitive that it skirted the border between pain and pleasure. Harvey looked up at him, eyes dark and wanting, and it was all kinds of wrong. All kinds of weird. It was still good though, really really good, and it didn't matter how he justified it later. Right then he wanted it. Was delighted with the way Harvey swirled the tip of his tongue, sending sparks all through him, and was outright thrilled when Harvey started licking into him in earnest.

Started working him up all over again, so that his toes curled and his thighs twitched, pulsing wetter and wetter at the obvious enjoyment Harvey was taking in what he was doing.

Before long everything was pulled taught, his back arched and the fingers of his free hand clenching tight in the bedsheets. The other was braced against Harvey’s forehead, pushing back forcibly so that the pressure was just right, so that the sweep of Harvey’s tongue was just perfect, and he wished he could tell Harvey that he wasn’t normally so demanding. That he wasn’t usually the type to not be careful and considerate. But he was so close, so desperately close, and all he could do was buck his hips, too far gone to care about anything beyond the fact he was finally getting to fuck Harvey’s gorgeous mouth, just the way Harvey himself had suggested.

This time it came crashing over him. Crested and went on and on, Harvey keeping him at the peak, prolonging it until finally he collapsed back against the mattress, wrung out and boneless. His hair was soaking, his limbs limp and heavy, and he watched on uselessly as Harvey pulled his dick free of his boxer shorts, so full and flushed that Jim ached in sympathy.

“That was the hottest thing I ever did in all my life, Jim. If you could see yourself - if you could hear yourself -”

“I want you to fuck me,” was what Jim heard himself say, and he was surprised by how much he meant it. By how receptive his body was to the prospect. It had been a long time, he guessed, such a very long time since there had been somebody else involved in bringing him to orgasm, and suddenly his mind was full of the image of how Harvey might look. The sounds he might make, the way his own name would sound on his lips as Harvey reached his climax, and it no longer mattered how many times Harvey had got him off already.

He wanted it all over again.

“Don’t you want to? Come on, Harvey, you promised me. Whatever I needed.”

“Fuck,” Harvey all but sobbed, hand moving faster and faster, and Jim was nothing if not stubborn. Nothing if not determined, and this time it was him pulling Harvey’s hands away, Harvey’s frustrated groan making his head fuzzy with longing.

He tugged Harvey closer. Pulled him into a messy kiss, the bitter taste of himself on Harvey’s tongue only spurring him onwards, and when he clutched at Harvey’s back, when he pressed still closer, the head of Harvey’s dick pressed lewdly against him and he couldn’t help but rock into the feeling. Harvey was so hard, so achingly desperately hard, and Jim knew that if he wriggled just a little - if he shifted just a little - he was so wet Harvey would sink right into him. So wet that he wouldn't need any further preparation, even though Harvey was bigger than average. Big enough that, had his world not been tipped upside down and turned backwards, his jaw would still ache. It would still take a lot of patience, Harvey’s fingers working lube into him.

In the world that was his patience was exhausted. He just wanted Harvey in him. Needed to see Harvey fall apart for him.

“We can’t,” Harvey whimpered, face screwed up with the effort of not pushing into him. “I love you too much to do this to you.”

“I want you to,” Jim countered, even as his heart stuttered at the declaration. Even as he kissed Harvey again, grinding down shallowly against his straining erection. “I love you. I trust you. I want you to finish what you started.”

Harvey was braced above him, gaze fixed on his own, and Jim couldn’t have looked away had he wanted to. Couldn’t hide the truth of what he was saying - the pledge that he was still going to love Harvey in the morning, and the apology that he couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t regret doing this. That he was going to do it, anyway, and that it would probably be easier all around if Harvey just accepted the fact and quit fighting the inevitable.

Jim kissed him again. Groaned helplessly when Harvey put his mouth to his throat, hot and wet and distracting. So distracting that Jim wound his arms around him. Hooked his legs up around his waist, pelvis tilting, so that they were moving together, Harvey’s dick pushing along his drenched slit rather than into it. What they ought to do was play it safe. What they needed to do was slow things down. Take a break entirely. Find a condom if this was absolutely what was going to happen, and use some common sense before things went any further.

“Oh,” he gasped instead, squirming until the angle was altered, so that Harvey was just barely inside him, everything still so swollen and sensitive that he could scarcely spare a thought for the wider implications.

“Oh, fuck,” Harvey was moaning, face buried in his neck, “you feel so good.”

He knew how it would feel, could remember it well enough, and the memory merged with what was actually happening until he was lost to it. He was so ridiculously turned on, was so far past sense and reason, and Harvey had been right all those months ago - he did need looking after. Because it was Harvey who had to be mature and responsible, grappling hurriedly with a condom wrapper where he simply wouldn’t have bothered. Harvey who asked him if he was sure, if he wanted to keep going, where Jim just raked his blunt fingernails down his back and begged Harvey to put it in him.

It was so strange - so satisfying - and then Harvey was pushing the forgotten vibrator back into his hand. Was stroking a thumb over his stiff nipple and panting into his ear that it would help him get there, that there could be nothing hotter than watching him come all over again, and when he got the thing to co-operate it was like his eyes wanted to roll back in his skull, the overload of sensation reducing him to incoherent whimpers.

Harvey’s rhythm was speeding up and getting desperate. Went off course entirely, every time Jim let the vibrator slip low enough to rub along the length of his dick, and then Harvey was gripping tight to his free hand and looking at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world, laid out before him. Was gasping out his name, as he twitched and shook and shuddered, and Jim couldn’t help but follow. Couldn’t help but make enough noise to raise the dead, clenching up so tight Harvey all but sobbed in reaction.

Kissed him, frantic, and only pulled away to slide down the bed and lick him clean, as though to prove he deserved every single scrap of filthy praise he had ever heard about his partner, and still more.

“Are you freaking out?” Harvey asked him later, too knowingly, when he had redressed in his underwear and had Harvey plastered against his back, one arm wrapped around him.

“I'm saving it for the morning,” Jim answered, honestly, because he was too tired and too comfortable to worry about anything right at that moment. Was wishing he could bottle the feeling for when the constant low level panic set back in, and his world returned to its usual level of crazy.

“I'll still be here,” Harvey said, voice scratched up with emotion as though they weren't in Harvey's bed, in Harvey's apartment - the one place anyone would expect to find him first thing in the morning. Jim understood though. The hope that this had changed everything, the fear that it wasn't in the way they wanted. All Jim could do was squeeze at Harvey's arm and try to enjoy the moment. 

The morning would bring what it would. He had had to learn that the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got asked on Tumblr - _Could I request a follow-up to your[latest Gordlock chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27108837), where Jim becomes male again - maybe Harvey's worried that it'll change everything between them?_

“I was worried you might find it too weird or something.”

Jim flushed up as he said it it, fingers fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle, and Harvey wondered if there was a socially acceptable way to say that Jim could be sprouting a second head, or growing a few tentacles, and Harvey would still be frantic for him.

He loved sex. Really loved sex. And he loved Jim a frankly ridiculous amount. Put the two together and it was a dream come true, no matter how the sex happened.

“You can fuck me any time you like,” was what he actually said, because with a proposition like that he couldn’t really be expected to be thinking clearly. “Have you ever noticed what a great height the desk in my office is?”

Jim spluttered beer everywhere, torn between laughing and coughing and really thinking about the idea, and Harvey let him off easy for the time being. Patted at his back and shot him a helpless smile.

He had never claimed to be any great wordsmith.

Sadly the precinct was kind of a no go, but Jim more than made up for it a few nights later by ordering him to his knees and twisting his fingers in his hair.

“Oh, fuck,” Jim gasped out, hips snapping forward without any thought behind the movement, and Harvey couldn’t tell him what a desperate turn on it was. It was rude to talk with your mouth full. He clutched at Jim instead, thumbs trailing over the straps of the harness even as he took the silicone deeper, imagining he could taste salt and pre-cum.

Jim had a gorgeous dick too - he had caught enough glimpses over the years. Had spent enough nights in his lonely bed, pushing up into his own fist as he imagined having Jim in his hand. His mouth. Spreading him open and filling him up, Jim’s hair falling over his forehead as he hitched Harvey’s legs up and fucked him harder.

“Harvey!” Jim whined out when he swallowed past his gag reflex, taking it deep, and then he was panting for breath, Jim dragging him up and into a messy kiss. It was so hot, had him so stupidly worked up, and they ended up stretched out on his bed, his hands framing Jim’s face so he could stare into big blue eyes even as a slick finger sank into him.

He wanted to tell Jim how much he loved him. Wanted to explain to him that this was everything he had ever dreamed of, being close to Jim like this. All he could do was gasp and moan and cling to Jim’s shoulders, overwhelmed by the way Jim was kissing him and the way his fingers were crooking inside him, proof that Jim knew exactly what he was doing.

“Now,” he managed finally, the blotchy color in Jim’s face more than he could bear. The strangled sound Jim made he reached out for him, when the movement pushed the vibrator against him, more than he could handle. “I need you in me.”

Jim directed him up onto hands and knees. Pulled him back to the edge of the bed so he could stand, and just the thought of what was coming was enough to have him dripping with anticipation. He was so hard for Jim, so beyond excited, and he pushed back impatiently when Jim guided the head of the dildo into position.

They both groaned as it breached him, Jim’s hands holding his hips steady as slowly pressed forward.

“Just like that,” Harvey encouraged, “come on, Jim, I want you to fuck me.”

For once in his life, Jim did what he was told. Stroked one hand down his back as the other groped at his backside. Drove into him, again and again, until the force of it was pushing him forward with every thrust. Then Jim was pulling out completely, wrenching a pathetic sound out of him, and moving to lie on the bed, his intentions obvious.

“Why am I doing all the work?” He asked, just to drive the point home. “If you want it, I think you should prove it.”

His brain just about short circuited. Because there was Jim, damp and flushed and commanding, fisting more lube over the jut of his dick like a thousand of his late night fantasies playing out in glorious technicolor. Harvey went willingly. Gripped at the headboard for support and sank down with his jaw hanging slack and open, the perfect stretch of it making his own dick bob and twitch in reaction.

Jim seemed kind of fixated on that. Squirmed up into the pillows a little, so that it jostled the dildo against his prostate, and then Jim’s tongue was on the head of his dick. He couldn’t keep control himself at the sensation, was fucking himself as hard as he could, and Jim just dug his fingers into the flesh of his ass, guiding, bent forward enough that he was fucking Jim’s beautiful mouth with the head of his dick, so hot and wet and amazing that he was sobbing out a warning even as he came all over Jim’s swollen rosy lips.

After that the only reasonable thing to do was to help Jim get off. Jim was still struggling on his own, even with the battery powered help, he knew. Had watched it and heard it and frantically jacked off to it on more than one occasion. He got his mouth in on the action. Fingers too. Followed all the trembling little signs that Jim was getting closer, and finally laid his head on Jim’s thigh, panting and shaking and letting Jim grip at his hand like a lifeline.

“How did you get so good at that?” Jim rasped out, still coming down from the high, and Harvey hid a smug grin by pressing a chaste kiss into sweat slick skin.

“I was never lackadaisical about the things that mattered.”

* * *

Out of bed things were more awkward. Jim was depressed - so obviously struggling that Harvey knew he was being overbearing. He just couldn’t help it. He had witnessed Jim do some stupid things in this frame of mind. Had found himself facing down the prospect of burying the love of his life because of it, far too many times, and though he did his best to distract Jim every time they met another dead end, he lived in fear of it not being enough.

Of not reaching Jim in time to stop him.

It was the first idea that went through his head when Jim failed to answer his cell phone. When he got home from work to find the apartment empty, and banged at the door of Jim’s place only to get no answer. He didn’t have the key on him, simply hadn’t needed it in so long, and he picked the lock only to find apartment deserted.

Panic set in, all consuming, and he had Jim’s last known location being broadcast over police radio and a uni ringing around the hospitals even as the solution became clear.

It wasn’t difficult to track them down. Lee had never been great at subterfuge, and the so-called Riddler wasn’t one for subtlety.  

“He’s something of a medical miracle these days,” Lee said coldly when he arrived on the scene, “I know people who would pay a king’s ransom for a chance to carry out a few little tests.”

She had the blade of a knife pressed to Jim’s throat, the manic gleam in her eye he had come to associate with her while Nygma grinned like an idiot. Harvey hated the pair of them, for all kinds of reasons he didn’t like to examine too closely, and when Nygma took a step closer he fired in a mockery of self-defence, Nygma howling as the bullet grazed his leg.

“You shot me!” He accused, and Harvey adjusted his grip on the gun, not trusting either one of them for a moment.

“I’ll do it again if you don’t get out of here.”

“Go on,” Lee snapped, impatience audible, “wait for me you know where.”

Nygma hesitated but only for a moment before slinking off to wherever it was they went when they weren’t threatening his boy scout of a partner. Harvey hoped that uniform were waiting for him. He’d even take Tuttle at this point. That left just him, Lee and Jim, and his own growing sense of frustration.

“I don’t want to have to hit a lady,” he said finally, watching as she pulled a syringe from her pocket - empty this time. She raised an eyebrow at him, dismissive, and then turned to Jim and he saw red. Clacked the gun across the back of her head and watched as she slumped to the ground, the syringe rolling uselessly from her fingers.

“Harvey!”

“What? I said I didn’t want to, not that I wouldn’t.”

Jim glared first at him, and then down at the limp figure of his former fiancée. Harvey just went straight for the shackles binding Jim’s wrists to the wall, more concerned with getting Jim free than checking up on how Jim’s captor was doing.

Nobody hurt Jim and got away with it, not if he could help it. And Lee had hurt him. His face was bruised and swollen, and Harvey could tell there had been a beating involved, just by the ragged quality of Jim’s breathing. The way he almost collapsed into his arms when the bonds were loose, and Harvey fought down the urge to simply pick Jim up and carry him out of there.

“She’s okay,” Jim said instead, crouching down beside Lee and pressing two fingers to her carotid. Harvey couldn’t say that he cared, not particularly. Lee was tough. She’d be back up and attempting to murder some other poor sucker before he’d had chance to get the full story out of Jim. Sooner, even, because Jim was reluctant to talk about this latest adventure.

He was silent all through the car ride to the precinct, and gave off such hostile vibes for the rest of the afternoon Alvarez knocked on his office door and said frankly that he was chasing up some leads on his own because otherwise they were liable to throttle each other. Harvey waved him off, trusting the man to have the sense of self-preservation Jim lacked, and went out into the bullpen to sit on the edge of Jim’s desk and quietly place a cup of coffee and a couple of painkillers in front of him.

“I’m fine,” Jim said without looking up from his paperwork.

“No, you’re not.”

“I would be fine if it weren’t for the constant interruptions,” was Jim’s response, given through gritted teeth, and Harvey got the message. Tried to concentrate on some of his own paperwork, and came down so hard on Tuttle’s ill-timed joke about PMS that the other man looked positively dazed by the force of it. Jim gave him an unreadable look from across the balcony, obviously having heard the whole exchange, and Harvey felt his cheeks heat up under the scrutiny.

The truth was that Jim had enough on his plate, more than enough of his own problems to be dealing with, and Harvey went out of his way to ensure Jim didn’t hear the stupid shit their colleagues came out with. The complaints about locker room arrangements, and the x-rated speculation that accompanied the ever rampant gossip about the fact Jim had all but moved in with him.

Jim didn’t need the extra stress. Harvey couldn’t bear the thought of Jim letting it sway him. Had nightmares, cold sweat inducing night terrors, about Jim deciding that what they had just wasn’t worth the aggravation. Because the last few months had been some of the worst of Jim’s life, Harvey knew that. They had been awful, unthinkable, and Jim’s greatest wish was that things could go back to normal and he could forget all about them.

It made a sick sort of sense then that those same months had been the very best of his own miserable life. Having Jim in his arms - in his bed - was more than he had ever dreamed he would experience. Was more than he deserved, in the great scheme of things, and now the end was in sight he wanted to cling to it with both hands and never let go again.

“Is this because I hit her and I wouldn’t hit you?” Harvey sighed later that evening, a few drinks in because Jim still sitting way over on the opposite end of the sofa, like they wouldn’t normally be wrapped around each other by this point. His tone was light hearted but the question was serious. He didn’t know what was going on in Jim’s head.

He doubted Jim understood himself, if he were being honest, because Jim spent most of his time pretending that it hadn’t happened, that nothing was different. Even when they were in bed together he didn’t want to have to face it. Hated to hear the realities of his body referenced, and invariably dressed again afterwards rather than simply lay with him, lest he accidentally catch sight of it.

“She said she hopes the reversal kills me,” Jim said quietly, and Harvey reached for him even as the words settled low in his gut. Pulled him in tight and stroked a hand down Jim’s back, glad Jim couldn’t see his own struggle. Relieved Jim would never know how desperately he wanted to use her argument for his own ends.

It was still so dangerous, still came with absolutely no guarantees.

It was better to stick with the status quo, surely, than to throw it all away on the off chance.

“I can’t keep living like this,” Jim whispered, so certain it sent a shudder down the length of his spine.

Harvey tried, but he couldn’t say anything.

* * *

He said nothing as Jim signed liability waivers either, his heart in his throat as the science jargon filled his ears without making any sense at all.

“You understand the risks?” Some white coated doctor pushed, probably needing the verbal assurance for the cameras, and Jim smiled as he nodded in affirmation. A real smile too, the kind that had been rare enough on his face before the transformation, and was little more than a distant memory in the months since.

It hurt to see it there now, to see Jim looking so beautiful, and to know that it might be the last time he saw Jim do anything.

“You know why I have to do this?” Jim questioned quietly when they were given a few moments alone. Harvey nodded dumbly though he didn’t. Kissed him once, helpless, eyes burning with the sting of unshed tears. “I wish I could just turn back time so that it never happened,” Jim said when he pulled away and it was too much.

More than he could bear.

The tears spilled down his cheeks, unwanted but unstoppable, and he clung to Jim like a limpet, a total mess though he was supposed to be the one offering support and keeping it together.

Somebody coughed behind them, the polite way of telling him to fuck off so they could get on with it, and he wiped his face clean as best he could.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jim said, proof that things really were bad, if Jim were the one offering false comfort, and Harvey nodded once, sharp, and made for the exit before he could break down again.

He went back to the precinct for a while, ignoring the open curiosity and the pity on their colleagues’ faces. At least until it got too much and then he went out and worked a case like he was still good for something other than signing off badly written reports, and sitting through boring finance meetings. It was late when he finally called it a day. When he gave in and rang for news and was told, none too nicely, that they would contact him when the time came.

There was nothing left to do but go and get drunk. So drunk that he could think of something - anything - other than what he was going to do if Jim came through this only to decide that a fresh start was the best way forward.

If Jim didn’t come through this at all.

It didn’t work, no matter how much effort he put into it, and he staggered up the stairs of his apartment building a broken mess of a man, nerves shattered and throat raw with the emotion threatening to spill over again. It took him three attempts to get his key in the door, the whole world spinning, and it was all he could do to collapse down on the sofa.

Jim’s jacket was still thrown over the arm, left there after he convinced Jim that they had better things to do the night before he played experimental guinea pig than worry about creases. Harvey grabbed for it now, burying his nose in the collar, breathing in the scent of Jim underneath his soap and his cologne, and gave up on trying to be strong and silent.

There was nobody around to see him.

He finally fell asleep when he was cried out. When it felt like he was hollow inside, clutching tight to Jim’s jacket, too exhausted to move or seek out a glass of water. To remove his shoes even, and when he woke it was a slow inexorable pull, a distant awareness of fingers at his ankle. A hold on his foot and he twitched, trying to shift free even as he forced his eyes open.

Even as he blinked the blurred shape accosting him into focus, the pain in his head so intense he could scarcely work out where he was, let alone allow himself to believe that Jim was there with him.

Jim just finished tugging his shoes off, and settled Harvey’s legs over his lap, the heat of his palms soaking through the material of his pants to his shin.

“It worked, Harvey. It really worked.”

He pushed himself up at that, the world lurching but Jim’s slightly hysterical laugh more important. He touched his own fingers to Jim’s cheek, studying him carefully. Jim had always been recognizably him. It was still the same face, the same features, just softened somewhat. His jaw less angular and his nose a touch less prominent. His eyes hadn’t changed at all, even now. They were just the same beautiful shade of blue, framed by long lashes.

Jim caught hold of his hand then. Smiled at him so that it lit up his entire face, and then placed it over his heart. Over the flatness of his chest, Harvey’s gaze following, pausing only to take in the bob of his adam’s apple and the broadness of his shoulders.

“I’m so happy for you,” he managed, because he was. Because it was everything Jim had wanted. “You must be so happy, Jim.”

“I’d show you, if you didn’t look like death warmed over,” the smile dimmed, “I’m sorry for putting you through that. When you cried yesterday - when you -” Jim cut himself off, sounding like he didn't trust himself to finish the sentence without cracking, and pulled a folded envelope from his inside pocket. “I wrote this in case - well, in case it didn’t work. I want you to read it.”

Harvey took it from him, wishing he hadn’t drank like it was going out of fashion. Wishing that he could simply enjoy Jim being close to him. He opened the letter with clumsy fingers, sitting up properly so he could read the thing. So he could pinch at the bridge of his nose, hard, the tears welling though he would have sworn he would never cry again the night before.

Jim was anxious at his side, didn’t know where to look or how to act as he waited. Harvey knew what a big deal it was. Knew exactly how much it meant that Jim was letting him see this. That Jim had written it down in the first place.

_‘I don’t know where I would have been without you. What I would have done. You gave me something to live for. Something I wanted to live for. I still do. I have to do this because I’m selfish, because I can’t take it any longer, but I love you, Harvey. I love you more than anything and if I get through this I swear I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you as happy as you deserve to be. At the very least I’ll spend my life trying if you’ll let me.’_

“What am I always telling you about promises?” He managed finally, voice scratched up and throat aching, his hand finding Jim’s like he needed the support not to start sobbing stupidly into Jim’s shoulder.

Jim squeezed his hand in return, the smile back on his face, wide and persistent even as his eyes glimmered with his own build up of emotion.

“Don’t make them unless you’re certain you can keep them. I’m certain, Harvey.”

Harvey just hauled him into a crushing hug. 

It was good enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	121. Chapter 121

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just playing around with my S1 shipping of Falcone and Jim's dad. :D
> 
> TW for internalised homophobia on Jim's part.

“You’re just a glutton for punishment, aren’t you, Gordon?”

That was Alvarez’ verdict when he turned up to work straight from Sofia’s place, his suit a touch too creased and the bodywash he smelled of a touch too feminine. If that hadn’t been clue enough - and his colleagues could all scent gossip at 50 paces, even if they couldn’t note a suspicious crime scene to save their lives - McKenna had seen them together through the restaurant window, when he was on his way to make things up with his own lady friend.

Jim shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and wished that he settled for kissing Sofia goodnight on the doorstep and going home to his own bed for the evening.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sofia, quite the contrary. Sofia was beautiful and intelligent and charming and, while her family wasn’t ideal, perhaps, if she was willing to overlook what he had been forced to do to Mario, the least he could do in return was forgive her something that had never been her fault in the first place.

You didn’t choose your family, he knew that better than anyone.

It wasn’t even that he regretted moving so fast, or that by lunchtime the whole precinct would know about it. The problem was that he hadn’t had chance to talk it over with Harvey. He hadn’t had time to break the news to him in person, and now Tuttle or someone was just going to dump it on Harvey’s shoulders, like it wasn’t going to break his heart to hear it.

Because Harvey loved him. As a brother and a friend and a partner, sure, but it was more than that. Harvey was in love with him. Had told him so, pushed past breaking point in the aftermath of the Tetch Virus, and though Jim didn’t feel the same way - couldn’t ever feel the same way - he had made a pledge to himself never to rub Harvey’s face in it.

Harvey was his best friend. The very best guy Jim had ever known, and as he hesitated outside Harvey’s office door the guilt crawled thick in his gut. Harvey deserved so much better.

He might have said something, maybe, but Lucius was sat with Harvey explaining his toxicology report in increasingly simple terms, and though Jim hovered and loitered, in the end he had no other choice but return to his desk and get some work done. He kept an eye on Harvey’s office door, impatient frustration simmering at the time Lucius was taking, and finally had to settle for a text message asking Harvey if they could talk, even as he watched the older man head out for a meeting.

“Just be careful, Jim,” Harvey said later, the two of them drinking beer and eating pizza on the battered old couch at Harvey’s apartment, “that’s all I ask of you.”

“You don’t mind?” Jim ventured carefully, attention determinedly focused on the label of his beer bottle, “You’re not angry?”

He risked a glance up at that and Harvey looked so lost that his heart twisted up in his chest.

They had never talked about it, not since that first night. Jim thought for a moment Harvey was going to try and pretend. Would banter about being angry that he didn’t have a girl of his own.

“I want you to be happy,” was what Harvey said finally, so quiet and sincere that Jim could do nothing but sit and listen. “I wish that it could be me who makes that possible for you, but it can’t. I don’t hold that against you.”

Jim felt his throat clog with emotion. Nobody had ever loved him like that, so much that his feelings were placed above theirs. If only things were different. If Harvey were a woman, maybe. If he wasn’t a Gordon.

He reached out for Harvey. Slid his fingers into Harvey’s hair and brought their foreheads together, gazing deep into the older man’s eyes.

“I want you to be happy too. You can do better than me.”

Harvey gave him a watery smile, to match the moisture in his eyes, and Jim pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

If only things were different.

They weren’t though, and he went on another date with Sofia. Laughed and joked and felt almost like the man he used to be - the man who had had hobbies, and interests, and charmed beautiful gallery owners with his informed opinion of Matisse and Kandinsky, then made them laugh at the thought of a solider who pinned prints above his bunk in place of girls in lingerie.

It was easy, casual. Fun, that was the word for it. At least it was until his past caught up with him, just the same as it always did, and he tugged frantically at the restraints binding his wrists to the wall, too aware of the smirk on Nygma’s face and the unhinged look in the eyes of the woman he was once going to marry.

“Relax, Jim,” she mocked, as though his head wasn’t still ringing from the force of the latest blow it had sustained. As though he couldn’t feel the blood trickling down the skin of his arms, and the sharp pain of the bruised, if not cracked, rib at his side. “I’m sure one of your current victims will be along to rescue you.”

He paused at that, startled to hear it couched in those terms, and Lee knew that she had hit her mark. Smiled at him, condescending and cruel, and said,

“I wonder which one it will be? Which one do you want it to be?”

Before the question was put to him he would have said he had no preference - rescue was rescue. As soon as the words were spoken he knew beyond all doubt. He could already picture it, could already feel the ghost of Harvey’s arms about him. Harvey would hold him close and ensure he was safe. He would stroke his big hands down Jim’s back, and use them to cup his face, thumb brushing soft against his cheek as he stared into his eyes and swallowed down the urge to kiss him.

Suddenly Jim was ashamed of himself.

By the time Harvey arrived Lee had twisted the knife in deep, Nygma urging her on in the background, suggesting that it was no new thing. That he had been pulling Harvey along by a string right from the very beginning. That he loved the way Harvey would do anything for him, no matter how dangerous. No matter how humiliating.

That their partnership was all take and no give, because he was a virus and completely self-centered into the bargain.

It wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true.

Perhaps had some basis in reality, and by the time he heard Harvey’s tread he felt sick and filthy, though it had nothing to do with the beating or the alley he had been dragged through.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Harvey whispered as he cut him down, checking him over carefully for injury, and Jim was horrified to be noticing the strength in Harvey’s arms and shoulders, and how good he smelled - like Jim wanted nothing more than to push his face into Harvey’s shirt front and inhale deeply.

In response he tried avoiding Harvey. Quickly gave it up as impossible between work, and more work, and the fact that hanging out with Harvey made up about 90% of his social life. Instead he pushed for more with Sofia. Came on strong, he didn’t doubt, and lost himself in her every time they met, because there was no way anybody could question what he wanted, not when Sofia’s fingers were tight in his hair, and his own were working in slick circles.

He loved the way she clenched and shuddered, and he loved the breathy sounds she made, when he started all over again. He was so hard it hurt when she raked long fingernails down his back, when she switched positions and guided his hands to her chest, and that wouldn’t be the case if the ugly whispers he had heard about himself at High School and in the army had any substance.

If he wasn’t completely normal.

Later he felt sick with the recognition of beliefs he claimed to the wider world he didn’t have. The concepts he didn’t dare voice, and the revulsion that rose in his throat at the idea that it was all a matter of him protesting too much, because it was only ever wilful blindness that allowed him to reconcile the thoughts he couldn’t fight back and the terror that one day he might fall so far as to act upon them.

That one day he might give in and admit that sometimes, when it had been a long day, when he had a lot on his plate, he had to close his eyes and think of something else to help him along. That he might have a beautiful woman in his bed, the kind of woman any right thinking man would give the world simply to have a chance with, and he had to rely on half sketched out images of big hands and broad shoulders, just so he wouldn’t embarrass himself.

Sofia knew, that was what he began to fear. She had to be able to, because they were lying together afterwards, him ashamed of the things he had pictured in the heat of the moment - what and who he had wanted - and she was trailing her fingers up and down the length of his forearm softly. Was cuddled into his side, apparently relaxed and contented, and said simply,

“I saw a picture of your father earlier. You look a lot like him.”

The mention of his father made him feel worse than ever. He would be so ashamed if he could see. If he knew the kind of man his son had grown up to be.

“And now you’re in bed with a Falcone. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

He frowned at that, confused, and when Sofia looked up at him her smile wasn’t pleasant or playful. It was calculating, considering, and he pulled his clothes on angrily when she elaborated, refusing to believe a word of it.

“Come on, Jim,” she said, amusement quirking her lips, “you must have known. Everybody knew. Why do you think nobody thought it strange that Daddy has always been so willing to spare you?”

“You don’t know anything about my father,” Jim warned in return, “he was a good man. He loved my mother.”

“Of course he did,” Sofia soothed, like he was being a petulant child, “I suppose he just had a lot of love to go around.”

Her laughter was still ringing in his head days later, when he had done some digging of his own. When he had sat there, excruciatingly uncomfortable, hearing the same story from Falcone himself. Seeing the sorrow on the man’s face, as though it wasn’t disgusting. As though what his father had done was something worth celebrating.

“If you were - If he was your friend I don’t know why you want to ruin his good name,” Jim said finally, pushed past breaking point. “My father liked women.”

“It’s not an either or situation,” Falcone told him calmly, “I thought you understood that.”

The insinuation was too much. The knowledge that the rumor mill was alive and well even here, even now, entirely overwhelming. He smashed the tumbler he had been drinking from in a fit of temper. Yelled that it wasn’t true and stormed off, trembling with anger. So furious he wanted to hurt someone, wanted to suffer himself, and he smashed his fist into a brick wall, watching distantly as the blood welled and dripped from his fingers.

Somehow he got the impression that neither Falcone would be happy to hear from him any time in the near future.

Harvey wanted to know what had happened, naturally, and by the end of the week he had quit attempting to lie to him. Harvey could be a damn good detective, when he was motivated.

“I thought you knew,” Harvey said quietly when he was done outlining the whole sorry affair, and hearing it from his partner, having it laid out so frankly, was the final straw.

“My father wasn’t gay. Maybe Falcone forced him. Maybe he was trying to blackmail him, I don’t know. He wouldn’t have done _that_ out of choice, I know that much.”

When he was done he wished that he could take the words back. Wished that he could leech the venom from them, at least, because Harvey looked like he had taken a physical blow. Was staring at him like he didn’t even know him, and the shame washed over him, along with the anger that he cared what Harvey thought. That he was worried that this might put Harvey off him.

“There’s nothing wrong with it.”

It all boiled over. The hurt and the guilt and the frustration.

“Of course there’s something wrong with it! He was married, to my mother. He was the DA. He was supposed to be someone people could look up to. Not - not some disgusting pervert who cheated and lied and ruined people’s lives because he couldn’t be happy with what he already had.”

His chest was heaving, his hands clenched into fists. Harvey just looked at him, expression too neutral, and it was Jim who snapped. Jim who yelled at him to tell him what he knew, what he was so obviously keeping quiet about, until Harvey said slowly,

“He was with Falcone before he met your mother. Falcone introduced him to her. It was kind of common knowledge. I thought Falcone would have - or your uncle. When you were looking into the Court -”

It hurt. Hurt worse even than finding about his dad’s involvement with the mob, with the Court. It hurt like he was begging him to wake up all over again, like he was losing him all over again, and that was the only excuse he had for what happened next. He wanted somebody else to hurt, someone else to share the pain he felt, and in place of the shouting and the yelling, his voice was cold and clipped this time around.

“Is that why you told me how you felt? Did you think it would be a case of like father, like son? Did you think that because he was sick, I must be too?”

“I’m not sick for loving you, Jim,” was what Harvey went with, chin tilted up defiantly. “Stupid, maybe, but I’m not sick.”

“I am never going to want you,” Jim shot back, just as viciously as he could, enjoying the way Harvey flinched like he had gone ahead and hit him. Harvey regained his composure, barely, and told him seriously,

“If you don’t leave, right now, I’m going to make you.”

With that said there was nothing to do but push out into the cold night air and give into the anger. When that was done, when he had messed up his hand some more, the tears came. Great gut wrenching sobs that had him curled into himself in his lonely bed, fuelled by self-hatred for the things he had done and the things he had said.

The things he had spent his whole life trying to be, when all of it was for nothing. There wasn’t some perfect man out there he was attempting to make proud. There was just Peter Gordon, a man who did bad things and made stupid decisions. A man with flaws, like a million others, and it hit Jim suddenly that he wasn’t crying for his father.

He was crying for himself.

He was crying for the life he could have lead if he hadn’t been so hung up on doing the ‘right’ things, and behaving the ‘right’ way. He was crying for the teenage boy who had nobody to turn to. The college freshman who got drunk and insensible, and lost what he had once pledged to save while his room mate watched on and laughed, because it was better than them thinking that he didn’t want to.

The soldier who refused to admit what he felt, even at the very last moment. Even as he had no choice but to watch as death stole whatever future they could have had, nothing but the memory of furtive glances and his own anger left to tide him over.

He thought of Harvey then. Of Harvey holding him close and telling him that he loved him. That he adored him. That he’d die for him. He could too, any day in the line of duty. In this hell hole of a city. Harvey could die and Jim would never know what it was like to be with someone who loved him for who he was, flaws and all. Who he loved in return, without reservation.

It was late when he pressed his cellphone to his ear. So late it was early, and before he could chicken out, or question what the hell he was doing, Harvey’s voice was sounding on the other end of the line, rough with sleep and concern for his well-being.

“I don’t think you’re sick,” he managed, voice still cut up and his breathing stuttering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Harvey.”

“It’s nearly four o’clock in the morning,” Harvey said reasonably, “could you really not wait until dawn to apologize?”

He attempted to laugh. Only ended up crying, another hitching sob pulled out of him, and when Harvey crooned something soothing into the handset about how it was okay, and how he was always planning on forgiving him, he couldn’t help but cry harder. He was still crying when Harvey let himself in with the key he had given him long ago - the key he had never used out of respect for his privacy - and Jim just clung to him in gratitude when Harvey pulled him into his arms, too far gone to be embarrassed about it.

“I wanted him to be proud of me.”

“I’m sure he would be.”

Jim shook his head. Pulled back enough to look Harvey in the face. To look into the eyes of the man who had driven across town at a ridiculous hour of the morning to comfort him, when what he really deserved was a punch in the nose for the things he had said to him.

“I’ve lived my whole life wanting to do right by the memory of a man who never even existed. He wasn’t a hero, Harvey. He wasn’t even a good guy.”

“He was still your dad,” Harvey offered, “He loved you. You shouldn’t doubt that.”

For the first time Jim didn’t. Why wouldn’t a man who could love Carmine Falcone be able to love his mess of a son? It seemed obvious, simple, and he could feel the smile spread across his face. The ache in his cheeks because it wasn’t something he did all that often.

Then it fell away, a new thought forming.

“How about you? Do you still feel the same way about me?”

Harvey huffed a breath of a laugh. Blinked up at the ceiling a few times, like he was getting control of himself, before saying,

“It’s not a switch I can turn on and off, Jim. I love you. You’re it for me; forever, always, all the rest of it. You can be a dick sometimes, a cruel heartless dick, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re still everything I ever wanted, because nobody’s perfect, Jim. Not even you.”

Jim’s throat ached. His heart felt raw, his whole head in turmoil.

“We’d have to take it slow,” he whispered, afraid that if he said it any louder he would never manage to get the words out. “I’ve never…” That wasn’t quite true. “I’ve hated myself for thinking about it. It’s always been there.”

“Oh, Jim,” Harvey breathed, and maybe the older man didn’t have a great grip on his self-control after all, not if the helpless way he clung to him meant anything. But Harvey made an obvious attempt to take a step back then. To play it cool and not to get his hopes up. “Perhaps it’s not something you should rush into. I’m not the only fish in the sea.”

It was the self-sacrifice that broke him. The certain knowledge that it had near killed Harvey to say it, to give him that out, and Jim kissed him clumsily. It was terrible, really, because his face was swollen and blotchy, and he could scarcely draw enough air in. It served its purpose though, said what his words weren’t making clear, and they ended up wrapped around each other on his bed - fully clothed but more intimate than he had ever managed to be with anyone.

“I'm going to be good for nothing tomorrow,” Harvey yawned eventually, and Jim understood. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so strung out and exhausted.

“We could ring in ill,” he suggested, the idea of spending the entire day like this with Harvey way too appealing.

“Now I know I'm dreaming. I knew it had to be too good to be true.”

Jim pinched him for that. Not hard, just enough for Harvey to feel it. Enough for him to make a show of being outraged, and then go back to running his fingers through his hair.

“I like that,” Jim told him, already on the verge of sleep, “it feels nice.”

Harvey just kissed him on the forehead, possessive in a way he should have found disturbing but didn't, and carried right on doing it. It made him feel like everything would be okay, like things would turn out all right, and he clutched a little tighter to Harvey in gratitude, even as he made a silent pledge to himself. It was probably going to be difficult going forward, and it was probably going to be frightening. But if Harvey could forgive him, if he could forgive his father...

Surely, in the scheme of it all, it wouldn't hurt to try to forgive himself and move on to better things?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	122. Chapter 122

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A while ago I wrote [a little fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22433309) from Harvey's POV based on some headcanons about Jim being trans. Anyway, Feurio said they'd be interested in a ficlet from Jim's POV and suddenly 5,000 words happened...
> 
> TW for some transphobia and homophobia.

Jim had always wanted to be just like his father. Played at combing his hair back into the same style, and begged his mother to let him wear shirts and ties in place of the hideous frills she was always so keen to see him in. The dresses and the bows, and the shiny buckled shoes that pinched and rubbed when he insisted on trailing after Roger rather than playing nicely with all the other girls.

His mother never understood, not really. Not at eight years old when he took a scissors to his pigtails, and not at eighteen when he tried to explain to her that guys were okay, sometimes, but he didn’t really see himself settling down with one.

“You’re still so young,” was what she told him in turn, “you can’t possibly know what you want from life.”

He was old enough for the military, no matter what she said, and so long as nobody asked he didn’t have to tell what kind of thoughts got him worked up and frantic alone in his bunk at night. It was nobody’s else’s business what he did off base and behind closed doors, or who he did it with. Until suddenly it was, and his peers were advising him to grow his hair out and wear make up to socials so he wouldn’t be under such constant scrutiny.

He wore a skirt, even, with his dress blues to what should have been the proudest moment of his life, getting a bravery medal pinned to his chest while his mother watched on with tears in her eyes. All he felt was a sense of misery, because either he was a continual disappointment, or he pretended to be somebody he wasn’t forever.

Because his mother took in his lip gloss and his pantyhose with a happy smile, and started talking about wedding bells and baby showers and other things that were never going to happen. Not the way she wanted them to, at least, and later, when he introduced Barbara, she left in a flood of tears as Roger lingered behind and asked why he had to be like this. Why he couldn’t just find a boyfriend - the way they both knew he had done before - and stop making everybody’s life difficult.

The questions stuck with him out on deployment, because for the first time he didn’t get any letters from family, and because perhaps part of him wondered the same thing. Part of him wondered why it had to be him who didn’t want to be the person he was. Why even now, even with everything he already had, it still felt like he was trapped in the wrong life.

The wrong body.

Finally he decided that it didn’t matter why. All that mattered was that it did. Because he saw it happen. Stood there, helpless, as one of their own was torn limb from limb. Because life was too short, that was what he told Barbara over the scratchy telephone line, and he got his honorable discharge even as he sat in stuffy doctors’ offices and talked it out, over and over, with strangers who checked things off on their clipboards.

“I’ll understand if it’s too much,” he choked out eventually, his throat aching with the possibility of it all being over, but Barbara only kissed him sweetly. Told him that she had always loved him for more than the way he filled out his shirts and the details on his birth certificate. He did cry then, just a little, and he was still trying to work out how best to word the news that his mom would get a wedding to attend after all when Roger called him to say that they needed to plan a funeral.

They didn’t bond, scarcely spoke at all, though in the movies standing at a graveside broke down all the barriers. He refused to let it break him. Arrived back in Gotham determined to grab hold of life with both hands. Spent the money his mother had left him on surgery, and buried the last remnants of Jemma Gordon alongside her memory. Grinned like an idiot when the police academy approved his application, and let Barbara shave all his hair off, the way he hadn’t had the courage to do when he joined the army.

He introduced himself as Jim and though a few people stared, nobody questioned it. Nobody could fault his test scores, or his track performance, and he had been in uniform for three weeks before his training officer took him aside to tell him that his presentation was good, but it wasn’t perfect, and that he ought to be careful because the GCPD wasn’t the most progressive of departments.

“I don’t know what you mean -” he tried, stubborn to the last, but she shook her head and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m not asking for your life story. I don’t want to know the details. All I’m saying is that you should look around you. You need to pick your battles.”

He understood, that was the worst of it. Knew exactly what she meant because the corruption was rampant. The disregard for the rulebooks blatant. It was going to be hard enough without making himself a target. What she didn’t understand was that he was his father’s son.

Taking the easy path wasn’t an option.

He was going to clean it up. He was going to drag what was shrouded in shadow back into the light. If he had to be more careful about the way he said things than what he said, then so be it. He knew it was the right decision.

By the time he was fast tracked over to homicide it was a non-issue. His colleagues were all too busy hating him for his principles to go looking any closer. Bullock was a prime example. Lazy, slovenly, pathetic - that was his initial assessment of the man, and every time he thought he might have to reconsider, Bullock went out of his way to disgust him all over again. Told crass jokes and regaled him with unwanted tales of what he had done the night before, and how much he had paid for it.

“One day you’re going to get more than you bargained for,” Alvarez said during one such story time, leaning forward from the back seat, oblivious to the club they were meant to be watching, “you can’t always tell just by looking, you know what I mean?”

Bullock laughed, agreeing, and Jim just sat there for long moments, frozen, as they sniggered like schoolboys over what a skirt might be covering.

“The thing is,” Alvarez asked, clearly warming to the topic, “would you keep going?”

“Depends how drunk I was,” Bullock said in answer, “and how much I’d paid him.”

It was too much, way too much, and Jim slammed the car door behind him in lieu of slamming his fist into one or both of their faces. It was dumb luck, really, that sent him barrelling into the guy they were meant to be tailing, complete with a sizeable quantity of controlled substances about his person.

“You could have blown the entire operation,” Bullock fumed, all the same, and Jim shoved him by the shoulders, forcibly, and yelled that if he had been doing the job he was paid for then he wouldn’t have had to go it alone, would he? The anger burned beneath his skin, bright and focused, and he took it out on the punching bag in the gym, until it felt like every muscle in his body was aching.

Bullock didn’t apologize, didn’t even look contrite about it, but he did pull his weight the next day. Started proving his mettle in all kinds of ways and somehow, without him even noticing it, Jim started thinking of him as Harvey, and stopped wanting to throttle him every time they were forced to spend longer than five minutes together.

Spilled his guts to him when Barbara said she was walking away for good, and missed him more than he could ever have imagined, when he was given no choice but to trade in his badge for an Arkham security uniform. He still swiped the feel of the man’s mouth from his cheek, bemused, and for a moment even considered asking his advice on the beautiful doctor who kept smiling over at him.

Sanity prevailed, just, and Harvey quizzed him about it all the morning after instead, so that Jim was almost ashamed of how pleased he was to be congratulated on it. To be praised in the same fashion that had once made him shudder with disgust, envisioning how the guy being so solicitous in the moment would laugh about him with his friends when it was over.

Harvey didn’t push though, not beyond the expected banter, and he threw himself into the relationship he had always dreamed he would have. Into being a regular guy with the woman he loved, at least as much Gotham would ever allow them to be a regular anything, and maybe things weren’t perfect. That didn’t mean he wasn’t happy with them.

Didn’t mean that he wasn’t convinced that what they had was meant to be forever.

Then Lee was telling him that she was pregnant, apology mixing with defiance in her big brown eyes, and it hurt like nothing he had ever known. Tore his heart from his chest and shoved it back in the wrong way round, so that every breath he took, every beat of his heart, was agony.

“I never thought I’d be a dad,” he said finally, pulling the hastily purchased ring from his pocket, and Lee flung her arms about him and sobbed into his shoulder. He didn’t ask questions because he couldn’t face the answers. Didn’t talk about the whys and the hows, because all that mattered was that it was. He knew that, understood that, and pushed down all the conflicting emotion because the alternative was to lose Lee completely.

Because then he lost her anyway, the job that was supposed to be his salvation proving his downfall.

Harvey was the only one who believed in him. The only person who bothered to visit, and the only person who had the guts to tell him that the baby was dead and Lee had gone to rebuild her life elsewhere. Harvey was the one to move mountains to get him free, and the one who held him as he shook, drunk and insensible, unable to voice how awful it had been. The beatings he had received, and the things he had had done to him.

“When we find the son of a bitch, Jim,” Harvey murmured, anger in his voice like Jim had never heard it. “When I get my hands on him I’ll kill him. I swear to God I’ll kill the bastard.”

“Don’t.”

It was the first coherent thing he managed to get out in hours. It was enough to have Harvey pulling away just enough to look into his face, his own gaze brimming with moisture.

“Promise me you won’t, Harvey. Please. Promise me.”

Harvey clenched his eyes shut. Struggled visibly for composure but, ultimately, nodded his head. Clung to him still tighter and promised, voice strained against his ear. It wasn’t the first time Jim had ever considered kissing Harvey, but that was the first moment he truly wanted to. Wanted to more than anything, and it was just as well Harvey announced that they needed another drink, and gave them both a chance to get a grip on themselves.

The problem was that now the idea was in his head, it wouldn’t go away again. Instead it evolved, expanded, and even as he tracked Lee down, desperately hoping she would give him another chance, it was there in the back of his mind, visions of how it could be, Harvey gazing up at him in devotion.

Lee had already found someone new and he drove back to Gotham with visions of how things would really be.

Harvey would laugh in his face first, disbelieving, and then he’d agree to a night or two out of curiosity. Would look at him like he was a freak, though he didn’t mean to, and when it was done he’d ask questions Jim couldn’t answer, however much he wished he could.

“Sorry, I just -” Vale apologized in his place, all bashful smile and long fingers petting at the hair on his stomach, “Being a journalist, you know? So many questions, all the time. You can’t turn it off.”

“Like being a cop,” Jim offered, though he wasn’t. Not anymore.

“I figured I was going to uncover some great scandal,” she confessed, proving his suspicions right, “but your secret’s safe with me. You know that, right?”

All he could do was nod and lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t know the half of it.

The half she did know proved too much, what with Tetch and Lee and the terrifying vigil he kept at her hospital bedside, surrounded by the bleeping of the monitors.

Harvey was the one to pick up the pieces, just the same as always, and Jim went back to the precinct. Went back to what he knew. What he wanted, really, because it wasn’t the same place he had shown up at on that very first day, fired up with self-righteousness and entirely without back-up. Harvey had his back no matter what. Took over from Barnes like a professional, like a guy every last officer looked up to, because they did.

Because he had read Harvey all wrong, and in place of a vague sense of longing came the slow realization that he loved Harvey. That he was in love with him. That he spent nearly all day, every day, with him, and he still resented the fact he had to go home to his own lonely apartment in the evenings. He attempted to wrangle invites to Harvey’s place instead, invited Harvey over to his on the rare occasions they weren’t forthcoming, or out to some cop bar or other.

He rang Harvey when his uncle invited him out to some far flung cabin to reminisce, the sound of his partner’s voice comforting even if he couldn’t tell him exactly what it was he wanted reassurance about.

“Try and enjoy yourself,” Harvey urged, encouraging him to put family before work, before the case, and Frank told him that his father would have been proud of him, even as he described the depths of his father’s treachery.

“I wanted to be just like him,” Jim said, more to himself than his audience, and he didn’t know how to interpret the look Frank gave him in return.

Perhaps he just didn’t want to.

Back in Gotham, life only grew crazier. The mess he had made of it only got harder to deal with, until he was six feet below ground in his own coffin, listening to Harvey’s voice crack as he faced the prospect of never seeing sunlight again. As he thought about it all being over. It wasn’t only for Gotham that he stuck the needle in his neck. It was for everything he still needed to do. Everything he still wanted to experience.

Harvey told him that it wasn’t his fault, even as he winced with every slight movement - the result of getting thrown into a couple of train cars - and let him sleep on his sofa night after night without comment. Let him crash out in his bed, after they had both been drinking, and Jim wasn’t proud of the way he made a habit of it in the weeks afterwards, though it was hot and uncomfortable to sleep in his trousers, and gossip began to circulate because he made the mistake of answering the wrong cellphone at three in the morning.

He pretended not to notice. Tried not to care. Endured Alvarez’ commentary on the topic when they were posted on stake outs together, and shook his head at the incredulity of it all when the man came right out and asked,

“So are you gay, or what? You never really struck me as a guy who swung both ways, Gordon.”

“It’s none of your business,” Jim answered, more long suffering than offended.

Alvarez gave him a hard done by look. “I was only asking. You play your cards close to your chest, that’s all. Everyone knows Bullock will fuck anything.”

Jim glared at that, for Harvey’s sake - as broadly true as the statement might be - and for his own.

“You two must have a lot in common then,” was what he went with, gaze fixed on the mark they were actually meant to be watching, and Alvarez startled into laughter beside him.

“You know what, Gordon? You’re not as bad as people make out.”

That was the kind of ringing endorsement he got these days. Not being as spectacularly awful as people expected him to be. Except for when he was worse, of course, and he arrived home from his latest self-instigated catastrophe - via a stop off at the hospital to watch the man who tied his heart into knots get stitches put in his shoulder - to find a letter waiting for him.

He debated ignoring it. Toyed with the idea of printing ‘Return to Sender’ across the front in capital letters, the way all his own missives had reappeared during his time in Blackgate, but in the end he just couldn’t do it. They were still family.

Brothers.

That was what Roger said, over the telephone, and Jim was still trying to make sense of the sudden turnabout when he walked into the precinct and saw a familiar figure standing at the front desk. He did his best to hide his discomfort. Did his utmost not to let on how nervous he was, watching Roger drag his gaze up over the slim fit of his shirt and the stubble along his jawline.

“I would never have recognized you,” Roger said, sincerely, and it meant more than he could put into words, to hear that from the one person left in the world who had known him since the very beginning.

From there it was all downhill, because first Roger insulted Harvey by being charmingly homophobic, and then compounded matters by droning loudly on and on about how getting married had changed his perspective on things, and how it was such a shame that Harvey had never managed to make it down the aisle. Jim shot the older man an apologetic look but Harvey was too busy glaring daggers, and then Roger decided it was time to turn his attention to Jim’s own shortcomings anyway.

“I always told you it wouldn’t work,” he said of Barbara, dismissively, “you knew she was interested in women.”

That hadn’t been the problem, not at all, but he concentrated on his beer rather than make a scene. Rather than have Roger spill enough for Harvey to put two and two together, because he couldn’t take it right now. Couldn’t bear the questions followed by the inevitable rejection. Roger was oblivious, as usual, commenting on the insight he had gleaned from his social media,

“A journalist? I don’t know what you were thinking; you had barely known her two minutes. She could have made your life very difficult.”

After that it was straight on to what he had hoped to have with Lee. What he still ached for sometimes even now, even after everything.

“What a disaster that would have been. Marriages are built on trust and honesty, and there’s you, telling everyone you’re going to be a father.”

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear it, and he staggered to the men’s room where he retched and panted and finally splashed cold water on his face, knowing beyond doubt that Roger was sat there telling Harvey everything. Perhaps that had been his plan all along, Jim thought bitterly. Perhaps he just wanted to see him suffer.

It was easy enough to leave by the side exit, either way, and he walked and walked until the anger had given way to a sick feeling of unease in his gut, and he looked up to find himself at the railings overlooking the city park. Their father had used to bring them on the weekends, to feed the ducks and play catch, and he’d always say that it didn’t matter that he had got mud all up his socks or grass stains all over his stupid dress. He’d tell his Mom that it was his fault, not Jim’s.

He was still caught up in the memories when a familiar tread filtered into his awareness. When a familiar figure fell into place beside him, so close their shoulders were almost touching.

“You know then.”

After all this time - after he had painted out how it would go a thousand times in his head, planning out the perfect moment.

“It doesn’t change anything.”

Jim swallowed, vision blurring with tears, and he had to suck in a shuddering breath, and then another, before he trusted himself to say anything.

“I never lied to Lee,” was what he went with, staring out into the darkness. If he looked at Harvey he would break down, he knew. “We just didn’t talk much about it.”

That was true of everything. The cheating, the baby, the life they were supposed to build together. It was as though they were both afraid that it would fall apart. That all the cracks in the façade would destroy the fragile lie they were living. They had never even talked about his being trans, not properly. Had simply fallen into bed and, after the initial moment of wide eyed shock, carried on, him guiding Lee’s hand to what was okay, what he could cope with, without ever once explaining the how or the why to her.

“I thought it didn’t matter, maybe - and,” he swallowed, tried again, “and I loved her, Harvey. I loved her so much I didn’t care how or why, only that she was going to have the baby and she wanted me to be the one she raised it with.”

“I’m sorry,” Harvey choked out, putting a hand on his shoulder that made Jim want to cling tight to him and never let go again. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you couldn’t tell me.”

Jim shook his head. Felt half hysterical, half like he was somewhere else, watching this moment he had feared for so long reach its anticlimax.

“I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

Roger was waiting on his doorstep when he got home, and Jim wished he had accepted Harvey’s unspoken invitation to do the usual thing and fall asleep on a piece of his furniture. It would have served Roger right to be stuck there waiting all night. Instead he let the man in and offered him a drink. Procrastinated and prevaricated and finally sat there numbly, listening to Roger tell him stiltedly that he was sorry. That he didn’t know how to deal with it, that he never had, but that it didn’t mean that he didn’t love him. That he didn’t want the best for him.

“If he’s what you want, then that’s okay with me,” Roger said eventually, and then because he had to be insulting in some way, “I think you could do better but, hey, you’ve made your decision.”

“We’re not together.”

“Oh,” Roger said, sounding disturbingly earnest, “I thought you were pretending for my sake. He certainly acts like you are.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” Jim said, tiredly, and let Roger’s words wash over him without taking them on board. Harvey wasn’t interested. He had slept in the man’s bed without being accosted before Harvey knew. The revelation was hardly likely to improve his chances.

In fact, it didn’t seem to make a difference at all. Not for the worse and not for the better. Harvey still treated him the same. Still looked at him the same way and spoke to him the same way. Still ranted at him the same way for his foolhardy stupidity, even as he patted him down, checking him over for injuries.

Just checking him over, maybe, because he escaped from one near death experience only to find that Harvey wouldn’t let go. That Harvey was looking at him like he was the only thing on the face of the earth that mattered, and the hope that he had long ago quashed began to surge through him.

“Roger said - but I didn’t,” he tried, the words tripping over each other, and Harvey stepped back like he had been burned.

“It doesn’t matter. I know you’re not interested.”

Harvey sounded so sincere, so serious, that Jim’s head spun with it. That wasn’t how it was. Wasn’t how it had ever been. But Harvey was making as if to leave. To go and do God knows what while Jim stood there like an idiot, the chance he had been waiting for slipping through his fingers.

He thought of the carnage in Afghanistan. Thought of the things he had told his therapists back then, about wanting to really live his life, not just exist through it. He grabbed at Harvey’s wrist, the movement fuelled by equal parts panic and determination.

“No. You don’t understand what I’m saying.”

“I get it,” Harvey assured, still at cross purposes, “you don’t need to explain yourself.”

He couldn’t breathe for it. To be so close, and yet so far away, and Jim tried again. “No. Roger said you would still be interested if you knew, and I didn’t believe him.” Harvey still didn’t get it. Still wasn’t understanding. Jim gripped at his upper arms, so that Harvey had no choice but to look him full in the face.

To see the proof of what he was saying.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Harvey gaped at him for a long moment. So long Jim was sure it would kill him, the frightened waiting and the hopeful anticipation. Then Harvey was reaching a hand out, fingers trembling where they came up to touch his cheek, and Jim was done with holding back and taking things slowly.

Pushed forward instead, frantic, and crashed their mouths together. His hands tangled in Harvey’s hair, demanding, and Harvey followed willingly, happy for him to take control of the situation. It was so good, everything he had wanted it to be - hot and eager and proof that things wouldn’t be the way they were in his secret fears. The ones that had kept him quiet where he would have spoken before, insisting at the last moment that Harvey would want him to play at being a girl again, like the boyfriends he had had in high school.

“Is this going to change things?” He asked when they broke apart, anyway, the worry lingering.

Harvey just beamed at him, coming at the thing from another direction entirely. Wrapped an arm around his shoulders and brushed his lips against his ear, making Jim shiver as he promised that it was definitely going to bring changes to their relationship.

Told him happily that he liked guys who got demanding, like the death grip Jim had on him wasn’t at all embarrassing, and Jim fidgeted helplessly through an afternoon of paperwork, every minute he wasn’t alone with Harvey dragging out like an eternity.

“We can take things slow if you want,” Harvey said when the shift was finally over, though his eyes were dark with wanting, and Jim just kissed him impatiently until they were both flushed and panting.

He had been waiting _years_ already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	123. Chapter 123

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request to write something based on [Africa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY) by Toto. I was kind of stumped at first, but then I had a crack idea based around the lines ' _It's gonna take a lot to take me away from you, there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do._ ' 
> 
> Basically, Harvey becomes irresistible. Jim gets jealous.

“You did everything you could.”

“Don’t,” Harvey shook his head, the brim of his hat pulled down low. “Just don’t, Jim.”

Jim understood. He knew what it was to fail. To give the job everything you had only for the villains to win regardless.

Only for a lifeless body to lay beneath a sheet, the press crowding closer like vultures, demanding to know whose fault it was.

Harvey stood up to the plate, just the same as usual, swiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand before ducking under the police tape and reading out a statement. The questions came afterwards, Harvey doing his best in an impossible situation, and the following morning the Gazette still ripped him apart for his efforts.

“What’s the point?” Harvey asked him later, shoulders still slumped from the dressing down he had received from the Commissioner. The cackling laugh a former acquaintance had aimed at him, breaking client - customer confidentiality as she yelled drunken obscenities from the station holding cell. “Do you ever wonder why you bother?”

It scared Jim to hear, legitimately, because that was his line. He was the one who came to Harvey, depressed and maudlin, relying on the older man to make things right again. To make the world seem brighter, more welcoming, and now their roles were reversed Jim didn’t have the first clue how to return the favor.

All he could do was buy another round of drinks. Place his hand on Harvey’s arm, carefully counting out the number of beats it was acceptable to leave it there, and wish that he could crush Harvey into a hug and tell him exactly what he meant to him. What a great guy he was, no matter what anyone else said, and how it was the one thing Jim was truly proud of - the limited part he had played in Harvey turning his life around.

Harvey just sighed, defeated, and Jim watched him as he retreated to the men’s room, caught up in his own inappropriate reactions to the pull of Harvey’s shirt across his shoulders and the thought of all the pale skin under his clothing.

When he finally turned back to the bar he startled to realize somebody had sidled up close to him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The guy asked, all lecherous grin and dishevelled hair, and Jim shifted back as best the stool allowed. Gotham wasn’t the kind of place where you encouraged unsolicited conversation. The guy only moved with him. “Go on,” he urged, and for the first time Jim noticed the shiny coin he was fidgeting with.

It wasn’t any currency he recognized. Wasn’t a symbol of anything good, he was certain, even as his fingers reached out of their own accord, rubbing over the smooth surface.

“Where is it from?” He asked, though he hadn’t intended to, and the guy grinned still wider. Pulled another coin from his pocket, identical to the one Jim now held in his hand, and flicked it in the air in a move that reminded Jim unsettlingly of Dent and his treachery.

“You ought to focus on where you’re going,” the man said, something almost lyrical to his tone, “rather than worrying about where you’ve been.”

Jim frowned, in no mood for drink sodden philosophy, but somebody jostled past him, diverting his attention, and when he looked back the guy had moved on to his next victim. Jim stared at the coin for a long moment, something hypnotic about the way it caught the light, and wondered if it was the city which attracted nutjobs and weirdos, or if it was the people who came to Gotham who made the city the way it was.

He wished he was better at dealing with it, whichever way around it was. He wished he could be a cure for the city’s ills, rather than one of its symptoms.

Harvey was making his way back over now, expression neutral but body language miserable, and Jim dropped the coin into the conspicuously placed jar on the bar, a water stained label imploring the clientèle to ‘make a wish and leave a tip!’

Right now, all he really wished was that when other people looked at Harvey they saw what he saw.

* * *

Another day, another superhuman effort to drag himself out of bed and turn his alarm off.

He shouldn’t have drank so much the night before. Harvey could hold it better, claimed not to be able to function without a low level hangover, and thinking of Harvey only filtered through hazy memories of his partner helping him up the stairs of his apartment building and dutifully accepting Jim’s repeated assurances that he was his very best friend in the whole universe.

Harvey patting him on the back and helping him get his shoes off without giving himself a concussion. Tucking him into bed with the air of a longsuffering parent as the world spun around and around, Jim trying to reach out for Harvey to serve as his anchor even as he was closing the door behind him.

Jim groaned and looked back at his unmade bed longingly. Sometimes he really didn’t want to protect and serve. Sometimes he really hated himself.

Sometimes he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, like when he got to the register at the coffee place across the street from the precinct and realized he didn’t have any money on him. No cards either, because his wallet was in his other jacket, and he was still turning out the pockets of his trousers when a familiar hand fell on his shoulder.

“What would you do without me?” Harvey asked, sounding none the worse the wear for the previous evening. Looked none the worse for it either, his hair still damp from the shower and the jacket he was wearing free of creases.

The girl behind the counter seemed just as appreciative as he was, offering Harvey a blinding smile where she had had only a look of put upon exasperation for him - and that was before the revelation that he couldn’t pay for his order. Now she was like a different person, giggling at Harvey’s terrible attempt at a joke and pushing her hair behind her ears as he handed the money over.

She even waved as they left, like something out of the cutesy rom-coms none of them admitted to sniffling through out on deployment, and Harvey only shrugged when he raised an eyebrow.

“Try not to get any ideas, Jim. I’m still recovering from your last girlfriend.”

“I don’t think that display was for my benefit,” Jim protested, because a blind man could see where her interest lay, and because he didn’t really want to dwell on the remembered image of Harvey bound and bloodied, his latest attempt at sharing his life ending with someone holding a knife to Harvey’s throat.

Sofia had made him see what had been right in front of his face, at least, and while pining for his best friend was painful, it was better than pining for someone who had literally attempted to murder him.

“Sure,” was what Harvey said, sarcastic around a bite of donut, “it’s a constant struggle, fighting off all my admirers.”

Jim might have said something, but the words stalled on his tongue and then the moment was gone. Then he was being swamped by a mountain of paperwork, sent by orders from on high, and he kept glancing through Harvey’s office window, jealousy stirring in the pit of his gut at the way Deputy Commissioner Anderson kept putting her hand on Harvey’s arm.

Anderson had always had a thing for Harvey, Jim knew, and it had made him feel uneasy even before he realized why, hating the idea of Harvey falling for her no nonsense charm even as he told himself all he wanted was for Harvey to be happy. Now he understood what the real problem was. He did want Harvey to be happy - he just wanted him to be happy at his side.

It didn’t seem so very much to ask.

Still, he heaved a sigh of relief when Anderson finally left, and he was just bringing in the first stack of reports for Harvey to sign off on when he was met with the sight of old Bill Walker from the County Record Office with his hand on Harvey’s thigh.

“Jim!” Harvey exclaimed, voice high and urgent, “I’ll be with you right now, we really can’t put those reports off any longer.”

He opened his mouth to demur, there was no rush at all, but the pleading look Harvey gave him had him nodding along, rambling something about the imagined time sensitive nature of the cases he was working on. Bill removed his hand - slowly - and whispered something into Harvey’s ear that Jim couldn’t hear, but made Harvey’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. Bill winked at Harvey on his way out. Held his hand to the side of his face and mouthed ‘call me’, before hobbling down the steps to main reception, cane thunking heavily on the stairwell.

“What was that about?”

Harvey took a long swallow from his hip flask, gaze still a little wild.

“I have no idea.”

* * *

As the week progressed the weirdness only continued.

The girl at the coffee shop grew ever bolder, scrawling her phone number across the side of Harvey’s take-out cup, and Mrs Gregory - regular complainant and mother of a city councillor - came in to lodge an official complaint and left giggling like a schoolgirl, promising to write the precinct a letter of commendation to be submitted to the local paper.

Tuttle sat too close in briefings, so close Harvey gave up on sitting altogether to put some space between them, and that evening he tracked Harvey down to the side alley of the bar they were all celebrating a bloodshed free case closure in. Shrank back into the shadows at the sound of Alvarez’ voice, hearing but not really believing as Alvarez asked Harvey who was ever going to know about it, and what they would do about it, anyway.

“You’re married,” Harvey said, reasonably, and Alvarez made an incredulous sound that encapsulated all the other times he hadn’t let that stop him.

“You’re not, it’s not your problem.”

“It’s flattering, I guess?” Harvey didn’t sound convinced. “But I’m not interested.”

“How long have you been waiting now?” Alvarez asked, wheedling. “I’m not a tease. I’m offering.”

“I think that’s Jim I can hear,” Harvey said, though they both knew it was impossible, and Jim slunk back inside after him only to find Harvey pulling on his jacket and raking a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m calling it a night,” Harvey told him, keeping a wary eye out for their colleagues, “it feels like the crazy is catching.”

The next morning Charlie Billington, the city editor at the Gazette, sent an intern over to take notes for a vapid puff piece, and the kid didn’t write down a single word. Instead he simply stared at Harvey, eyes hungry like he was starved and Harvey was medium rare. Like he wanted nothing more than to taste the feast before him, and Jim wasn’t exactly proud of the death glare he gave the kid when they all three went on a tour of the forensics lab.

He just needed him to know that Harvey was off-limits.

The problem was that the guy didn’t back down and back off. He put a hand on Harvey’s chest out in the corridor instead, gaze going dark and wanting. Leaned in close, taking Harvey’s attempt to step backwards as invitation to shove him against the wall and do his best to get his mouth on him. That was about the time Harvey yelled for him to come help, frantic and just a little terrified, and Jim took way too much pleasure in escorting the man from the building.

“Is there like a science thing that makes people, you know, come on strong?” Harvey asked Lucius afterwards, fingers trailing over jars of something, and instead of steering Harvey away Lucius took hold of his wrist in a move that had Harvey visibly swallowing.

That had Jim breaking apart the little tableau because Bill Walker and kids barely out of high school were one thing. Lucius Fox - a guy Harvey had openly admitted on more than one occasion to being completely in awe of - was quite another. Lucius frowned when they broke contact, holding his hand up to inspect it, mind already working nineteen to the dozen.

“Okay, that was weird,” he admitted, tapping something into the computer and looking back over at Harvey for a long moment before shaking his head and pulling himself out of whatever reverie he had been stuck in, “really weird.”

Jim put his own hand on Harvey’s shoulder, just to be comforting, and though Lucius gave them a speculative look he didn’t comment on it.

* * *

There was no obvious science thing to account for it, that was the simplified explanation Lucius gave Harvey. There was definitely something going on though, that Lucius did agree with, and Jim figured it was kind of hard to claim otherwise when the desk sergeant brought up a delivery of red roses to Harvey’s office, complete with an erotic poem penned by Bill Walker.

“Isn’t Walker married?” Lucius asked, puzzling over the whole set up, and Harvey grimaced, casting a glance through the window to where Alvarez was supposedly working,

“It doesn’t stop some people.”

“Maybe they just genuinely like you,” Jim offered when Lucius disappeared back in the direction of his lab. “You ever think of that?”

“Of course they don’t genuinely like me,” Harvey scoffed, tone a trifle too bitter. “Nobody genuinely likes me. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date I didn’t pay for in advance.”

“What about Scottie? I thought you two were going to get married.”

“Yeah, well. That was different, wasn’t it?”

Jim shrugged, waiting for the answer. Any answer, really, because he had tried over the years but never succeeded in getting much out of Harvey on the topic of his and Scottie’s relationship.

“Scottie was willing to give me a chance,” Harvey said finally, “and I managed to mess it up. That’s how these things really work, Jim. People don’t chase after you.”

In his world, that was pretty much exactly how these things worked. Somebody asked him, he said yes, and a few months later they were blaming him for ruining their lives like they hadn’t been the one who wanted him in the first place.

Somehow he got the impression Harvey wasn’t in the frame of mind to hear that.

They went to lunch, the waitress leaning right over the table so that Harvey got an eyeful, and Jim tried to make a joke out of it. Suggested that Harvey had to be enjoying the turnabout, at least, but Harvey struggled even to give him a half smile. Picked at his dinner morosely - though Jim knew it was Harvey’s absolute favorite - and muttered something about how you would think so.

Harvey gave up entirely half way through, claiming not to be hungry, and Jim was left alone in the booth looking for solutions in his coffee cup.

“Penny for your thoughts,” the waitress from earlier said when she came over to wipe down the table, motherly now she wasn’t trying to work the top button of her uniform open, and Jim gave her a half smile of his own.

Dug in his pockets for a tip and jolted with sudden recognition at the feel of smooth metal between his fingertips.

Suddenly he knew exactly what was happening.

* * *

Jim went back to the bar that night, telling himself it was insane even as he tipped back a whiskey or two for courage. Even as he scoured the face of everyone who entered, wondering if he would recognize the guy if and when he set eyes upon him.

He was busy thinking about that, fingers trailing up through the condensation gathered on the side of his glass, when a familiar voice sounded too close to his ear.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you to be careful what you wished for?”

“I didn’t wish it for myself,” Jim said carefully, heart pounding in his chest because if he messed this up Harvey would be the one who suffered. “I just wanted to make somebody else happy.”

“Did it?”

Jim shut his eyes for a moment, grasping for composure. If there was anything he failed at consistently, over and over again, it was making the people he cared about happy.

“No. I expect you could have told me that.”

The guy tilted his head to the side, hair sticking up in all directions as though it was defying gravity, and observed him silently. It was unnerving and Jim had to bite back the urge to fall back on anger. That was how he usually dealt with uncomfortably situations.

“I told you to focus on the future, but you’re still wallowing in the past. Aren’t you?”

“I’m -” he started, blood simmering, before taking a deep breath and remembering that he was doing this for Harvey. “How can I focus on the future when Har - the person I want in it is paying for my mistakes?”

“You say this like I should care.”

That was the real issue, of course. Jim was talking to this guy like he was sane. Like the words he uttered were going to make a difference. Something had happened, he didn’t doubt that. Something every bit as weird and mixed up as Strange’s experiments, or Tetch’s virus, and he tried the one angle that made any sense to him.

“Look, I’ll pay you.” He pulled his wallet out - he had triple checked its presence every day that week - and rifled through it. “I’ve got 84 dollars and 25 cents here.”

The guy gazed at him blankly, expression unreadable, and Jim swallowed thickly, laying the money on the counter between them.

“I can get more.”

His companion smiled then, the sight of it making Jim shiver though the bar was plenty warm, and pulled a shiny coin from his pocket. He flipped it, once, and then laid it down on top of Jim’s money.

“You can owe me a favor.”

That sounded ominous, was just the kind of scenario Jim did his best to avoid, but Jim kept his mouth shut. Nodded stiltedly, just once, and dropped the coin into the tip jar still sitting on the sticky surface of the bar, thinking very hard about how he wished things would go back to what passed for normal in Gotham.

If this didn’t work, he didn’t know what he was going to do.

He slept fitfully, too on edge and anxious, and chose to get up before his alarm. Washed and dressed and made his way over to Harvey’s apartment, unable to stay away any longer. Harvey pulled the door open with an anxious expression, only for it to transform into a smile that made Jim’s heart clench when he admitted that he had no real reason for being there.

They stopped off at the coffee place, like they did most mornings, and Jim handed Harvey his cash and made a show of being transfixed by a flyer on the noticeboard about a newly formed book club. Watched from the corner of his eye at the way the girl at the counter sneered down her nose at Harvey, in place of the simpering he had begun to associate with her.

He double backed when Harvey was done, some spurious excuse on his tongue, and offered to give her Harvey’s phone number because he could see that she was interested. The disgusted look on her face said it all, without the performative,

“I don’t know what he said to you, but that guy is old enough to be my grandfather.”

Jim could have kissed her. Settled for grinning widely, and spent the rest of the day monitoring the altered way people approached his partner. Tuttle kept to the other side of the room during the briefing, frowning like he couldn’t understand what he had been thinking, and he overheard Alvarez cornering Harvey in the locker room and checking they were both on the same page when it came to not broadcasting what had gone down outside the bar.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Harvey said, tone not entirely beyond reproach, but Alvarez thanked him anyway, clearly glad to have gotten the whole thing over.

Harvey shrugged at him slightly when he passed Alvarez in the doorway, moving to drop down onto the bench in the middle of the room. It had been the setting of so many awkward conversations.

“I’m guessing you heard that?” Harvey asked, without recrimination. “Seems like whatever voodoo was going on is over now.”

He didn’t sound as happy about it as Jim had hoped he would.

Didn’t look it either, not even when Lucius came to the same conclusion, fingers lingering on the bare skin of Harvey’s wrist as he timed out a full minute with his watch - just to be sure that the effect he had observed in the days beforehand was truly absent.

Jim tried not to let the jealousy tug at him. When that didn’t work he crossed his arms across his chest to make it more difficult to give into the temptation to put his hands on Harvey. He knew it was wrong, knew that it wasn’t an attractive quality, but he had never been able to be truly indifferent on the subject of other people getting close and personal with the object of his affections.

He had pictured Mario’s face sometimes, when he was beating on the precinct punchbag, and even now the thought of Montoya could sour his mood. With Harvey it was worse, somehow, because it wasn’t like Harvey had got so sick of him he wanted to look elsewhere. If Harvey responded to somebody else’s overtures it meant that he simply wasn’t willing to give Jim a chance in the first place.

“Has it stopped affecting you too?” Lucius asked him then, snapping him out of his dark thoughts, and before Jim could say anything Harvey was answering on his behalf, tone ever so slightly off,

“It never affected Jim in the first place.”

* * *

“So what are you actually saying here? Some dodgy looking guy came on to you in a bar and you wished I knew how it felt too?”

“No!”

Jim was so bad at this - at finding the right words, explaining himself.

They were at Harvey’s apartment, pizza and beer spread out untouched across the coffee table. He had been trying to tell Harvey the full story for the better part of an hour, each reiteration only serving to make the thing seem more convoluted and complicated.

“What I’m saying,” he tried yet again, “is that I wanted people to treat you the way you should be treated. I just - I went about it the wrong way.”

“I can’t take this city,” Harvey muttered, finally reaching for the beer and taking a long pull from the bottle. To Jim he elaborated, “There is no right way to go about making wish curses. You know that, don’t you?”

“That’s not the point,” Jim offered up, frustrated, “what I’m saying is that I wanted people to see what I see when I look at you.”

The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way it rarely was between them. Harvey met his eye, curious,

“And what do you see, Jim?”

This was it. This was his chance to make Harvey understand.

“A guy who needs something in his life.”

So very smooth.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he backtracked, appalled at how awful that had sounded out loud. “I mean, you do, but not in a bad way. I mean, you need someone in your life. You need -”

Harvey was just frowning at him, trying to work out what he was talking about, and Jim had always been better at action. Had never really mastered impulse control, or damage limitation, and he surged forward to show Harvey what he couldn’t tell him.

To kiss him, clumsy where he intended to be seductive. Desperate where he wanted to be persuasive.

Harvey kissed him back, in spite of it all. Pulled him still closer, frantic and eager, and Jim couldn’t help but be possessive. Couldn’t help but worry too hard at Harvey’s neck, drunk on the way Harvey squirmed and the knowledge that people would be able to see. That it would peek over the collar of Harvey’s shirt and everyone would know that he was off-limits.

“Ow,” Harvey protested at first, then changed his mind when Jim raised his head - his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark with just how badly he wanted it. When Jim kissed him all over again, hot and wet and filthy, before returning to what he was doing. “Yeah, okay. You want to bite, I can live with that.”

It helped, probably, that his hands were unzipping Harvey’s pants. That he had gone from attempting civilized conversation to sliding to his knees, blood rushing in his ears as he went at it with so much enthusiasm he would, in another frame of mind, have been totally embarrassed. As it was Harvey’s groan of appreciation only spurred him on, and they didn’t make it to a bed. He didn’t even get Harvey’s trousers past mid-thigh before Harvey was coming down his throat, and he was spilling over his own fingers.

“When I look at you I see everything I want from life,” Jim managed then, the words tumbling over each other before his usual awkwardness crept back again, and Harvey made a breathy sound and cupped a hand to his cheek. Gazed at him like he returned the sentiment and leaned in to kiss him slowly, his touch careful and tender.

They shared bashful smiles when they pulled apart, the realization that they were half undressed and in a mess, respectively, dawning on them.

“You know that it’s always been you, don’t you?” Harvey asked later, when they were eating cold pizza and sitting way too close together. “Not that we haven’t established I’m cool with the vampire routine, but you don’t need to mark your territory. You’ve nothing to be jealous of.”

Jim just settled against Harvey’s shoulder in gratitude. Pressed a chaste kiss into the fabric of his shirt and earned a pleased sigh for his troubles.

Necessary or not, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing Harvey say it wasn’t something he needed to worry about.

* * *

People went back to staring at Harvey the following day. They were surrounded by detectives, it was inevitable. Completely unavoidable that gazes should be drawn to the purpling bruises on Harvey’s throat, and the matching goofy grins on both their faces.

Gossip travelled like wildfire, down to the basement morgue and up to the computer lab, Jim utterly helpless against the surge of possessive pride every time he saw somebody putting two and two together.

Harvey was his, he was Harvey’s, and they all knew exactly what they were missing - even if the memories had been pushed down to the subconscious level.

“I suppose I do miss it a little,” Harvey confessed at the end of the week, attempting to put his desk into some sort of order before leaving it for longer than a few hours, “even if it wasn’t real it was a boost to the ego.”

The desk sergeant rapped at the office door then, half hidden by a bouquet of flowers, and Harvey gave him a speculative look that Jim could only return in bewilderment. This wasn’t his doing. Harvey took them anyway, fingers plucking the attached card from its envelope, and that was when the color blanched from his face.

When Jim pushed in close enough to see, panic giving way to stifled amusement.

_‘My offer’s still open. Hoping to hear from you soon. B.W.’_

“You should be careful what you wish for,” Jim said, lips twitching, and Harvey took a swig from his hip flask before handing it over.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, what he wanted involved both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	124. Chapter 124

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick little fic based on a convo with ishipallthings - Jim breaks things off because he doesn't want to drag Harvey down with him.

“How could you?” He asked, feeling sick as he glanced over at the shape hidden beneath a police issue shock blanket. The pale lifeless hand just visible at the corpse’s side, and the grim look on Harvey’s face as he spoke to the uni who had made the discovery.

“How could you, Jim?” Barbara snapped in response, something in her tone so familiar it made him uneasy. It made him think of the nights they had spent in bed together, talking quietly about the past and the present and the future. The kisses they had shared and the simple moments of peace they had enjoyed in each other’s company.

Barbara could tell, he had no doubt, and she sneered at his weakness even as the emotion swelled in her own voice.

“How can you stand there and judge me? This was your doing. That poor guy was supposed to be under police protection. You were supposed to promise me in good times and bad. In health and in sickness. You’re the sickness, Jim. Everything you touch, everyone you _love_. You contaminate all of it.”

His throat ached as he made a show of not caring. His eyes stung as he cuffed her wrists together and lead her to the squad car. She would be out in a matter of hours, he knew that. She had money, and contacts, and a legal team that would run circles around whoever was lumbered with the interview.

Piotr Stolz over there was never going to be granted justice.

“You okay?” Harvey asked as he watched the car disappear in the direction of the precinct, and Jim sucked in a shaky breath and offered what he hoped was a smile.

He soaked up the warmth from the hand Harvey placed on his shoulder, and wished that they were alone so that he could push closer to Harvey and let the other man wrap his arms around him. Harvey always made him feel secure. Made him believe that he could do anything, achieve any goal he set his sights on, but when Jim risked a glance up at Harvey’s face it was to see nothing but worry and misery.

That was what he did to people. He took everything they had to give. Commandeered their resources and drained all their energy. Destroyed whatever it was he loved about them, and left their lives ruined and broken, just the way his own deserved to be.

The way it had been, for the last few years at least. He had struggled and suffered and almost given up completely on too many occasions. It was Harvey who had helped him pick up the pieces. Who had refused to accept that he had nothing more to offer, showing him all the things he needed to live for. Clutching him close when he had lost the path, regardless, and promising him that things would get better.

In return Jim was only making Harvey’s life difficult. His selfishness was putting Harvey’s career in jeopardy, and his constant drama - the endless danger he attracted - was literally putting Harvey’s life at risk.

It could be Harvey lying beneath that blanket, he thought with a shudder. It could be Harvey tortured and gutted as a message that Jim ought to watch his step.

His fears on the subject didn’t dissipate when Barbara gave him a little wave as she was released on bail, and they didn’t fade into insignificance in Harvey’s bed either. Harvey could tell that there was something wrong. Assured him quietly that they could talk about it, whatever it was, and when that didn’t work proceeded to make him forget anything but how badly he wanted his partner for the next couple of hours.

Because he did, desperately. Because it never took much from Harvey to get him aching and frantic, and Harvey had apparently decided that tonight was the night to really go to town on him, working him until he was sobbing out nonsense, his body entirely at Harvey’s mercy. His heart, too, and it hit him afterwards, as he lay with his head on Harvey’s chest, that if he didn’t do something soon it would be too late to avoid hurting Harvey.

Harvey would start to love him in return because that was the kind of person Harvey was. He was sweet and kind and good, and if somebody else didn’t get in there first, Jim would ruin everything himself with his inability to communicate, along with all the same stupid mistakes he always made. He would make Harvey doubt himself. Would chip away at everything that made Harvey the one man buffer between the precinct sinking and swimming.

The divide between his own life being one long never ending nightmare and something actually worth fighting for.

Jim lay awake all night, arguing with himself over what the right way forward was. How he ought to break the news, and how he was supposed to cope when it was done, and Harvey was free of any obligation to spend time with him when they were off duty.

He felt sick by the time the pale dawn light was streaking through the windows, the lack of sleep and the weight of what he knew he needed to do taking its toll on him. He dressed slowly, silently, the same way he had back in the army, when he was due to go out on patrol an area soldiers routinely didn’t return from, and though he tried he failed to give Harvey’s well meaning smile an answering one.

“This isn’t working,” he said instead. Blurted really, just as Harvey was running through breakfast options, and he hated himself for the crushed expression on his partner’s face even as he steeled his resolve against it.

“I can go to the store if there’s nothing here you want,” Harvey said, voice thick with misplaced hope and false cheer, and Jim wished he could latch on to the easy out Harvey was giving him. He could pretend it was a joke, or a worry that was forgotten in a moment. Harvey deserved better though. Deserved more than Jim could give him.

“I’ll see you at the precinct,” he offered, stubborn, and slid Harvey’s key free from the others he carried, placing it on the kitchen counter before he collected his coat and left without looking back. Made his way down the stairs with even, measured steps. Made it all the way to the end of Harvey’s block before the finality of it all washed over him, and he had duck into the first alley he came across, forehead pressed against rough brick as he fought to regain control of himself.

That was how it was as the days crawled to form a full week. He was all right one moment, immersed in work and getting on with things, and the next it hit him all over again. It was finished, done, and he was on his own once more. He was left with nothing and no one, because Harvey had tried to speak to him, and demanded answers of him, and all he could give was determined silence.

Clipped assurances that things would be better this way. That Harvey would be happier this way.

“I love you,” Harvey told him in turn, the words strangled in the cold gray of the precinct locker room, and Jim had to look away to hide the tears that swam in his vision. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“You’ll find someone else,” Jim managed, after a few long moments of silence, and if the covering sheet of the report he was working on ended up unreadable, splotches of liquid splaying the ink across the paper, it was no big deal.

He simply screwed it up and started over again.

One week became two, each day a blur of miserable loneliness, and it must have been obvious on his face, how awful it was, because he was paying Barbara a follow up visit - just in case she thought she was getting off completely without consequence - when she tilted her head to the side and smiled widely.

“Guilt was always such a good look on you. Tell me, whose life have you destroyed this time?”

“I’ve done the right thing,” Jim shot back, without elaboration. Without meaning to, really, and Barbara only grinned still wider.

“I’m sure you have,” she cooed, mocking, and not for the first time misgivings threatened to overpower him.

It hurt so much. He missed Harvey so painfully. He couldn’t bear to see the blank look on Harvey’s face whenever work brought them together. The pain and the confusion just beneath the mask. The frustration that Jim wouldn’t give him an explanation, and the helpless hope that he was going to announce that it was all some terrible misunderstanding.

He had to stay strong, that was what Jim told himself. Replayed those last weeks before Lee married Mario, and how different things could have been if he had remained objective. If he had separated out his concern from his jealousy, and not let the latter win, perhaps his impassioned objections wouldn’t have sounded like the rambling of a madman.

Perhaps Lee wouldn’t have attempted to kill him.

That route only lead to unhappy memories. To the claustrophobic panic as he listened to Harvey’s voice crackling through the speaker of the walkie talkie, his heart aching with the knowledge that he had missed all his chances. Breaking at the realization that Harvey was never going to know exactly how much he meant to him. How much Jim truly owed him.

It was that feeling which had brought about its own realization, alone in his bed as he tried to come to terms with everything that had happened. As he unpicked the rollercoaster of emotion, and why it had been Harvey who had soothed the monster within, when nothing else came close to it.

He noticed too late that his face was wet. Swiped tears from his cheek and hoped that nobody else had seen. Had never been more relieved to be pulling unpaid overtime, a quick glance about him revealing the precinct balcony to be deserted.

Almost deserted.

The desk lamp was on in Harvey’s office, the man himself hunched over a pile of paperwork, the line of his shoulders looking tense and uncomfortable. Jim’s heart clenched in his chest, so many conflicting emotions warring for dominance, and then Harvey raised his head and it was all he could do to inhale and exhale.

He couldn’t look away, couldn’t move anywhere. Couldn’t do anything but sit and wait for the inevitable, watching as Harvey pushed to his feet and began making his way over to him.

“You don’t need to be here,” Harvey said, and up close he looked ill. Pale and haggard, with dark smudges under his eyes as though he hadn’t been sleeping well. “Go home and get some rest, Jim.”

“You should too,” he heard his own voice say, “you don’t look well.”

Harvey shut his eyes, expression twisting like he was in pain. Like something hurt so bad it had Jim on his feet in a moment, desperate to offer whatever comfort he could. To touch Harvey. To press close to him. To cling tight and never let go again.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Harvey managed shakily when Jim’s hand found his arm, his self-control crumbling, “but you’re not looking so hot yourself. Not everyone’s as easy as me, you know. You’re going to have to put some effort in to reel in the next one.”

Harvey was trying for light-hearted, clearly, the kind of banter they had spent years perfecting. It fell flat anyway, Jim completely unable to dredge up a smile or a jokey comeback.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he whispered instead, the words torn out of him. His hand was still on Harvey’s arm, his gaze still locked on Harvey’s own. His heart was pounding in his chest, his willpower failing, and then the truth was pouring out of him. “You’re too good for me - don’t you see that? I’ll mess it up, Harv. I’ll mess it all up and you’ll hate me and what will I do then? How will I live with knowing that I ruined your life?”

It was there now, laid out between them, and Harvey wasn’t saying a word. Was staring at him, expression unreadable, and Jim wished suddenly that he had had more sleep. That he wasn’t feeling such a wreck because the nervous tension was unbearable. Because he didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid.

“Have you suffered a blow to the head lately?” Harvey asked him then, the shift in topics making Jim frown, confused at where the question was leading. “Did somebody try to beat some sense into it and get carried away, was that what happened?”

“...No.”

“I thought not,” Harvey said, tone measured and reasonable as he slid an arm around Jim’s shoulders and started guiding him towards the stairs. “That would have been a good excuse. That would have meant that I wouldn’t need to say what I’m about to say to you.” Harvey nodded at the desk sergeant as he spoke, sidestepping around a drunk waiting to be processed and pushed on through the building and out a side entrance.

Shoved Jim up against the solid wall, breath misting in the cold night air, and Jim didn’t have chance to even begin to protest before Harvey was blocking him in, hands coming up to hold his head in place. To frame his face, fingers tender where they stroked at his cheeks and his jawline.

“You’re so stupid. You’re the stupidest smart guy I’ve ever worked with. The dumbest genius I ever made it with.”

He pressed closer still, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again.

“I’ve never been so happy in all my life as I am when I’m with you. You’re not a curse or a virus, or whatever the hell else you’ve been telling yourself. You’re the dumbass I should have been saying ‘I love you’ to every chance I was given. The idiot I want to wake up next to every morning until the day I die. I love you so much, Jim, and if you’d just stop being stupid for one damn second you would see that the worst thing you could ever do to me is make me watch as you make yourself miserable, instead of just telling me what the problem is.”

“I love you too,” was what Jim managed, throat choked up with emotion, aching all over with a mixture of cold, and exhaustion, and the fear of how close he had come to losing everything.

Harvey kissed him, almost chaste, and brushed the backs of his fingers along a cheekbone.

“That’s going to sound even better when you’re howling it in my bed.”

“Our bed?” Jim asked, lips quirking dumbly even as his pulse raced because Harvey’s voice was low and he hadn’t ruined everything. Because Harvey loved him, and he loved Harvey, and he didn’t want to have to live through a week like the one he had just endured ever again.

“Our bed,” Harvey repeated, trying it out before beaming at him and tugging him away from the wall and in the direction of the parking lot. “Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	125. Chapter 125

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of angsty pwp.

A drunken mistake.

That was all he was ever going to be to Jim, Harvey knew. He knew it that very first night - so long ago now - when he dropped to his knees in some filthy back alley, and he knew it now, watching as Jim opened his eyes only to groan and close them again.

Because he wasn’t what Jim wanted. He was a convenient distraction. A shoulder to cry on when things got too much, and stress relief when there was nobody else around. No leggy blonde or gorgeous brunette. No one up to the standard Jim really deserved, with movie star looks and enough brains that Jim was never left cringing in embarrassment when they opened their mouths, the way Harvey had never quite mastered.

Those were the times when Jim turned to him. When he didn’t shy away from the desperation in Harvey’s gaze, nor the hope in his touch. When he accepted Harvey’s kisses, the slick stroke of tongue against his own, and the whispered adoration Harvey could never quite keep silent.

Jim was so beautiful. So smart and so brave and so committed to seeing something good in Gotham.

Something Harvey wasn’t convinced had ever been there to begin with.

“I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night,” Jim said in the present, slowly hauling himself into a sitting position, and Harvey didn’t need to be a detective to hear everything Jim wasn’t saying.

They had started out by drowning their sorrows together, just the same as usual, and when Harvey suggested they go back to his place and polish off his whiskey, Jim had given him a speculative look that left him shivering. It had been a more regular thing lately - no girlfriends to take the edge off, Harvey supposed - and Harvey’s pulse raced with excitement all along the short walk to his apartment, praying to God that he was reading it right and that Jim was really going to let him touch him.

Let him worship him, the way his pathetic heart wished it could do every night, safe in the knowledge that Jim was going to smile happily at him in the morning. That they wouldn’t have to pretend nothing had happened, and his chest wouldn’t have to ache every time he remembered his proximity was no longer welcome.

Real life was cruel, painful, and instead he had to make do with whatever Jim was willing to give him.

He poured them both a drink after locking the door behind them. Took off his shoes and hung up his coat and hat. Turned around to find Jim pressing into his personal space, gaze uncertain, and that was too much. It didn’t matter how much it hurt. How much more he really wanted. He was never going to turn Jim away. Never.

Jim had to know that by now. Had to understand that he was Jim’s to do with as he pleased, even if that was simply ignore him.

He attempted to explain with his kisses. Tried to make it all clear with the fingertips he skimmed over Jim’s heated skin. The touch of his lips to the quivering flesh of Jim’s inner thighs. Jim petted tender fingers through his hair in return. Trailed them gently down the side of his face, and gasped helplessly when Harvey interpreted it as a signal to open his mouth and guide Jim’s dick into it.

Jim had such a pretty dick, for all that Harvey was determined not to voice the sentiment. It was always so full and flushed for him, the curve of it fitting so perfectly in his hand. The hard heat of it so perfect on his tongue, Jim’s breathy moans combining with the taste of him to have his own dick straining frantically against his zipper.

“Oh God,” Jim groaned when Harvey had no choice but to pull himself free, pausing in his ministrations just long enough to stroke Jim fully once, twice, before putting his now slick hand to his dick and his mouth back on Jim’s aching erection.

It was so good, had him so worked up, and he used the fingers of his free hand to fondle Jim’s balls. To wander further back, to touch and torment and tease, and when Jim spilled in his mouth he responded by surging up to kiss him. To pour everything he had into it - all the love, all the desire - and they ended up on his bed, Jim crying out, shameless, as Harvey brought him to the brink all over again.

He had two fingers buried in Jim, the tight heat enough to make his head spin - without Jim’s breathy little whimpers, and the grinding of his hips down onto his hand, his entire body so very responsive.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” Harvey confessed when he moved to brace himself over Jim. “It’s been torture, knowing I can’t touch you.”

He always got like this lately. Couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, telling himself that Jim would blame it on the drink. That Jim most likely wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway. Jim never said anything about it, at least, and Harvey was just guiding the slick head of his dick into position when Jim pushed Harvey’s hair out of his face and kissed him softly.

It was so sweet and tender. The caress of a lover rather than a drunken screw, and Harvey shook with the intensity with which he wished it were real. Lost himself in the fantasy that Jim meant it as a love confession, returning it with every thrust of his hips. With the way he linked his fingers with Jim’s, gazing into Jim’s big blue eyes until it became overwhelming.

Until Jim arched his head back and cried out, coming hard for a second time, and Harvey was powerless to hold back, mouthing wet kisses into the crook of Jim’s neck as came deep within the man he loved. He clung close to Jim afterwards for as long as he could. Stayed awake watching over him for longer still, soaking up every detail for the nights when Jim was sober and not making terrible life decisions.

When he did fall asleep it was to happy dreams. A sense of contentment like he had never known, like he imagined it would feel if his silly daydreams were to come true and Jim was to be his, always, instead of for a couple of snatched hours of sex every few weeks or so.

It lingered for a moment, on waking, because Jim was still wrapped in his arms, face soft with sleep. Then Jim was cracking an eye open, taking note of his surroundings and groaning, expression twisting as he clenched his eyes tight shut again.

Harvey pulled away dutifully. Did his best to ignore the way it stabbed like a knife to the heart, and set about finding some clothes to put on. All the better to act as though last night was nothing, and this morning was just like any other.

“Do we really have to get up?” Jim asked rhetorically, voice rough around the edges, and Harvey had to take a moment to simply breathe and regain his composure. To ensure he wouldn’t break down and beg, pitifully offering Jim anything if only they could pretend for just a little while longer.

“Yes,” he managed finally, all false smile and forced banter, “come on, if you move now there’s a cup of coffee with your name on.”

He didn’t wait for Jim’s answer, simply pushing on through to the kitchen. By the time Jim joined him he would have himself under control. They would be back to pretending they were nothing more than friends and partners. 

It was his own fault for hoping that this time - for hoping each and every time - things might be different. 

Perhaps it was time he simply accepted it.

Last night was just another drunken mistake. That was all these encounters would ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	126. Save The Last Dance For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I had an ask on Tumblr: _I feel like[Save the Last Dance for Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-XQ26KePUQ) by Michael Buble (and the Drifters!) is a great song for Jim/Harvey, take it as fic inspiration if you want :D_

In the privacy of his own mind, where he was unlikely to be mocked for it, Jim had come to think of it as ‘their’ song.

It had been playing the first time Harvey actually invited him to his apartment, lecturing him for the better part of an hour on the superiority of vinyl sound quality, and before that it had been playing on the radio the very first time Jim had conceded that perhaps Harvey wasn’t such an awful guy to have for a partner after all.

“This was my mom’s favorite song,” Harvey had told him, from nowhere, and the look on his face - wistful memories and lost chances - was enough to have Jim consider volunteering information about his own family.

He didn’t, not that day, but when Harvey held him responsible for being too busy running for his life to remember to lock the car door, and for the teenaged thief who took the opportunity to lift the sound system, Jim picked him up a Drifters record from the flea market near his new apartment building as a peace offering.

That was what garnered him the invite, and he peered curiously at the faded photographs of a freckle faced kid and a woman with long red hair and a love of patterned dresses with tapered collars. Harvey handed him a can of something that tasted as bad as it looked, and somehow the evening flew by so that Jim was stunned to realize it was almost two in the morning.

He ended up staying the night, curled up beneath a blanket on Harvey’s sofa, and if he had known then how regularly he was going to put in a repeat performance, Jim swore he would have stumped the cash there and then for something that couldn’t serve as a torture device.

The crick in his neck didn’t stop him though, nor the cramp in his leg. If he wasn’t at Lee’s place, he was at Harvey’s. Or Harvey was at his. At least until he and Lee got serious and Harvey started talking about packing up his own boxes and moving in with Scottie.

He never did though, not completely, and when it was back to just the two of them, Jim found himself back on the same sofa, staring up at Harvey’s peeling ceiling as his partner jokingly told him off for treating the place like a flophouse.

“That sofa cost me a crate of beer to the guy who helped me carry it up here. Get your shoes off the upholstery.”

“The dirt is all that’s holding it together,” Jim countered and Harvey gave him the finger even as he fiddled with the record player. Grabbed him by the arm when that was done and Jim was still refusing to move, and dropped into the seat, letting go so that Jim almost had his head in his lap.

He ought to sit up, he knew, but he had had a lot to drink. He wanted the human contact, truthfully, because meeting Mario had hurt like a punch to the gut, and because he was still waking multiple times a night, lost in nightmares of Blackgate.

“I like this song,” he said instead, recognizing the record as the one he had bought from the slight jump of the needle, and only shifted a little so that his head was pillowed more comfortably on Harvey’s thigh.

“I like it better than being mistaken for furniture,” Harvey groused but his fingers crept into his hair halfway through, working against his scalp, and Jim couldn’t help but sigh contentedly and let his eyes fall closed.

Sometimes it was too easy to forget that Harvey saw him as his brother.

His friend and his partner. Everything but the light in which Jim wished Harvey would see him, because they would be so good for each other. They already fit together so well. Balanced each other out, and raised each other up.

He thought it when Harvey clung to him after yet another near death experience, frantic as he checked Jim over for injury, and he thought it when their roles were reversed and it was him begging Harvey to hold on and wait for the ambulance. It was a close call, Harvey had lost an awful lot of blood, and Jim whispered apologies for the soulless MP3s he had on hand, not wanting to leave Harvey all alone in silence.

Harvey thanked him for it when he awake and aware once more, and it only further convinced Jim that he couldn’t keep quiet much longer. That he had to try, even if he was going to fail, because if he didn’t - if something happened before he ever had chance to tell Harvey what he felt for him - he would regret it forever.

The tipping point came, finally, at Tuttle’s retirement party, because the drink was flowing freely, and because Harvey was looking particularly well turned out in his good suit with his hair slicked back. He was turning almost competent circles around the dance floor with the officer from the front desk, and Jim watched on in a mixture of admiration and simple jealousy.

“Go on,” Alvarez encouraged, nudging him so hard drink sloshed over the table, “the worst she can do is say no, you know.”

That wasn’t the worst she could do in Jim’s experience, not by a long shot, but when he slid off the bar stool and straightened his jacket out Alvarez clapped him on the shoulder anyway. Watched as he crossed the room with determined steps, and it was like all the fates aligned because the DJ changed tracks just as asked if he could cut in.

Marten stepped aside and grinned at him, far too knowing, and he could feel Alvarez’ incredulous gaze on his back even as Harvey raised an eyebrow. Even as Jim took Harvey’s hand and his partner’s expression shifted into something soft and fond.

“You don’t do anything by half measures, do you?” Harvey whispered in his ear, holding him close as their colleagues stared and gossiped, and when Jim met his gaze at that, panicked that this wasn’t what Harvey wanted, Harvey just pulled him back in so they were cheek to cheek, “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“Yeah?” Jim asked, fingers clutching tight in the fabric of Harvey’s jacket and his head full of the scent of Harvey’s cologne. Harvey tilted his head to kiss his cheek, and went back to swaying clumsily with him, telling him bluntly,

“Of course it is. You were just slow on the uptake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	127. Chapter 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [chapter 125](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27462834) but can be read as a standalone. They've been falling into bed together for years under the influence of drink, but they both think the other isn't interested in anything more...

“There’s a woman at the front desk,” Alvarez said without preamble, interrupting a spirited debate on the usefulness of geographic profiling, “she says she’s your sister.”

Harvey frowned first at Jim and then back at Alvarez, “I haven’t got a sister.”

The other man shrugged.

“Try telling her that.”

Jim followed him out of the office, sticking close in case of trouble, and it warmed Harvey’s heart to think Jim cared what happened to him, even if they didn’t share the kind of relationship he really wanted.

Even if Jim’s concern turned out to be completely necessary because maybe Harvey hadn’t been entirely truthful. Maybe he did have a sister, a brother too, for all that this was only the fifth or so time in his life he had ever laid eyes on her.

“This is my half-sister, Karen,” he said for Jim’s benefit, and the woman’s smile lit up her face,

“You remembered my name?”

He gave a grimace of a smile in return, the best he could manage, and they ended up drinking coffee in his office, the window blinds drawn closed though Harvey had no doubt there would be marauding detectives at the door, listening.

“Dad was so proud of you,” Karen said and Harvey bristled at the implication.

He hadn’t visited the man on his deathbed and he hadn’t gone to the funeral. It had been years, there was nothing he could do about it, no matter how great the guilt trip.

“He was,” Karen insisted, misinterpreting his tension, “He kept all your press clippings. He told everyone about you.”

What he hadn’t done, Harvey couldn’t help but note, was bother to visit him. To stay faithful to his mother, or pay her child support, or lift a damn finger to help when they were playing the ‘let’s be very still and absolutely silent’ game because the landlord wanted his rent money, and his goons had no compunction at all about hitting a woman.

Harvey had tracked him down in his teens. Had taken in the neatly clipped front lawn and white picket fence with an ache in his throat only rivalled by the fury burning in his chest. He had kept his finger on the bell, determined to say his piece, and a woman he had never seen before opened the door, eyeing up his outdated clothes and beat up sneakers with an air of obnoxious pity.

“You must be the babysitter,” she had said, down her snooty nose, and lead him into a fashionably decorated sitting room where two freckle faced kids were sat playing with the latest fad while a pointlessly big TV played in the background.

It could have been his life, he remembered thinking. Should have been. Because their dive of an apartment was cramped and collapsing, other people’s laundry and ironing strung about the place, his Mom still working every second she could to keep food on the table.

“Come on, the babysitter’s here,” his mother’s replacement had chided, and he wanted to smash the place up. Wanted to rant and rave and scream because his Mom was ill. His Mom was going to die, and this stranger had everything she should have had.

There had been a light tread on the stairs, expensive cologne wafting as a man he only recognized from photographs came into view, and Harvey had taken perverse pleasure in the way the color drained from his face.

Back in the present, Karen was still singing the old man’s praises.

“We’re family,” she said finally, “it doesn’t make sense that we don’t know each other.”

Harvey thought of the gap toothed kid she had been, surrounded by dolls and plastic ponies, and shook his head.

“We’re not family. He might have had the claim, biologically, but he wasn’t my father.”

* * *

Karen refused to take no for an answer. Turned up again a week later and, when Harvey wouldn’t see her, Jim took her to the diner around the corner instead.

That rankled worse than anything because it was _their_ diner, it was where they had become friends, and now Jim was giving heart breaking little half smiles to a woman who had inherited all the benefits of his father’s genes with none of the disadvantages. She was younger than him too, a good ten years or so, and he watched her hug Jim goodbye outside the precinct, hating himself for his jealousy even as he peered out his office window.

Jim liked him, he knew that. He just didn’t like him enough to want anything more than sex from him. But Karen, she was definitely more Jim’s scene. Nice teeth, nice hair, nice figure. No battle with alcoholism and no history of paying for sex from women Jim saw week in and week out in the station holding cell.

“I don’t know why you won’t talk to her,” Jim said that very same evening, fingers trailing through the condensation on the side of his glass, “if you gave her a chance you’d really like her.”

“Would I?” He asked, tone clipped, and Jim sighed. Dragged his gaze away from his drink to meet his eye, finally, and said awkwardly,

“Some people would give anything to find that kind of family connection.”

He wasn’t going to let it get it to him. That was what he told himself.

He couldn’t help himself when it came to Jim, never could, and before the night was done Jim had extracted a promise from him that he would go to dinner with Karen, just once, because Harvey couldn’t bear the look on Jim’s face when he was thinking about his dad, and his uncle, and the brother who had disowned him.

“I’ll go on one condition,” he offered, drink greasing the wheels, “you’ve got to come with me.”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Jim pledged, so earnest it made his heart clench, and Harvey wished, not for the first time, that Jim wouldn’t say shit like that.

It gave a man the wrong idea.

Got a guy’s hopes up, and as a result they both drank too much. So much that they fell into Jim’s bed. So much that Jim took control, clearly far gone enough not to care that it might look like this was something he wanted just as badly as Harvey. And Harvey did want it. Babbled and begged and captured Jim’s face between his hands, kissing him desperately.

Jim kissed him back just as frantically, cried out helplessly as he came, and Harvey knew it was pathetic but he stayed awake afterwards into the early hours, trailing his fingertips over Jim’s features and whispering out confessions he would never manage in the daylight.

* * *

Harvey thought of another long ago dinner as he got ready to be polite and make Jim proud of him. Remembered his old man stammering and stuttering at the sight of him in his spotless living room, and the way he was quickly ushered outside with some rambling excuse or other.

“Is it really you?” The guy asked, fingers reaching for his cheek like they had a right to, and Harvey flinched back violently. Watched as the guy’s expression kind of wobbled, and then stamped out any feelings that might have slipped through when he glanced over his threadbare outfit and fished for his wallet.

“I don’t want your money,” he had snapped, though it was exactly what he had gone there for. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“I’m sorry,” his father had said, choked up in a way Harvey refused to register, and then the real babysitter was walking up the garden path and Harvey was barrelling down it. Was breaking into a run, vision blurring, intent on nothing more than getting as far away from there as he could get.

He rooted through his pockets out when he made it back to The Narrows. Stopped by the arcade and tricked a couple of unsuspecting richie kids out of a few dollars. Eked it out as far as it would go, then went home and cooked dinner while his Mom slept fitfully on the sofa, wiped out from work and the pain meds.

He had turned their last chance of help down, and he remembered crying into the sauce and hoping to God he had made the right decision.

Jim pulled him from his reverie, knocking at the door and then smiling widely at the sight of him. For a moment Harvey imagined another scenario entirely. Jim taking him out to dinner perhaps, proud to be seen with him. Jim just wanting to spend time with him, without any pretence or secrets between them.

Instead he had a front row seat to Karen kissing Jim on the cheek in greeting, and Jim smiling at her in return - one of his real smiles, the ones Harvey dreamed of whenever he was maudlin and miserable.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him,” Karen said as soon as the food was on the table, like she knew full well he wouldn’t walk out on a meal he had paid for, “I’d just like the chance to get to know you better.”

Jim was watching him, expectant, and he heard himself mumbling out some platitude about staying in touch. Maybe. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. Jim picked up the slack for him, payback perhaps for all the social occasions he had forced Jim to attend, and asked enough leading questions that Karen was filling in the gaps for both of them.

Was telling his father’s version of the story, about how he had been too young to settle down. About how much he regretted walking out one night while his Mother sobbed to find the housekeeping money gone and a hungry baby to feed. How he struggled to track him down, and how it hurt that he had turned his back on the family name.

“Bullock is my mother’s name,” he explained, sensing Jim’s confusion, and he could have softened his tone.

He just chose not to.

“Dad always spoke highly of her,” Karen said, like he cared what the scumbag had had to say about anything, “He always wished she would have taken the money.”

“He never offered her any money!”

It was too much, way too much, and it didn’t matter that people were staring or that Jim was judging. He wasn’t going to sit there and listen how it was his mother’s fault, not for a second. Jim caught up with him at the door, hand on his arm, and Harvey was so weak he couldn’t just shrug him off. Couldn’t walk away, even, and after a few moments to compose himself he went back in and apologized.

Stared silently at his plate as Jim made awkward small talk, and conceded that perhaps it was exactly the kind of thing his Mom would have done because they were so alike. Too proud and too stubborn, and if he had turned it down then it stood to reason that she would have also. Multiple times, just the way he had refused again the day of her funeral, when his father had stood there and said that he wanted to make things right, as though he could even think past the dumb rage that the one person he loved in all the world had been taken away from him.

When he glanced up Jim was looking at him, understanding, and it was like something physically snapping inside of him.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t stand by and watch on as Jim put himself in a grave, struggling to put a brave face on it day after day, pretending that it wasn’t killing him to play it cool and casual.

“This is your niece and nephew,” Karen said, tears in her own eyes as she handed over a family snap of two kids sandwiched between her and a guy with glasses, “they’d love to meet you. Peter too, he’s got a little girl now.”

It was Peter who had tried to convince him to the funeral, before Jim had arrived on the scene. Before he had managed to pull his life into some sort of order. Before he had turned his back on the drink and the drugs only to fall for Jim instead, returning again and again like a junkie desperate for a fix, no matter how much he suffered for it afterwards.

“We’re having a barbecue next month, if you’re free. Both of you, obviously,” she smiled at Jim, and the jealousy stung deep right before he recalled that he had just been witness to her showing off her kids and husband. Right before she turned the smile on him, and told him how happy she was that he was better than he had been last time. That he had found someone to share his life with.

“We’re not -” he started, but Jim flushed up like a lobster. Tripped over his words, the way he did when he was really flustered, and Harvey saved him by thanking her for the offer. Said he’d think about it - that they both would - and accepted her goodbye hug with a warmth he wouldn’t have deemed possible a few hours earlier.

That left him alone with Jim, the color still streaking Jim’s cheeks as he admitted that Karen had made assumptions, and that he had failed to correct them. That he had encouraged them, maybe, and Harvey watched on, startled, as Jim reached across the table and downed Harvey’s drink for dutch courage.

“I wanted it to be true. I hoped it was going to be true. I know I’m not what you’re looking for, but if you’d give me a chance to -”

“You just drank my drink,” Harvey cut in, voicing the first thing that came into his head. Jim looked like he wished he’d die - that the ground would open up - and Harvey groped for his hand, attempting to salvage the situation. “You’re talking rubbish.”

That was worse, not better, and they ended up sat in his car, the two of them so awful at life that it made him want to burst into laughter. He didn’t because Jim was too quiet. Was swallowing with a wet clicking sound, eyes too bright in the dark of the parking lot, and it was on him this time. The ball was in his court.

He had wasted so much time already. He had been letting his pride get in the way his whole life.

“All I’ve wanted since that very first night was for you to wake up next to me in the morning and be happy about it. I’ve loved you so much for so long that I don’t even know how to deal with the idea that you might feel something - anything - for me in return.”

Jim rounded on him, self-righteous as always.

“You’re the one who acts like nothing happens. It’s you who won’t look at me twice unless you’re plastered.”

“Can you even hear yourself? You’re the one who won’t go there unless you can blame it all on the drink when it’s over.”

“I’m not drunk now,” Jim said then, vicious, and grabbed hold of him by his jacket lapels. Kissed him hard, forceful, then moaned softly when Harvey responded by gentling it enough that he didn’t need to worry about having to find an emergency dentist.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Harvey asked when they finally pulled apart, only to be met with an equally accusatory,

“Why didn’t you?”

Harvey opened his mouth to respond and then closed it. Shook his head and asked plaintively,

“Why the hell are we arguing about this? Why are we not screwing each other’s brains out?”

“I don’t think this rust bucket could take it,” Jim said, a sly smile stealing across his face, and Harvey put his foot to the floor, thinking of his bed and how good Jim was going to look spread naked across it.

Jim looked gorgeous, just as predicted, though they both kept stopping every few moments to check that it was real. That it wasn’t going to melt away in the morning, like so many other false starts and frantic fantasies.

“I love you,” Jim assured, yet again, and Harvey knew he’d never tire of hearing it. Begged him to repeat it, just one more time, as he pressed heated kisses down Jim’s side. As he touched and tasted, and as he pushed slowly inside him, holding eye contact until he could bear it no longer, and had to steal the words from Jim’s lips.

Until Jim raked his blunt fingernails down his back and begged to hear it in return, arching closer every time he whispered it, crying out his name like a prayer when he finally came, the sight of it so incredibly hot Harvey couldn’t help but follow.

“Does this mean you’re taking me to a family barbecue?” Jim asked later, curled into his side as though it was where he was meant to be, and Harvey couldn’t help but grin stupidly.

“I guess so.”

It might not even be so bad, not if he was going to come home to a repeat performance of this afterwards.

“You know I’m not going to let you get out it?”

Harvey rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Pressed a kiss to Jim’s forehead instead and revelled in the closeness. If he was going to be completely under anyone’s thumb, he could do a lot worse than Jim Gordon's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	128. Chapter 128

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _mutual pining and a truth serum/spell leading to confessions. :)_

“Come on, Jim, open up.”

Jim twisted his head to the side, pressing his lips more firmly together. Nygma was insane, and he had absolutely no idea what was in the vial he was trying to force down his gullet. It wasn’t going to do him any good, he was sure of that at least.

“For the love of -” Lee snapped, dropping the fear inducing instruments she had been readying back into the metal tray and snatching the glass vial from Nygma’s fingers. “If you want anything done, you have to do it yourself.”

With that said she reached out and pinched Jim’s nose, hard, so that spots danced across his vision and, finally, he had no choice but to open his mouth and gasp for oxygen. That was when she poured the liquid down his throat, smirking at the way he coughed and retched, tears stinging in his eyes as the stuff burned like fire.

“We could have done this the easy way,” Lee said, stroking the hair back from his forehead with disturbing gentleness, “but you had to go and bring your trained monkey along with you.”

Harvey protested at that. Tried to at least, because he had been gagged as well as bound. Was still trying to fight his way free of the chair he was tied to, blood streaking down the side of his face, and Jim felt his gut twist up in fear because Harvey getting hurt was the very last outcome he had wanted.

Because the stuff was working quickly through his system, his wrists itching where they were bound tight together and his head was already growing fuzzy. It would have been so much better if Harvey hadn’t followed him. If Harvey had just let him deal with it on his own, in his own way, because what if something really terrible happened to Harvey? What if Harvey had to go to hospital?

What if Harvey died?

It didn’t bear thinking about.

Except apparently he was thinking about it. Talking about it too, unable to stop himself, words tumbling from his lips, even as he tried desperately to stop them.

“So very noble of you,” Lee mocked, picking the scalpel back up, and Harvey redoubled his efforts to get free. At least until Lee turned at the last moment and held it to Harvey’s throat instead. “Just in case,” Lee explained, “that serum is still in the experimental stages.”

“I formulated it myself,” Nygma said, voice full of pride, and Jim had no idea what he was saying now, only that he was talking and talking, a never-ending stream of consciousness.

Lee wanted to know where a witness in police protection was being kept. Smiled darkly at the ease with which spilled the relevant information, flanked as it was by an embarrassingly desperate plea to Lee’s better nature, and a humiliatingly tearful reaction to the shallow cut Lee dragged up the length of Harvey’s neck.

He had no control over his mouth, little enough over everything else, because his muscles were twitching and spasming, and his head was tipping back helplessly. It was a struggle just to keep his eyes open, to breathe around the constant chatter, and when Lee laughed he began to wonder whether he was going to survive to tell the tale.

“Oh, Jim,” Lee breathed, her own eyes bright with amusement, “if you could hear yourself right now then you would know that the punishment is knowing that you’re going to have to live with the consequences. I have to go now - places to be, problems to solve - but I’m sure Harvey here wants to hear lots more about the dream you had last night.”

She waved at him as she left, a little waggle of her fingers, and it dawned on Jim with horror that he was complying with the suggestion. That he was describing, in excruciating detail, how Harvey’s wet dream counterpart had sucked his cock as he fingered him open. How Jim had sucked him in return, nose pressing into his pelvis as he gagged on his own eagerness.

He managed to get his head up and his eyes open. Didn’t know if it was a good thing or otherwise, Harvey staring at him with dark eyes and a flush in his cheeks that could be want - or simple embarrassment.

It only got worse.

Because Jim didn’t want Harvey to think that he only thought about him in connection with sex. Started babbling, helpless, about how he thought about Harvey in connection with everything. How Harvey was his first consideration in most situations, and how he had been so painfully in love with him for months now, though he was too afraid of losing what he already had.

His partner, his brother, his best friend. Without Harvey in his life he had nothing.

He was still talking when Alvarez finally found them, though his mouth was dry and his throat was raw. Though he would have done anything, given anything, to just shut up and stop digging.

“About time!” Harvey spat when Tuttle cut his hands free, wasting no time in yanking the gag out and down, leaving it around his neck where it hid the mess of blood soaked into his shirt collar.

Jim did his best not to be a coward and look away. Croaked out an apology for the way he felt. The things he wanted that Harvey couldn’t give him. Harvey just went straight over to him and hauled him into an embrace, a little too tight and his face buried in Harvey’s shoulder, so at least his continued rambling was muffled.

At least the others couldn’t hear his rasping whispers about how good Harvey smelled, and how he didn’t want Harvey to hate him.

“Shhh,” Harvey soothed, hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. “Quiet now.”

“I can’t,” Jim managed, huffing a miserable laugh as he said it, clutching tight to Harvey even as his heart ached at the thought of Harvey putting distance between them. He couldn’t blame Harvey, not with the things Jim had spent the last couple of hours telling him he wanted to do to him.

That he was currently trying to tell him all over again, and then he couldn’t speak at all. Couldn’t get a single word out because suddenly Harvey was kissing him, was keeping his mouth occupied, and when Harvey finally pulled away it took Jim a moment to realize that he wasn’t speaking.

It was over, he was silent, and then the smile was falling away from his face almost as soon as it curled across it.

Harvey just slid an arm around his waist, possessive, and tugged him towards the stairwell.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” Harvey said, quiet in his ear but loud enough to make his heart swell, “it’s my turn to do some talking now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	129. Chapter 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim discovers Harvey has a secret talent for singing and can't stop thinking about it :D basically just mutual pining fluff but if you don't want to write songfic that's fine! :)_

“You don’t have to do this.”

Jim just rolled his eyes and checked his tie was straight and his hair wasn’t sticking up at weird angles. Smoothed down his suit jacket and gathered all his fortitude about him, so he could put a hand on Harvey’s shoulder and steer him towards the door of his apartment.

The truth was that Jim hated funerals. Remembered the stiff collar and the shiny shoes he had worn to his father’s, and the crushing guilt and the sense of failure that had overwhelmed him then and at all subsequent services for fallen comrades and colleagues. He felt it already and they hadn’t even left.

He hadn’t even met the deceased.

Harvey had been visibly cut up at the news though, voice rough and gaze wet, and when Jim asked if Harvey wanted him to go with him it broke his heart, just a little, to hear the awed wonder Harvey couldn’t quite filter out as he asked if he would really do that for him.

They were friends. Best friends. Brothers, partners, whatever you wanted to call it.

Harvey meant more to him than anything, than anyone, and if Harvey needed him to make stilted small talk with his extended family for a couple of hours, well. That was what he was going to do.

That was the least he could do.

Except it turned out that wasn’t quite what Harvey had had in mind for the occasion. Because after the church and the Mass and the awkward handshakes with the priest Jim had been expecting came the eating and the drinking.

So much drinking.

He felt slow and stupid with it, almost right from the very beginning, and his lips were numb even as he laughed at family stories he had never been a part of. As he slid closer and closer to Harvey, his tie and his collar loosened as Harvey wrapped an arm around him, warm and heavy like it was exactly where it was meant to be.

Jim breathed in the scent of him. Kept drinking though some distant - sober - voice in his head told him he was going to regret it. Started staring helplessly at Harvey’s profile, at the curve of his nose and the sweep of his eyelashes, and he only realised he was lost in dreams of what Harvey’s lips would feel like beneath his when the guy sat on the opposite side of him pulled out some kind of whistle and Harvey began shaking his head fervently.

“No way,” he was saying, as determined as Jim had ever heard him, “there’s nothing you can do that’s going to change my mind either.”

“Harvey Bullock,” a little old lady scolded, rapping him hard across the knuckles of the hand that wasn’t resting on Jim’s shoulder, “you’ll do as you’re told or I’ll put you over my knee, don’t think I won’t.”

Jim couldn’t help himself - laughed and laughed, and pressed a perfectly above board kiss to Harvey’s cheek, just to soothe away the frown it was sporting.

“I suppose you’re all in favor of me humiliating myself.”

He grinned, drunkenly clueless about the details, and Harvey sighed deeply and resigned himself to the inevitable. Accepted the bodhrán somebody handed him and Jim just watched on in awe as Harvey proceeded to play the thing. In time, with other people, all while singing the right words in the right order.

It helped that he was scarcely capable of sitting upright, Jim supposed, but it still seemed pretty damn impressive. Everyone else seemed to think so too, if the smiles and cheers were anything to go by, and when Harvey looked right at him, smiled right at him, in the middle of some uptempo ditty about lovers who were destined to be together, Jim wished he could save the moment forever.

He wished it never had to end, that he could feel so happy and carefree always, and he cringed later to realize he had babbled on and on about it as Harvey attempted to get him across the city and up the stairs of his apartment building.

“You have a very nice beard, you know?” Jim had distinct recollections of asking. “It feels really nice,” he had added, fingers petting clumsily over Harvey’s bottom lip and chin. He had wanted to say more.

Had wanted to do more.

In the event all he actually did was pass out fully clothed and wake up in the morning with the mother of all hangovers.

“I think I’m dying,” he managed when he made it into the precinct, leaning his forehead against the cold metal of his locker for a blissful moment, “please don’t organize my funeral. My family will all follow me to the grave with alcohol poisoning.”

Harvey laughed, for all that it made him wince at the pain in his own head, but brought him water and painkillers, and sent Alvarez out to follow something up so Jim could sit in almost silence at his desk and stare unseeingly at his paperwork.

“I can’t,” Jim said, one hand covering his mouth when Harvey dragged him out to a diner for lunch, and Harvey simply shrugged and made a start on demolishing his own lunch. Jim sipped at his glass of water, stomach still churning, and sifted through dozens of fractured memories he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to recall in technicolor.

He remembered stroking Harvey’s face. Remembered wanting to kiss Harvey. Remembered Harvey singing, the sound of his voice sending pleasurable shivers through him, and that was the one he decided was safe enough for further examination.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he tried, aiming for casual.

“I was the most angelic choirboy you ever saw,” Harvey told him, just a hint of color in his cheeks, and Jim leaned back against the seat of the booth and wondered whether Harvey would give him a repeat performance.

He thought about it long after the hangover had finally receded. Stopped complaining about the radio playing in the bullpen, in the hope Harvey might forget himself, and encouraged Harvey to play his records when he spent his evenings on Harvey’s sofa, his heart so full it ached at the sight of Harvey happy and smiling.

It worked too, that was the best thing, and Jim listened intently when Harvey sang to himself as he cooked breakfast, or crooned under his breath as he read through a pile of case reports. Harvey sang in the shower, Jim learned, and though he was ashamed he leaned against the door of Harvey’s bathroom and listened rather than switch the television on.

Imagined what else Harvey might get up to in there, dripping wet and soap slick, and if he had to sit with the newspaper over his lap as he regained control, at least Harvey didn’t seem to notice it.

Didn’t seem to notice anything, because Jim had fallen so hard and so deep he was powerless in the face of it. He wanted more, wanted it all, and eventually he let the courage that came with a couple of beers too many work its magic, completely transparent as he asked,

“How does that song go again?”

Harvey gave him a searching look, like he was judging his sincerity, and Jim swiped an anxious tongue over his lips. Flushed up, skin prickling, at the way Harvey’s gaze followed the movement, and heard himself explaining,

“You have a good voice. You don’t use it often enough.”

“And I thought you hated my yakking,” Harvey joked, deflecting, but now he had started Jim needed to keep going.

Stumbled over an apology - long overdue, probably - and when the sincerity got too much he plastered a smile on his face and reminded Harvey that he still owed him for nearly killing him off at a funeral.

“If nearly getting you killed was the criteria, you’d be singing all your reports to me,” Harvey groused but stood up all the same. Fished his guitar from its usual spot down the side of the cabinet and muttered something about not being drunk enough, even as he fiddled with the tuning and started picking out a tune Jim didn’t recognize.

It was pretty, soothing, and Jim curled into the sofa cushions, watching contentedly as Harvey sang quietly, hair falling into his face in the way that never failed to make Jim ache with the need to reach out and touch him. Harvey’s confidence grew as the song progressed, his eyes sliding shut as he sang, and Jim lost himself to it. The timbre of Harvey’s voice and the emotion laced over the lyrics, tragic tales of unrequited love that spoke to Jim in ways he couldn’t explain.

Couldn’t express even, though his throat felt choked and tender, because Harvey was singing to him - for him - and it was so close to being perfect that it hurt like nothing he had ever experienced. Harvey didn’t mean it, that was the problem. Not the way Jim so wanted him to.

He took another pull of his beer, swiped surreptitiously at his eyes, and then startled to hear Harvey’s voice crack, looking over to find him doing the same thing.

“You just had to listen to that racket,” Harvey said, voice still a little strained, “I don’t know what my excuse is.”

It became a regular occurrence, Harvey singing to him. Harvey sitting so very close and correcting the placement of his fingers on the fretboard, patiently teaching him simple chords and the lyrics of the songs that haunted his dreams. He wasn’t much good at it, had never been a creative kind of person, but Harvey praised him for his efforts no matter how terrible they were. Laughed and joked and pressed kisses to his cheek, and that alone was more than enough reason to stick with it.

Was more than enough reason for him to lose his train of thought, to falter completely, gazing into Harvey’s face and needing to know if he was fated to wish and want forever.

Harvey froze when he kissed him. Looked at him wide eyed when Jim pulled back, heart pounding as he waited for a reaction. Then - then - the guitar was being dropped, forgotten, as Harvey kissed him back. Touched fingers to his jaw and introduced the slick heat of his tongue, so that Jim groaned and blinked at Harvey dazedly when he was the one to pull away this time.

Followed, helpless, and Harvey surrendered willingly to Jim’s enthusiasm.

“There could be songs sung about how much I love you, you know that, don’t you?” Harvey asked afterwards, fingers gentle where they stroked down the side of his face. “Ballads that last three hours and say the same thing over and over again.”

“I’d listen to you sing the same thing for three hours,” Jim said, solemn even with the stupid smile he couldn’t wipe from his face. Harvey smiled back, just as lost to it.

“Is that your way of saying you love me too?”

Jim kissed him again, just because he could.

“What do you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	130. Chapter 130

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _gordlock stuck in an elevator? or locked in somewhere after an argument, or maybe one of them needs taking care of/doesn't like small spaces :)_
> 
> Just a sappy little ficlet. <3

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The elevator shuddered to a halt, the lights flickering, and Jim ignored him completely to jab at the control panel with more force than was strictly necessary. Held the emergency alarm button down with a look that could kill, and exchanged terse words with some technician on the other end of the line who informed them they were looking at over an hour.

Jim settled in with a scowl at that news. Crossed his arms over his chest and deliberately looked anywhere but in his direction. It was kind of a difficult task, in such a small space, and Harvey tried not to let on how deeply it stung, or that he was freaking out at all.

Because if anyone had a right to be annoyed at their current situation it was Jim. Jim was the one who had been buried alive, and it was Jim who had been trapped in the mangled wreck of his father’s car. The stupid argument they had been in the middle of had been going in Jim’s favor, much as he didn’t want to admit it, and it was Jim’s case that was going to stall, on account of them being stuck in here.

The problem was that Jim was managing just fine.

It was him who was about to fall to pieces.

“So an hour?” He managed, aiming for casual and probably failing. The cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck didn’t let up any, at least, nor the frantic hammering of his pulse. It still felt like the walls were closing in on him. Like he was going to pass out at any moment.

Jim refused to spare him a glance.

“More like two.”

He had feared it might be something like that. Was just fearing making a fool of himself in general because there was no way out, nowhere to hide, and he tugged clumsily at the knot of his tie in the hope he might be able to breathe a little easier.

It didn’t work, made no difference at all, and it didn’t matter that Jim could see. He had to slide down to the floor, unsteady, because his legs simply wouldn’t hold him. He couldn’t look, couldn’t look away, and his stomach churned even as the panic washed over him in waves. Even as he pushed a shaky hand through his hair and told himself over and over that he wasn’t going to have a panic attack.

“Harvey?” Jim said then, the sound distant and distorted, and Harvey mused that perhaps he wasn’t going to be given a lot of choice because his heart was pounding like it wanted to fight its way right out of his rib cage.

His head was spinning and his skin clammy, and suddenly Jim was sitting beside him.

Jim was wrapping an arm around his middle and pulling him in close, insistent, until he gave in and put his head on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m trying to be angry with you,” Jim told him, voice gruff, “why have you got to make it so difficult?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

The words were muffled into Jim’s suit jacket but no less sincere for it. He didn’t need Jim’s pity, for all he might be willing to accept whatever he could get from him.

“Of course I do,” Jim countered, fingers petting at his hair, “we’re partners, remember?”

He didn’t say anything in response, too busy focusing on breathing in and out, and Jim took the silence as a sign he needed further reassurance. Pressed a kiss to his forehead and shifted so that they were both more comfortable. As comfortable as they were likely to get, huddled together on the floor of a broken elevator.

“More than partners,” Jim murmured, “you drive me up the wall sometimes but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Harvey risked a glance up then, at the fond expression on Jim’s face and the lingering worry in his big blue eyes, and shot him an approximation of a smile before settling back into Jim’s embrace. There was a long way to go yet, a lot of deep breathing to do and staying calm to attempt. He was so grateful, even so, and he groped blindly for Jim’s hand, gripping it tightly.

“Right back at you, Jim, every word of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	131. Chapter 131

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cutesy POV switch of [Chapter 116](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26919318) for ishipallthings. :)

The best thing about Christmas, at least to Jim’s mind, was how much Harvey loved it. His partner bitched and complained just as much as everyone else, of course, at the ever earlier displays of baubles and wrapping paper. Put on a good show of acting annoyed at the festive classics on the radio, and heaved long suffering sighs whenever anyone brought up the logistics of the annual kiddies’ Christmas party.

Jim knew Harvey well enough to see straight through it though. He had first hand experience with Harvey’s childlike glee at the prospect of sticking up streamers and tinsel, and had seen the breathless happiness on Harvey’s face as he watched his brood of cousins open the presents he invariably spent way too much time and money on.

So it worried him, legitimately, that it was early December and Harvey still didn’t seem at all interested.

“The baby’s due the week before so everyone is going to Marie’s this year,” Harvey confessed over a few beers, trying for a smile that never quite made it, and Jim wished he had the right to tug Harvey into an embrace and attempt to kiss it better. Harvey was close to his family, loved spending time with them in a way Jim could never imagine experiencing with his own relatives, and of course it was going to hurt that he couldn’t be there at Christmas.

Harvey would be working instead, just the same as he always did, because that was the kind of guy he was. The kind of guy who deserved good things and inspired devotion. The kind of guy Jim wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

All he needed to do, Jim mused as he put his own name down for the holiday shift rota, was find a way to convince Harvey to take a chance on him.

He had tried the year before, reading triple meanings into everything Harvey said and did. Beaming like an idiot when Harvey invited him home to meet the family, and all but sitting in Harvey’s lap in the overcrowded living room of Harvey’s favorite cousin, dreaming of a world in which that kind of proximity could be a regular occurrence.

They had hugged even, outside Harvey’s apartment building, snow falling all around them and clinging to Harvey’s hair and his eyelashes so that Jim’s heart ached with how much more he wanted.

Then Harvey had thanked him for going with him, called him his partner - his brother - and all the courage the evening had instilled in him drained away. Harvey had asked him because he thought of him as family. Harvey was being a good friend, a good guy, and all Jim could think about was how desperately he wanted to wake up in Harvey’s bed, every single morning.

That was then, though, and this was now. He had done everything he could. He had tried to be content with what they had, and he had tried, yet again, to find love with someone else so that he would never need to rock the boat.

It hadn’t worked, he had never really expected it to, and with three weeks left to Christmas Jim pledged to himself that by the time the big day itself was over he would have told Harvey that he loved him.

That he was in love with him.

He had made no progress whatsoever when a case had him visiting one of the pretty churches down in the old market district, and after the old dears had rambled through a description of his potential suspect, one of them wasted no time in trying to sell him a couple of tickets to the annual carol concert.

“You could bring along your lady friend,” her second in command - already busting out the ticket book - suggested with a twinkle in her eye, “it would be so romantic.”

“Or your boyfriend?” Her counterpart added kindly, like she could see exactly what he was thinking, and maybe it was just that he had nobody to talk to about it - not in Gotham, and certainly not out of it. Nobody he could confide in except for Harvey himself, and that option was out for so many reasons. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t used to seeing a friendly face. Whatever the reason, he heard himself replying with,

“How about somebody I wish was my boyfriend?”

In return he was plied with tea and cake, and got his hand patted sympathetically when he waxed lyrical about Harvey’s eyes and Harvey’s faith in him.

“Men are no good at hints,” he was assured, a sentiment that was quickly agreed with,

“No, you’ll have to tell him.”

“He is a detective,” Jim offered, because he wasn’t exactly subtle around Harvey, and that was his greatest fear - that Harvey already knew exactly how he felt and just wasn’t interested. Wanted him to keep it to himself, even, rather than have to tell him it disgusted him.

The ticket seller waved her hand dismissively, “Police officers are the worst of the lot. My William was on the force 30 years and wouldn’t have recognised a flirtation if it hit him in the face. It’s no good playing coy, that won’t get you anywhere.”

That was also agreed to, unanimously it seemed, and Jim finished his tea before leaving with a new found determination. The problem was that it was so much easier said than done. The words stuck in his throat when he sat across from Harvey in the cramped booth of their favorite diner. Died on his lips at the dive bars and in the front seat of the car as Harvey dropped him off home.

Even in his apartment, with Harvey sat on his sofa, staring into the glass in his hands, Jim chickened out of it all.

Finally he blurted out an invitation in the precinct locker room, breathless at the sight of Harvey’s hair falling into his face as he changed his shoes and socks, and Alvarez asked him if he had been abducted and replaced by an alien when he returned to his desk and his paperwork. He couldn’t stop smiling. Because, okay, maybe he hadn’t got to the confessing and the kissing, but it was looking so much more promising than it had that morning.

Harvey wanted to spend time with him, in public, and Jim couldn’t help but notice that Harvey had combed his hair and changed into his nice suit before they set off for the concert. Jim’s support group smiled knowingly at him when they got there, fussing and chivvying, and pulling him aside for a moment to chastise him for not informing them that Harvey was so handsome.

It put the stupid smile back on his face, so happy to be herded in close to Harvey that he even sang along to a song or two, enjoying the sound of Harvey’s own voice, and the thrill of his body heat.

They went for drinks afterwards and then back to Harvey’s place, where Jim planned to act on the advice to spell it all out in large print. He was just going to say it. Or he was simply going to kiss Harvey. He was going to do something, he kept telling himself, even as Harvey got him a blanket and shut the door leading to his bedroom.

Jim lay awake for a long time that night, cursing himself for a coward.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Maude, as she insisted he call her, clucked when he went back to the church to get an ID on some stolen property. Put a comforting hand on his arm at the glum look he couldn’t quite vanquish, and promised him that Harvey would welcome the news. “He only had eyes for you,” she told him, solemn, and as he was leaving said with conviction, “why wouldn’t he want a nice boy like you?”

He thought about her words later that day, heart twisting up in his chest, because Harvey looked so miserable and what Jim wanted most in the world was to put a real smile on his face. If he could just take the plunge, if Harvey could only like him back. They could be so happy together, Jim was certain of it.

Gotham was against him every step of the way, as usual. The dinner reservations he organized had to be cancelled when some nutjob decided to go on a killing spree, and his plans to show what he couldn’t say with home cooked far had to be scraped into the garbage before Harvey could see what a total disaster he had made of it. He had been distracted by the news that there was a situation unfolding in the city center, and both he and Harvey ended up getting called back into work anyway.

He didn’t even have the guts to write it down, going through an entire pack of Christmas cards as he attempted to word the perfect love note before giving it up as a bad job and resolving to come back to the task.

The next few days were relentless, Harvey’s shoulders slumped under the strain of it all, and when not even the children’s Christmas party was enough to raise Harvey’s spirits for more than a few minutes Jim decided he had to take drastic measures.

Found the flimsiest of excuses to be paying senior citizens a visit, and wondered if this was the kind of advice he could have turned to his own family for if all of them weren’t so completely dysfunctional. They didn’t actually say a word about it, all through his flustered appeal to go back over the weeks old witness statement, but when he was shown to the door he got a kindly smile and a firm,

“Next time I see you I hope you’ll tell me all about your first Christmas with that young man of yours.”

Jim puzzled it all out over a few drinks at his corner bar. Stared into the liquid in his glass and tried to think of something he could do that would make not only his feelings but his intentions clear. He wasn’t interested in something that wouldn’t make it past the festive period.

He needed Harvey to understand that this was it for him, endgame, because Harvey had already seen him at rock bottom. Already accepted him, flaws and all, and he loved Harvey so much for it that sometimes it felt like he couldn’t breathe for it.

The idea, when it came, as blinding in its simplicity. It was still kind of late for it, truthfully, because there were only three days left until Christmas and there he was, attempting to find a tree that looked half decent and didn’t cost a fortune. He had to make do with what he could get, eventually, but the apology he had planned was forgotten when Harvey opened the door to him because it really wasn’t needed. Harvey gave him a smile, one that actually reached his eyes, and they spent the whole evening stringing up tinsel and hanging baubles.

He couldn’t help but smile himself at Harvey’s sentimentality. The misshapen ornaments he had no doubt had been crafted by family members, and scuffed up decorations he knew without being told must have belonged to Harvey’s mother. It gave him a warm feeling in his chest to know that Harvey trusted him with them. To sit too close with Harvey when the tree was finished, soaking up his attention and his body heat, and agreeing too readily to Harvey’s suggestion that he spend the night on the sofa because it was late and cold out.

They ate breakfast together in the morning, cosy and domestic like something out of his stupid daydreams, and it hit him that if he didn’t do something now he never would. Something would happen, somebody else would come between them, and he would be left with nothing but what ifs and might have beens. He agonized over it until lunch, then handed over one of the Christmas cards he had spent so much time and effort over, stomach churning as he waited for Harvey’s reaction.

Harvey gave him a look that took his breath away. Hauled him in close and kissed his cheek, and in that moment Jim was certain.

It was no good being subtle.

If he wanted Harvey, he would have to be the one to make the first move.

Because Harvey was just as deep in this as he was. Was just as scared, maybe, because every time he looked up that afternoon it was to find Harvey trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring. Harvey’s hand lingered on his shoulder when they called it a night, and it lingered again the next morning when Harvey handed out little presents to everyone on duty as though he literally couldn’t help but get over invested in the holiday spirit.

Jim ran his fingers over the dove gray of the necktie Harvey had given him, silky smooth against his skin, and flushed up at the thought of trailing it over different patches of skin entirely.

“I thought it would suit you,” Harvey said, stilted and awkward, and Jim nodded stiffly and slid it into his jacket pocket. Thought of the bottle of expensive whiskey he had sitting in his locker and decided he could go one better.

Took his leave of the precinct almost the moment Harvey relieved them from duty and spent way too long in the shower, pulse racing as he debated back and fore whether or not he could really go through with it.

He determined to try, at least, and let himself into Harvey’s place with the key he had been given for emergencies. Harvey was still at the precinct, had still been sat at his desk when Jim had finally left, and he hoped Harvey wouldn’t begrudge him the generous glug of whiskey he poured into the first clean glass he came across.

Right now he needed all the help he could get.

He paced a bit. Took off his shoes and his suit jacket, then pulled his tie free for good measure. Unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers and downed another glass of whiskey. That one had more of an impact and he made himself more at home. Turned the heating on and the tree lights. Stripped out of his undershirt and his trousers, and folded it all neatly on a chair before messing the pile up again to retrieve the tie Harvey had bought him.

It took a few attempts, nerves and the whiskey both conspiring against him, but finally he succeeded in tying it in a decent looking bow around his left wrist.

That left him with nothing to do but wait. And wait and wait. Maybe Harvey had decided to drive out to see his family after all. Perhaps something had happened and he couldn’t get away from the precinct. He went so far as to ring the front desk, just in case, only to be told that everything was fine, in a tone that suggested he ought to have something better to do.

He tried sitting and he tried standing. Paced some more and sipped at another finger of whiskey. Pulled the throw off the sofa, eventually, and attempted to look seductive. Succeeded only in looking like an idiot, and ended up dozing off on the floor beside Harvey’s uncomfortable sofa, curled up tight in the blanket and his nose full of the smell of the Christmas tree they had decorated together.

In his dreams Harvey was pleased to see him. Couldn’t keep his hands off of him, and when he opened his eyes it was to find Harvey beside him for real, his eyes bright as he put a gentle hand to Jim’s shoulder.

“If you were that tired you could have crashed in my bed, I wouldn’t have minded,” Harvey said, even as Jim hauled himself into a sitting position, suddenly hyper aware that he was half naked on the floor of Harvey’s apartment. Suddenly hyper aware that maybe the look of shock on Harvey’s face wasn’t a good thing, and he was trying to cover up his bare chest, mortified as he stuttered out an apology.

“I thought - I just -” he tried, helpless, and then he couldn’t say a thing, Harvey’s hands coming up to cup his face as he kept his mouth otherwise occupied.

He surged forward, desperate, and they went from kissing to sprawling out on Harvey’s bed, Harvey sucking at the tender flesh of his throat as he tore wildly at Harvey’s clothing, unable to wait any longer.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Jim panted out in explanation, “I kept trying but I’m no good at it.”

Harvey tried to calm him down. Did his best to turn things slow and gentle and Jim appreciated the sentiment, really he did, but he was too hard, too frantic, and when Harvey was finally naked atop him Jim whined out gibberish about taking their time later. Thought about how he would take Harvey apart, touch by touch, and clutched at his shoulders still more eagerly. Pushed up into Harvey’s fist, too far gone to feel ashamed of himself, and jerked and twitched and choked out a strangled gasp when he came, overwhelmed by the entire scenario.

He kissed Harvey messily as he followed him, slick wet heat that had him wishing he was ready to go all over again.

Harvey held him close afterwards, tender like Jim had always hoped he would be, and tugged the rumpled bow free from his wrist with a reverence that made Jim’s heart clench.

“You’re never going to able to top this as a present,” Harvey promised him, voice soft in the darkness, and Jim kissed him all over again. Told him that it was a good job because he had drank most of the present he had actually bought for him. Confessed that he had needed the courage. That he had been trying to make Harvey see that he wanted more from him than brotherly friendship for over a year now.

Felt recovered enough to show Harvey exactly what he did to him, teasing and teasing until Harvey was the one to plead with him to go faster, the sight and the sound and the urgency so good Jim had to lose himself to it. Couldn’t get enough, ever, and got a whole new roster of nicknames assigned to him at the precinct, on account of his being so very obvious.

“Discretion is just a word to you, isn’t it?” Harvey asked him in the new year, flushing up so attractively Jim couldn’t help but lean in close and nip at his ear again, first making sure that the door was closed and Harvey’s objections weren’t based on anything too blatant.

“Subtlety gets you nowhere,” he said, adamant, and the smile Harvey gave him in response kept him going for the rest of the afternoon.

Because he had known it would work, had known how good they would be for each other, and though they sniped and bickered and sometimes outright argued, mostly they were so happy it was kind of frightening. Kind of sickening, so his colleagues claimed, but Jim refused to let it get to him.

Dragged Harvey to another carol concert when winter rolled back around, fulfilling another promise as he pressed a proud kiss to Harvey’s cheek and introduced him to the members of the committee. Harvey rolled his eyes at him, for his sappiness, but slid an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek in turn, so sweet and chaste it made his blood burn.

They went to Harvey’s family for Christmas dinner, after they finished their shift, and he colored up like a lobster when Harvey unwrapped the wristwatch he had bought - a replacement for yet another victim to the job - only to wink at him and say that it lacked the presentation of the previous year’s offering.

“Don’t be so ungrateful,” one of Harvey’s elderly relations said, misinterpreting, and clipped him across the back of head for good measure. Smiled kindly at Jim, like the problem was solved, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Couldn’t help but curl into Harvey’s side, just because he had the option.

“He isn’t,” he said, knowing it beyond all doubt, even without the hand Harvey tangled with his own, “trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	132. Chapter 132

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _pairings that finish each other's sentences while everyone around them knows how married they are are my favorite, so maybe you could do something like that with gordlock?_
> 
> This is super cracky but I couldn't help but think of Harvey getting what Jim is on about from next to nothing, a la Sonny and his kangaroo. xD

“Where’s Skippy?”

“He’s following up a lead on the Holt case. And don’t call him Skippy.”

“But it suits him,” McKenna pointed out.

“It's true. He's always in a fight - and you finish all his sentences.”

Alvarez didn’t even have the good grace to look guilty, but then he never did. It was a skill, Harvey supposed, and one he spent a lot of time perfecting. Or so the long suffering Mrs Alvarez claimed, loudly, every year at the station Christmas party.

“It’s a damn sight nicer than what the 21st are calling him,” Tuttle offered, because the 21st precinct had had the dubious pleasure of training Jim up from a rookie. Had had another run in with him, just a few weeks ago, and it seemed - in this instance - absence had really failed to make the heart grow fonder.

Jim had that kind of effect on people.

People who weren’t him, at least. Harvey had long since ceased attempting to pretend he was anything other than helplessly besotted when it came to Jim Gordon. It was easier that way. Freed up his time and energy for more important things, like convincing Jim to look before leaping into danger, and patching him up when he went ahead and did it regardless.

Just like he was doing right at that moment, it turned out, because when Jim put in a reappearance he was bruised and bloodied, panting for breath as he tried for an explanation. As he failed, at least verbally, so that Harvey had to put together the pointing and the gesturing at the file lying open on top of his stack of paperwork.

It was enough to have him barking orders. To get a couple of squad cars sent out to pick the miscreants up and, later, to tell the occupants of his holding cell that they didn’t know how lucky they were to have Jim Gordon keeping a watchful eye on the number of injuries sustained in custody.

He had to make do with cleaning up the cut on Jim’s brow instead. Smeared some of the antiseptic cream he kept in his locker for just such occasions over it, and then pressed a chaste kiss above it, just for good measure. Just because he knew Jim was about to start complaining about being coddled.

“Do you know anything about that?” Jim settled for asking, gaze settling on the latest collection of graffiti covering his locker. The less than flattering accusations of how he liked to spend his free time, and a drawing of something that might or might not have been marsupial.

Harvey glanced over it and played dumb. Thought of Jim’s sputtering - silent - indignation and shook his head.

Sometimes discretion was the better part of valor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	133. TLC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP - Harvey gives Jim some TLC after yet another beating.

Jim was always so difficult. Was always so determined to play the tough guy and the hero, refusing to admit that maybe, just maybe, he could do with a bit of TLC and somebody to check that there was no lasting damage - or internal bleeding.

Instead Harvey had no choice but to play dirty, because even a martyr wasn’t above a little stress relief.

Even the great Jim Gordon had a weak spot or two.

Like the patch of skin just below his left ear, the color flooding into his cheeks as Harvey nuzzled a kiss into it.

“I don’t know if you’re up to it,” Harvey told him, regretfully, and hid the smile that tugged at his own lips when Jim huffed an exasperated sigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.”

Jim glared, for a moment, but Harvey moved onto the sensitive flesh of his throat so that his eyelids fluttered shut. So that he gasped out a breathless moan, a noise that pooled low in Harvey’s abdomen.

“I’m sure you won’t mind me taking a proper look at you then, will you?”

Jim didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to stop Harvey from unbuttoning his shirt though, and didn’t object when Harvey pushed it from his shoulders.

He did his best to take his time about it, even so. Trailed kisses up and down the length of Jim’s arms, and lavished attention over his collar bone. Slowly hitched up the material of Jim’s undershirt and brushed his lips over the livid bruising from the latest beating Jim had been subjected to.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harvey encouraged, carefully pressing his fingers to the discolored skin and gauging the sharpness of Jim’s breathing. It was tender, sore, but nothing more than bruising he determined.

Nothing to prevent him rewarding Jim for playing along and letting him reassure himself that they didn’t need to take a trip to the hospital.

He pushed Jim’s undershirt up further. Tugged it up and over his head, finally, and latched on to a nipple, loving how responsive Jim was to his touch. How responsive he always was, as though he were helpless in the face of such devotion, and Harvey couldn’t help but lay it on still thicker.

Experience had its advantages.

It had him able to draw things out, to make Jim tremble, and when he gave in and angled his head for a kiss Jim seemed completely oblivious to the pain from his cut and swollen lip. Jim just pressed closer, blindly, and Harvey had Jim in a beautiful mess by the time he had him laid out across his bed, hands only just beginning to undo his belt buckle.

“It’s not fair,” Jim groaned when Harvey ignored the obvious in favor of stroking his hands up the heated skin of Jim’s thigh, “you have to stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” Harvey countered reasonably, “I’m seducing you.”

“You really don’t need to.”

It was true, probably, because Jim looked drunk on it all, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. He was making the most perfect breathy sounds, biting down into his lip and generally looking like something out of any number of Harvey’s filthy fantasies.

Sometimes it still felt like a dream. Like he was going to wake up any moment and find himself alone, his dick aching and his apartment empty, the exact same way he had so many nights before the impossible happened and Jim kissed him back. Before Jim told him he wanted him too, loved him too, and in celebration of the stupidly happy grin Jim invariably put on his face he set about touching Jim everywhere but where he most wanted it.

He got Jim to roll over. Fished a bottle of hand lotion from the bedside cabinet and worked his way up from the soles of Jim’s feet to the tension in his shoulders. Paid special attention to the bruises and the scar tissue littering the route, and whispered out odes to Jim’s firm muscles and the sexy way he insisted on covering them up in crisply pressed suits and shirts every morning. He removed Jim’s boxer shorts then, slowly, and spent some quality time kneading the flesh of Jim’s ass, his own blood burning hotter at every desperate little whimper he wrenched from Jim’s pretty mouth.

Jim was getting impatient. Frustrated. Groaned helplessly when Harvey teased a slick finger along his crevice, and only pushed back eagerly when Harvey started telling him about the sight he made. Asking him how he managed to look so fucking gorgeous, and watching as he squirmed, excited and frantic, when he turned his attention back to Jim’s neck and ears, rasping his beard across over-sensitive skin until Jim couldn’t take it any longer.

Until Jim flipped over onto his back and tangled his hands in Harvey’s hair, holding his head still as he kissed him like he’d been waiting years for the opportunity.

As he pinned Harvey down to the bed instead, fingers clumsy as they reached for the knot of his tie.

“I think you deserve a taste of your own medicine,” Jim told him, eyes slightly wild, and Harvey had to concede that maybe Jim had a point about the teasing. Had to tip his head back into the pillows, panting for breath, because Jim seemed determined to drive him absolutely crazy.

Got him so worked up he couldn’t argue, would have agreed to anything Jim wanted, and when Jim took hold of his hand and dragged it into position, Harvey could only watch open mouthed as Jim sank down onto his finger.

It ought to be criminal to be that hot, that was what Harvey told him, and then he was having trouble forming words at all because Jim was fucking himself open on Harvey’s fingers and telling him that it was own fault, for tormenting him until he couldn’t think straight. Until he was so hard he was begging Harvey to fuck him, suck him, anything, so long as he did it quickly.

Harvey did his best to oblige. Sucked him for a minute or two while Jim groaned and moaned and bucked into his mouth. Pulled off when Jim warned he was about to come and pulled him into his lap instead, fighting for his own self-control as Jim inched down onto him.

As Jim started grinding, and bouncing, and pleading with him not to stop because he felt so good, and so big, and because he needed to come so badly.

“It’s okay,” Harvey soothed, like he wasn’t so desperately turned on he could come any damn second, and hauled Jim into a slick kiss, his hand seeking out Jim’s erection even as Jim broke away to pant into his ear that he was so very close.

That Harvey couldn’t stop, mustn’t stop, had to fuck him faster, harder, like he meant it, and Harvey wished Jim would let him record this moment, just once, as proof of the filthy hot nonsensical babble he was prone to resort to.

“That’s it, Jim,” was what he went with, tried and tested, and if he had to tack on a few pet names, that was Jim’s fault for getting ever louder and more demanding. For latching on to the crook of his neck, the pleasure - pain of the thing entirely too much, and then tightening up like a vice around his dick, so that his hips bucked up wildly and his hands gripped too hard at Jim’s bruised sides.

“I’m fine,” Jim chastised afterwards, when Harvey was trying to apologize for it, “a lot better for your bedside manner, trust me.”

“Does this mean next time you’ll just let me take a look, like a sane person?”

He wanted Jim to be safe, always. Hated that it was a pipe dream, an impossible scenario, and that he couldn’t even keep his own officers from delivering fists to Jim’s gut, though he was supposed to be the guy they all answered to.

Jim just smiled at him, pulling at his swollen lip, mischief written all over the face he had come to hold so dear.

“No. Where would be the fun in that?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	134. Chapter 134

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can you do one where one of them has a tattoo and the other can't stop thinking about it because it's like really hot._

“Has that always been there?”

Harvey bundled his wet shirt and undershirt together and dropped it onto the locker room bench, sparing Jim an incredulous look as he did so.

“Am I going to have to give you that talk about where babies come from again? You seem to have some very strange ideas about what constitutes a birthmark.”

“You’re not funny.”

“But I’m funnier than you.”

Jim just shook his head and did his best not to rise to the bait. His own shirt was soaked through, the rain outside unrelenting, and he ended up fumbling the buttons because instead of getting dressed Harvey was inspecting the thing in his locker mirror and prodding it with his fingers.

Looked for all the world like he was feeling himself up, because it wasn’t the done thing to get tattooed that close to a nipple. Surely?

“It’s a Celtic dragon,” Harvey said redundantly, “I got it done years ago. And, yeah, it hurt like a bitch.”

“You say that like you think I care.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and pulled his dry clothes from his locker. Sniffed at them, just in case, and wrinkled his nose at whatever it was that was festering down the front of a shirt he should have had laundered.

“Don’t say anything,” Harvey warned, even as he found another, fresher, shirt, and Jim tried telling himself that only a total madman would be getting hot and bothered over a guy who even now was simply balling up the used clothing and shoving it back behind his never aired regulation-issue hi-vis jacket.

The problem, Jim conceded, was that he had never been particularly well known for being sane and sensible.

* * *

Jim couldn’t quit thinking about it. Found himself wondering about what other ink Harvey might be sporting, at the most inopportune moments. Like when Tuttle was asking for an update on the Holt case, or when Harvey himself was snapping his fingers in front of his face and asking him if he was actually going to eat that last slice of pizza.

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you,” Jim said, and busied himself with his beer bottle while Harvey glared but ate it anyway.

“I can’t help it if you make me work up an appetite,” was Harvey’s comeback, still chewing, and Jim choked and spluttered and had to be slapped on the back a few times because he simply couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter.

Couldn’t help but point out the tomato sauce all down Harvey’s shirt where his attention had been distracted, and couldn’t force himself to look away even as Harvey first tried smearing it away, ineffectually, and then set about unbuttoning the thing.

“Can I -” he heard himself asking, quiet and breathless, “I never did get a chance to look at it properly.”

Harvey frowned at him for a moment, trying to work out what he was talking about, and then he followed his gaze to the fabric of his undershirt. To where the tattoo was hidden beneath it, and suddenly the air felt thick and treacly, so that it was a struggle to get enough into his lungs.

The silence stretched too, Harvey just looking back at him, searching his face for something. Finally he pulled the t-shirt up and over his head, and Jim reached out so that his fingertips were hovering close enough to feel Harvey’s body heat.

“It doesn’t feel any different,” Harvey said, the words sounding strange. Strained, maybe. “You can touch it if you want to.”

He wasn’t going to because it would be a monumentally stupid idea. Harvey was his partner. His boss, at least for the time being, and there was no way Jim was going to throw all that away because he had spent the last few days battling x-rated fantasies about licking along every line of that tattoo.

About suckling Harvey’s nipple into his mouth, and feeling Harvey’s fingers tightening in his hair, torn between wanting relief and needing to hold his head in place.

Because it wasn’t exactly a new fantasy either, not by any stretch of the imagination, and if he went ahead and started acting it out nothing would ever be the same between them.

His fingers made contact anyway. Traced the curve of a wing and trailed along Harvey’s rib cage. Stroked back up, helpless, and brushed against Harvey’s nipple, the visible reaction enough to have his mouth flooding with saliva.

To have him gazing into Harvey’s face, his own cheeks heating up at the raw hope in the other man’s eyes. To give him the courage to press forward, to take the initiative, though he knew it was the wrong thing to do.

The very last thing he ought to have been asking from Harvey.

Harvey just kissed him back. Made him shiver with the slick swipe of his tongue against his own, and then pulled away to check that they were on the same wavelength. That Jim wasn’t off his face, or being mind controlled, or some other craziness that seemed a more obvious conclusion than Jim just wanting him. Or so Harvey told him later.

In the moment Jim just gave in to the need to get closer. To kiss down Harvey’s throat and suck at his nipple. To push his hand between them and feel how much Harvey wanted it.

Wanted him.

“Jim,” Harvey groaned, the sound thrilling through him. This was what he wanted from Harvey, always. Proof that it was his company, his friendship, him, that kept Harvey at his side, not some misplaced sense of gratitude or duty. He wanted Harvey to feel as certain as he himself felt lost, and to clutch him tighter whenever Jim thought about doing the right thing and putting distance between them.

Then Harvey was there, doing his best to show him. Hands firm but tender as they freed him of his clothing, and mouth hot and wet against the skin of his throat as he kept up a constant stream of dirty talk about all the ways he wanted to make Jim lose control of himself.

Jim curled his hand around Harvey’s side, possessive, and let him go for it. Returned the favor, way too eagerly, and kicked a beer bottle off the coffee table that Harvey told him to ignore. Begged, really, and the hitch in his breathing had Jim unable to argue. Had him settling on top of Harvey, rutting desperately against his thigh as the movements of his own hand grew faster.

“Did you get a close enough look?” Harvey asked afterwards, when Jim was catching his breath. Crushing the breath from Harvey’s own lungs, heavy and comfortable where he was sprawled over him. Jim just clung closer still, put off all the serious discussion what they had done merited, and brushed his lips over the first patch of skin he could reach.

“Repeat viewings are the only way to truly appreciate art,” Jim quoted, remembering interminable evenings of small talk at Barbara’s gallery.

Harvey ruffled a hand through his hair, just to be annoying, and grinned hard enough for it to be audible.

“That so? I guess I’ll have to check my social calendar, won’t I?”

“You saying I’ve got competition?”

“With a face like mine? Physique to match? That thing fills up months in advance. You’re lucky I managed to squeeze you in this evening.”

Jim rolled his eyes, though Harvey couldn’t even see it. Though Harvey seemed to be able to sense it, all the same, and started laughing, loud and honest, until he couldn’t help but laugh right along with him, swept up in his partner’s ability not to take everything so very seriously.

Maybe Harvey would be able to give just as he got, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	135. Chapter 135

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because ishipallthings sent me: _can I ask for something with bookish Harvey and gordlock as a prompt? :D_
> 
> <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this awesome mood board [draculas-gay-daughter](http://draculas-gay-daughter.tumblr.com/) made for the story over on Tumblr! :D
> 
> [](http://draculas-gay-daughter.tumblr.com/post/165888208298/gordlock-mood-board-pulp-detective-aesthetic)  
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [Text Reblog Link](http://draculas-gay-daughter.tumblr.com/post/165888208298/gordlock-mood-board-pulp-detective-aesthetic)  
> 

Jim didn’t read much, at least not anything that didn’t come in the form of a case report, or a dossier from the archive. He had used to, desperate for any and all diversions out on deployment, but now there was never time. Never chance to get through more than a few pages before his attention wandered.

It was a problem Harvey seemed immune to, for all that the man was a philistine. For all that he licked at his fingers to aid page turning, and folded the corners over instead of using a bookmark. Creased up the covers of his trashy paperbacks like it didn’t matter, and made Jim’s temple twitch with annoyance every time he replaced them haphazardly on a shelf instead of in the space the book had clearly come from.

Right now he was buy smirking to himself every three pages or so, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he sprawled the full length of his ancient sofa. It was distracting. So distracting that Jim couldn’t focus on the coded message he had been trying to crack all evening. It was making his head ache, the tension throbbing in his skull, and finally he dropped the file to the coffee table and let his head sink into the cushions of the chair he was sat in.

Snapped at the sound of a strangled huff of amusement and fixed Harvey with an accusing look.

“What’s so funny?”

Harvey just gestured at the book, and it only served to increase Jim’s ire. The tacky cover art was some scantily clad blonde, shrieking at the gunman just out of frame, and if the thing had any humor Jim couldn’t imagine it was intentional.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Harvey told him easily, dismissively, and that riled Jim up further. It had been a long day and a longer week. He was getting nowhere on his latest case, couldn’t switch off long enough to get a decent night’s sleep, and there was Harvey taking a long pull of his beer and settling in for 240 pages of escapist entertainment.

It wasn’t fair.

“Try me.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow, something about the sight of it setting Jim’s blood to boil, but didn’t comment on it. Didn’t try for a witty comeback, or give unsolicited advice on how he ought to deal with his caseload.

Instead he just lifted the book a little higher and started reading aloud, the steady timbre of his voice far more soothing than it had any right to be.

The story was every bit as stupid as Jim had expected it to be, lots of lovingly detailed descriptions of the bloodied knife and the pull of the blonde’s blouse over her ample chest, and not a lot of anything which might be described as official police procedure. But Reilly - an imposing figure of a protagonist, complete with perpetual hangdog expression - was just crouching down beside the latest stiff when things took a detour Jim hadn’t predicted.

_“So this is what retirement looks like, eh?”_

_Reilly would have recognized that voice anywhere, a skill that had in fact saved his sorry hide on numerous occasions, and he couldn’t hide the smile it pulled from him now._

_“Don’t knock it,” he said, spying the twin expression on the newcomer’s face as he crossed the room to inspect the body, “I’m getting paid twice what you are for getting dragged from my bed at this ungodly hour.”_

_Time was that it would have been their bed he was forced to leave when a call came in. Their bed they both longed to return to on cold wintry nights when there were no leads and no hot coffee to be found in a five mile radius. The other man’s smile faltered under the weight of his own memories and Reilly forced himself to act as though he had not noticed._

Jim looked over at his partner, startled, but Harvey’s attention was focused on the book. He didn’t look surprised by the turn it had taken though. Didn’t take exception to the content or stumble over the words, not even when Reilly chose to spend almost three pages waxing lyrical about Gregson’s athletic build and powers of deduction.

In truth it was as though Harvey had been expecting it, waiting for it, and suddenly it made a lot more sense why he had found the early scenes of pretty waitresses pressing too close so very amusing.

It was getting late when Jim told him that he could stop reading. Framed it more as a demand, really, choking on the request even as Harvey blithely continued with a florid passage beginning with Reilly’s relief that the bullet had missed its intended target, and quickly devolved into Gregson clinging to his shoulders and pushing his tongue into his mouth.

“We’re just getting to the good bit,” Harvey protested, like he hadn’t been on the verge of reading him gay porn, and Jim rambled out some excuse and gathered up his case notes and his suit jacket.

He needed some fresh air.

He needed a cold shower, maybe, because he couldn’t push the dumb story from his mind, nor the eager way Harvey had devoured it. He simply hadn’t expected it, Jim reasoned. He had never once imagined that the lurid tales Harvey devoted so much time to might not all feature pretty young women falling for over the hill detectives.

It twisted around in his head for hours, this way and that, and when he finally fell asleep it was to fractured dreams of the case Reilly had been working, complete with himself and Harvey acting out the leading roles. Of him telling Harvey he had missed him, too quiet and too intense, and Harvey saying nothing at all until it was time for them to go their separate ways.

Until they were standing under some suitably noir streetlight, Harvey’s face shadowed under the brim of his hat so that he couldn’t see his eyes. So that he had to lean in closer, to be sure he wasn’t imagining things, when Harvey whispered that he had missed him too.

He woke with a start to the sound of his alarm blaring and the sight of light streaming through his bedroom window. He was usually up before it. Usually never managed so much sleep in the first place, and it left him feeling strange and off kilter, his heart thumping harder in his chest at the thought of seeing Harvey.

Harvey acted just the same as always. Complained about the same things during his morning briefing, and rolled his eyes at the same comebacks from the same people. Sent him out with Alvarez, yet again, and pushed his hair back from his face with a weary hand and plastered a false smile on his face for a meeting with the police commissioner.

“Joys of management, eh?” Alvarez commented, following Jim’s gaze, and Jim had to take a deep breath to snap himself out of it.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

There had to be, that was the conclusion he came to, because rather than forget about it and move on, he made a habit of it. Settled heavily into Harvey’s armchair and listened as Harvey picked up where they had left off, struggling to keep his expression neutral as things got hot and heavy - and then came to an abrupt halt. So abrupt that he realized belatedly he was disappointed about it.

“You know this is part of a series, right?” Harvey said, like he was a mind reader now as well as an enabler, “there’s no way they won’t end up back together by the end of this one.”

That gave Jim more to think about. Had him mulling over the situation, on and on, until he couldn’t hold it back any longer and had to ask if Harvey read a lot of this kind of thing.

“I love detective stories,” Harvey said, pushing his glasses further up his nose so Jim had to focus on his drink to hide the color the action put in his cheeks, “there’s never any paperwork to fill out afterwards.”

Jim allowed himself a smile. Sometimes - just sometimes - he could get behind that idea.

“I meant, you know,” he flustered, flapping a hand to encompass everything that wasn’t dead bodies and detection.

Harvey shrugged, apparently unperturbed. “It’s about as close as I’m getting to a real life romance right now. Unless you’re offering?”

It was too much, too weird, and though Harvey laughed it off it hung in the air between them, and followed him all the way back to his own apartment.

He still kept going back for more. Ostensibly worked on his expenses return, then made a start on Harvey’s, shaking his head at the mess of crumpled receipts and notes written on the back of paper napkins. Listened more focusedly than he had intended as Harvey went right back to the beginning, to the first book in the series, and lost himself to it at some point along the way, antsy with anticipation for the moment when the simmering tension boiled over and Reilly shoved his irritating new partner up against a wall.

Or a door, or a desk, or a locker, maybe. Jim wasn’t fussy about the details.

The kiss, when it did come, was kind of bloody, following right on the back of a fist fight, and Jim frowned at the paperwork in front of him. Imagined how things might have turned out if his and Harvey’s initial antagonism had found the same kind of outlet. If they would be sharing a bed now, an address and a joint checking account, instead of sitting around marooned on their own islands of loneliness.

“File your receipts as they come in this year,” was all he actually said before calling it a night, “I’m not getting paid to play at being your secretary.”

“I could pay you,” Harvey said, heaving himself up to be polite and see him out, “but I don’t think you’d like the uniform. Stockings, one of those skirts with the split down the back, you know the score.”

“Do you ever think there might be a reason you’re still single?”

Jim shrugged into his jacket, expecting some wiseass comeback, but when he looked up it was to see Harvey just gazing at him, so much want on his face it made Jim uncomfortable. It prickled along his skin, the hyper awareness that they could read so much more into their banter than he was ready for.

Than he’d ever be ready for, perhaps, and he stayed away from Harvey’s place for almost a full week, sitting at his desk late into the night and then falling exhausted into his empty bed.

In his dreams it wasn’t so easy to ignore the issue, was all too easy to face it head on, and the morning he woke hard and panting was the morning he finally understood that it wasn’t the idea of Harvey wanting him that he found so frightening. It was the idea of him wanting Harvey.

It was the knowledge that he did want Harvey.

Because once he rolled the concept around his head he couldn’t get it back out again. He tried his very best, regardless, because he and Harvey were friends. Because maybe it wasn’t something new, not entirely, but it wasn’t a desire he had ever acted on. He had never kissed a guy. Never touched another guy, not even in the army, and his cheeks burned when he tentatively put his hand on himself, underneath the covers, trying to picture how it might play out.

How it would work, and what Harvey would expect from him.

Whether Harvey would want it like the stories he had read from, rushed and urgent, or whether he would want Jim to take charge, the way things had gone down with the detective from Internal Affairs.

Harvey had to be able to tell something was going on. He was a good detective himself, had all the experience and the gut instinct, and Jim waited impatiently for Harvey to question him about it. To make the first move, he supposed, so that he wouldn’t have to be the one laid bare and vulnerable.

In the end the choice was taken from him because somebody had bundled Harvey into a car on his way back from a meeting at City Hall and, despite all the resources they threw at it, they couldn’t get a location on him. Jim felt sick to his stomach. Paced and panicked and attacked the punching bag at the precinct until his head swam and his knuckles were swollen.

He went back to Harvey’s place instead of his own, searching for a some clue he might have missed, and had to swallow past the painful lump in his throat when he trailed his fingertips over the spines of Harvey’s excuse of a library. He reached for the book Harvey had been reading to him the last time he was there, hot under the collar and afraid to so much as glance in Harvey’s direction lest it all be obvious, and flicked through it to find his nagging had been taking effect at least, and Harvey had used a bookmark.

Had used some folded up receipt to mark his place, at any rate, and Jim recognized the name as the diner they had gone to the very first day his current top ranked case had crossed his desk. Something pulled at him, just didn’t sit right, and he played bad cop when the manager refused to give him a straight answer. Forced his way into the locked backroom, his pulse rushing in his ears, and had to fight to keep it together when his gaze fell on his partner.

Harvey was barely hanging on, face swollen and bloodied, breathing shallow, and Jim couldn’t stop touching him during the ride to the hospital. Stroked at the matted mess of his hair and went to grip at his hand, only to feel a new surge of sickness at the sight of obviously broken fingers.

It put everything into sharp focus, all his concerns and his worries, because he could have lost Harvey. It could have been Harvey’s lifeless body he found in that room, and just the thought was enough to have him pressing closer, his eyes stinging with the strength of his emotions.

“I knew you’d rescue me,” Harvey rasped at him when he finally came around, “you wouldn’t miss an opportunity for all that gloating.”

Jim huffed a laugh that wanted to morph into a sob, so that Harvey looked at him so tenderly he couldn’t bear it. Had to press his forehead into Harvey’s shoulder and take deep shaky breaths, attempting to regain control of himself.

“You’re going to be here at least a week,” Jim said when he trusted himself not to break down, “is there anything you want me to fetch from your place?”

“Clean pants? Something to read? The usual.”

Jim looked at Harvey’s hands, splinted and bound, and paid for a portable radio and a headset before he left.

Harvey was in no fit state to be reading.

He was able to take up the slack though, and when he got off duty the following day he swung by Harvey’s apartment and then headed for the hospital. Read from some other well thumbed novel, and wasn’t surprised in the least when the protagonist turned out to be more interested in the guy he was meant to be investigating than the beautiful woman who hired him.

“I’ve never known you go with a guy,” Jim said, too casual, after the nurse had been around for a third time to glare at his continued presence, “back at the beginning, when we were partnered, I wouldn’t have credited it.”

Harvey smiled at him, soft and a little dreamy from the painkillers, “I always thought I was too obvious, right from the start. I’d make an undercover agent yet, huh?”

“You’re not going anywhere without my say so,” Jim argued, “not after what I went through the last few days.”

“I like it when you get demanding,” Harvey confessed, half asleep and totally out of it, and Jim hesitated before dropping a chaste kiss to his overheated forehead.

Maybe it was just his own detective skills that hadn’t been honed enough.

He sweet talked Tuttle into shifting his shifts around. Sold the deal, truthfully, by pointing out that Tuttle would be on his own rest dayon the shift Jim wanted to switch to, then got busy making arrangements. Tidied the place up a bit because Harvey lived like a pig, and actually did some grocery shopping for the first time in weeks. He usually subsisted on take-out and prepackaged sandwiches.

Harvey did too, and Jim figured maybe that would change now, if his plan worked the way he intended it to.

If Harvey didn’t sock him in the jaw when he picked him up from the hospital and helped him up the stairs of his apartment building.

“I should almost die more often,” Harvey said when he looked about the living room, “I don’t think it’s been this clean since I moved in here.”

“If you weren’t such a slob it could be this clean all the time,” Jim offered, nerves getting the better of him, but Harvey only grinned at his snippy tone.

“I wouldn’t make as good a job of it as you though. That’s what you’re always telling me, isn’t it? You’re the one with the attention to detail.”

“Not always,” Jim managed, and this was it. This was the moment he was going to put his heart on the line. “Sometimes I can’t see past the end of my own nose.”

He took a step closer. Close enough to see the surprise register on Harvey’s face. To be able to see the still livid bruising across his skin, his heart clenching tight at the renewed memory of how they came to be there, along with the hope in his partner’s eyes. The hope he had seen there so many times, he realized. Over and over again without once understanding what it really was he was looking at.

“It’s a fine nose, if that’s any consolation,” Harvey said, voice scratched up and raspy, and Jim couldn’t wait any longer. He had to touch his fingers to Harvey’s cheek. Had to press his lips, soft and careful, to Harvey’s own, relief and want and a hundred different sensations washing over him when Harvey kissed him in return.

When Harvey’s bandaged hand came up to touch his jaw, in turn, his fingertips contrasting with the roughness of the bandages. They simply stood there for long moments, trading gentle caresses.

“If I didn’t have a cracked rib,” Harvey whispered eventually, regretfully, “I would be making up for so much lost time right now.”

“If you didn’t have a cracked rib, I’d still be trying to lie to myself about how much I need you.”

The admission was easier agaisnt Harvey’s lips, in Harvey’s embrace, and Harvey just smiled into a kiss that made him shiver, all heat and tongue, before pulling back enough to look at him properly.

“I have faith you’d have got there eventually.”

Jim wasn’t convinced but, then, he supposed that was the point. Harvey saw the best in him - and vice versa.

He could live with that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	136. Chapter 136

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can I ask for sappy Gordlock fluff with them being married and wearing their rings at work? I feel like we definitely need more happy Gordlock fluff <3_

“Needs more sugar,” Harvey said, pulling a disgusted face as he put the mug back down on the desk in front of him.

“That’s because it’s my coffee. You want one, go get it yourself.”

“And here was I, thinking this meant what’s yours is mine and vice versa.”

Jim eyed up the way he was waggling his fingers with an expression that said he wasn’t impressed.

“I’m your husband, not your slave.”

That, of course, was the moment Lucius chose to enter, looking from one of them to the other uncertainly.

“Maybe I should…” he offered, inclining his head back in the direction of the door.

“It’s fine,” Harvey assured, and took another swig of bitter coffee just to see the outrage on Jim’s pretty face, “Jim was just about to bring us up to speed. Jim?”

His cheek twitched, so obviously battling the urge to continue arguing. Finally the case won out, and Harvey made a show of sipping at the coffee - foul though it was - every time Jim glanced over at him. It was petty, childish, but the righteous flush in Jim’s cheeks was too adorable. The angry way he scrunched his nose at a particularly loud slurp far too much for Harvey’s self-restraint.

Lucius gave them his input. Pointed out similar cases, and explained the significance of the drugs found in the victims’ blood streams.

“So you’re saying they were poisoned?” Harvey asked, peering at the incomprehensible charts and statistics.

“Perhaps they drove somebody to it,” Jim commented, fixing him with a narrow eyed look.

Lucius sighed, just a little, and went over it again for his benefit.

Poison it was then.

They hashed out some action plans. He jotted down a few people to call, a few files to requisition, and when Lucius left for his lair and Jim made to do likewise, Harvey reached for his wrist. Tugged lightly, and trailed his fingers over Jim’s pulse point just because he knew what it did to the guy who had pledged to put up with him.

Pulled him close enough that he could brush his lips over it, just for a moment, and gazed up at the frown that was starting to falter.

“Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Harvey admitted, “you’re hot when you’re angry.”

Jim sniffed. “I’m not angry. I’m irritated, there’s a difference.”

“You’re still hot though.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from it.”

He stroked his thumb over Jim’s wrist again, all the same, and over to the back of his hand. Up over the band on his ring finger and wished, suddenly, that they were somewhere more private.

“Work,” Jim said again, voice a little off, and Harvey couldn’t help but smile as he watched him go, wondering how he managed to get so lucky.

How he ever managed to convince Jim to look in his direction.

He did what he had said he was going to do. Made calls and pulled in favors, and signed off on the latest pile of paperwork in his in-tray. Shifted finally, shoulders tense and uncomfortable from sitting hunched at his desk for too long, and gave in to another task that needed to be done.

Scanned the noticeboard idly as he fixed Jim coffee the way he knew he preferred it - rather than just pouring it from the pot - and went and put it down in front of Jim, his hand resting on Jim’s shoulder and squeezing.

“If you’ve put sugar in that you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“I can see why you don’t need it,” Harvey said, even as Jim reached for the mug and took a drink, “you already say the sweetest things.”

“You inspire them.”

He could see the smile ghosting over Jim’s lips. Laughed himself, stupid and happy, and after a quick look about them risked pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek.

“You know I only do it because I love you?”

“You’re an overgrown kid. If I had pigtails you’d be pulling at them.”

“Of course I would. I’ve got to get your attention somehow.”

“I could show you some better methods.”

Jim’s tone was light, good humored, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks that had Harvey wishing the shift was over already.

“But right now,” Jim said, sitting up straight and gesturing at the files in front of him, “we both have work to be getting on with.”

Harvey gave his shoulder one last squeeze and resigned himself to an afternoon of productivity.

“You might not be my slave - but you’re definitely a slave driver.”

Jim just grinned into his coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	137. Chapter 137

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I was reading about ridiculous pickup lines, and that got me thinking about a prompt with Harvey using pickup lines on Jim as a joke, and calling him by cutesy nicknames like darling and sweetheart, and at first Jim's fine with it except it hits a little too close to home because PINING (and of course they're both pining, the dorks) :D_

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a Taser,” Jim offered, kind of apologetic, and Harvey shrugged magnanimously,

“Can’t win them all, I guess. Come on, Cupcake.”

Jim rolled his eyes but got in the car. Shifted his weapons to the proper holsters and listened as Harvey updated him on the guy they were going to pay a visit to. Didn’t protest an hour later, bruise blooming along his jawline, when Harvey suggested they go get lunch early.

It had been a hell of a morning.

“After you, Darling,” Harvey drawled, holding the door of the diner open, and Jim felt the familiar heat flame across his face at the sound of the pet name.

It had all started on a day much like this one, the two of them beaten and shaken and in need of a pick me up. Sitting a little too close together, maybe, and a perky waitress telling them that they made the cutest couple. That there was a Valentine’s special on, didn’t they know, and Harvey had risen to the bait admirably, feeding him ice cream with a Sundae spoon and laughing himself silly when Jim simply opened his mouth and went along with it.

From there it had just sort of stuck, the two of them trying to one up each other with cutesy endearments and cheesy chat-up lines. By leaving sickly post-it notes covered in lovehearts, and convincing the guy behind the counter of his corner bar that they were on the verge of tying the knot and moving in together.

It hadn’t been difficult, truth be told, and Jim hadn’t needed to fake the half shy, half mortified smiles he kept directing at his partner. Harvey’s arm around his waist had felt too good, the kisses he kept pressing to his cheek too thrilling, and his heart had clenched up tight in his chest when Harvey had stroked a thumb over the back of his hand, tender, and told Ralph that he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, to have secured a catch like Jim Gordon.

“My shout,” Harvey said back in the present, handing him a laminated menu, “you know I like my men with meat on their bones.”

“Have many men, do you?” Jim asked, eyebrow raised and tone mock scandalized, but the reality was that he was curious about Harvey’s experience in that department. Had been wondering, right from the beginning, exactly how far Harvey might be willing to take their banter.

Whether Harvey could ever look at him and want him - love him - the way Jim had long ago accepted he wanted Harvey.

It had taken him a while, had taken some soul searching, because he had never experimented. He had been a serial monogamist, always, convinced that each and every relationship was going to go the distance, only for it to fall at the final hurdle. Harvey already knew him though. Had seen him at his best, and at his absolute worst. Harvey had been there for him when he was at rock bottom, when he had all but given up on everything, and if anyone had a chance of being able to live with the man he really was - not the man he wished so hard he could be - it was Harvey.

“And not one of them holds a candle to you,” Harvey promised, easily, and Jim just stared at the menu and imagined what the world would be like if that were true.

That evening, after a few hours of paperwork and yet another beating, he found himself sat on Harvey’s sofa, wincing as Harvey applied antiseptic to the cut on his temple.

“Almost done,” Harvey murmured, attention so focused on what he was doing it was like he wasn’t even aware he was speaking, “it’s all right, sweetheart.”

Jim’s gut twisted, his eyes falling closed as protection from the onslaught of emotion. They stung, insistent, when Harvey gave the wound one last dab then kissed him on the forehead, Jim wanting nothing more than to cling tight and not let Harvey go again. Harvey cleared his throat though. Pulled away, just a little awkward, and they spent the rest of the night with a respectable distance between them, gazes fixed on the television.

Later, when he looked back on it, Jim pinpointed that as the turning point. The moment it went from ridiculous banter to something that started to hurt like a knife to the heart. Because Harvey only hammed it up worse than ever. Began treating him just the same in private as he did in public, joky touches and silly nicknames, until Jim was sure he couldn’t take it much longer.

Until he had to push further and further, curling up into Harvey’s side when they were eating take out and talking over case notes, and reaching out to tuck Harvey’s hair back behind his ear when they were eating lunch in a crowded diner, answering Harvey’s questioning look with,

“You shouldn’t hide that beautiful face away.”

Harvey smiled at him in turn, expression soft and fond, and when he got back from chasing up a lead or two Jim found a GCPD issue parking violation ticket on his desk, complete with Harvey’s sprawling handwriting across it.

‘Did you ever work traffic? Because I can’t look at you without thinking fine.’

Jim grinned in spite of himself. Sequestered the thing away in his inner jacket pocket, and when he got home transferred it to his keepsake tin, fingertips trailing over the mementoes of his parents and the scan picture of the baby he never got to hold. It clogged his throat with emotion. Made him realize, suddenly, that this was all he ever did. Pack up his memories and his hopes, and battle on through.

He claimed he didn’t need anyone, pretended that he was doing just swell with it all bottled up inside him, and resigned himself to being alone and miserable.

Harvey’s gaze lingered on the photographs he had put in frames when he next came over, the first attempt he had made to personalize the dive he was living with, and Jim watched silently when Harvey hesitated in front of the fridge - for all that there was free beer on offer - fingers touching the ticket Jim had stuck to the door with a magnet.

“You kept it?” Harvey asked finally, serious instead of their usual light-hearted banter, and Jim did his best to play it casual,

“A guy likes to know he’s appreciated.”

“Yeah?”

Jim swallowed, the air thick with tension. “Definitely.”

He might have said more, might have screwed up all his courage to show Harvey with action what he was failing to tell him with words, but then his cell was ringing and so was Harvey’s. Yet another emergency for the Gotham City Police Department.

Harvey didn’t forget the conversation though, that much was obvious, because in the weeks that followed not a day went by where Jim didn’t find some dumb pick-up line left in his in tray.

A reminder about the upcoming health and safety away day, complete with, ‘Here’s to hoping your first aid certificates are up to date - you keep taking my breath away.’

‘You know how I can tell you were a boy scout? You’ve tied my heart in knots,’ written across a flyer for a community fun day, promising the attendance of both the precinct outreach officer and the local boy scout troop.

The morning’s newspaper with a post it note stuck over a headline about the tremor that had hit the city, ‘Was it an earthquake or did you just rock my world?’

‘There must be something wrong with my eyes,’ printed neatly on the back of a receipt from the sandwich joint they had used on their last stakeout, ‘I just can’t take them off you.’

‘I hope you’ve got a good lawyer because you’ve been stealing police property.’

Jim read that latest one through twice, frowning, then turned the note over and felt the stupid smile spread across his face at the sight of a loveheart and accompanying caption.

‘My heart!’

He looked up, seeking Harvey out, and his heart skipped a beat to find Harvey looking right back at him. Smiling right back at him, the expression seeming to lift all the weight and the stress from his shoulders, and Jim scrawled a note of his own, leaving it atop a pile of reports he needed Harvey to sign off on.

“I’ll see you in court then,” Harvey read out that evening, pulling a beer from the fridge he had half covered in Harvey’s own missives, “because I traded for it fair and square - my heart for yours.” Harvey handed him a beer too and moved to sit beside him. “I always knew you were a slippery customer.”

“It was all above board,” Jim protested, then because the thread of the conversation was so very fantastical, “at least I think it was.”

“I expect so. You’re a goody two shoes.”

Jim shook his head. Took a long pull of his beer and sighed, mood suddenly maudlin, “Nice guys finish last though, don’t they?”

Harvey slid an arm around his shoulders and it was just too much. More than he could handle. They had been playing at being a couple for months now. Touching and caressing and writing each other love notes, and not a single moment of it had been real. Not a single moment of it had meant a damn thing to the man in front of him.

“Are you trying to tell me you want a bad boy, or that you’re looking for a spanking? I can’t quite tell, sweetheart.”

Even now, even with the shroud of depression leeching the color from his world, the pet name sent a flash of want through him. He was pathetic, ridiculous, sick and tired of pretending his greatest wish was something hilarious.

“I’m trying to tell you - I’m trying to ask you -” He exhaled sharply, frustrated, and caught sight of the note he had written now laying on his coffee table. Harvey was watching him expectantly, concerned, and Jim threw caution to the wind. “You ever wonder what I’m made of? Boyfriend material. If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together. You can’t be my first but I want you to be my last. Do you get what I’m saying, Harvey?”

“You’re a fan of cheesy lines. You’re even less original than I am,” Harvey touched his arm, staving off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, “you’re about to make all my dreams come true and show me why happiness begins with H but mine starts and ends with U?”

Jim laughed. Didn’t mean to, hadn’t intended to, but it bubbled out of him - bright and startled - and Harvey was laughing right along with him. Was sliding that hand up his arm and to his shoulder. Let it wander further still, brushing the backs of his fingers up the column of his neck, his jawline, his cheekbone. The laughter faded away naturally, leaving him breathless and excited.

Making him lose himself in Harvey’s eyes, in the anticipation and the intimacy, until Harvey finally leaned in close and brushed their lips together.

“Did you see stars?” Harvey murmured, fingers stroking through the short hair at his nape, and Jim shivered as he gave him a regretful no. Harvey only smiled into another kiss, and then another, pausing only to whisper against his jaw, “Thought not. Looks like we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

As ideas went, Jim could think of worse ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	138. Chapter 138

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Five times someone thought/wondered if Jim and Harvey were in love and one time you couldn't deny it._

_#1. Detective Dix_

Bullock had always been too soft hearted. Too quick to jump and too quick to fall, and Dix figured if it hadn’t happened already it was only a matter of time before the kid in front of him had Bullock wrapped around his little finger.

It would only end badly, he knew.

Would only end with one or both of them killed and he tried to warn the kid off.

“He thinks he's a white knight,” he said,gauging Gordon’s reaction, “jumping into the breach like some idiot in the movies.”

Watching Gordon look over at his dumbass of a former partner, blue eyes wide like it was the first time he was really seeing him, somehow Dix got the impression he had only made things worse.

* * *

_#2. Scottie Mullen_

“What is it with you and him?”

She had meant to keep the question light hearted. Hadn’t meant to sound so jealous and accusatory.

“He’s my partner,” Harvey said, like that explained everything, and Scottie could do nothing but watch on as the life they had been building together fell apart.

As Harvey fell over himself to do whatever Jim Gordon asked of him.

As Gordon fluttered his eyelashes and Harvey went running.

She meant to wound with her parting shot. To sound bitter and serious. There was something soft there, all the same, though Harvey couldn’t even meet her eye.

“I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

* * *

_#3. Lee Thompkins_

It was pathetic, Lee had never doubted that. The way the man looked at Jim like he worshipped the ground he walked on.

The way his voice cracked when he asked her what she had done to Jim.

Jim was never going to want the man back, that was what she would once have said. Jim simply wasn’t self-aware enough to see what could be, and Harvey was too cowardly to push it.

But when she returned to Gotham and saw the way Jim looked at Harvey.

Heard the way his voice caught when he begged her to drop the knife and just let Harvey walk away.

For the first time she wasn’t so certain.

* * *

_#4. Lucius Fox_

Lucius was good at putting two and two together. At making sense of chaos and seeing order where there appeared to be none.

In another life, perhaps, he would have liked to work for the GCPD in a different capacity.

“My mother used to say,” he told Gordon one time, as the other man dabbed at his split lip in the precinct locker room, “you should never go to bed on an argument.”

“I’m not the one choosing the easy life,” Gordon said, cold and quiet, but Lucius didn’t miss the way he accepted Harvey’s hand on his shoulder, and his offer that they go for a drink in lieu of an apology.

Their eyes met, just for a moment, as they passed him by on the balcony and Lucius didn’t need any further confirmation.

His mother had also told him to trust in his instincts.

* * *

_#5. Bruce Wayne_

“Sometimes love is complicated,” was Alfred’s clumsy attempt at being comforting, “you might think you’ve found ‘the one’, but that doesn’t mean that you actually have.”

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Knew that Alfred was trying his best.

Knew that he would never come around on the idea of Selina, not truly, and put his energy instead into people watching the other guests milling around the function room.

Reporters, socialites, funders - faces he recognized even if the names eluded him - and around the perimeters security guards and plain clothes police officers. Detective Gordon, he acknowledged with a slight nod, and wondered if the man would agree with Alfred, given how things had ended with Dr Thompkins.

“What I was trying to say earlier,” Alfred tried, when the crowd was beginning to thin, “is that love isn’t all sunshine and roses. It can hurt, Master Bruce.”

He looked back to where Gordon was listening to whatever it was his partner was saying. To where they were stood just a little too close, smiles just slightly too intimate.

Gordon would agree with Alfred, he decided.

It still didn’t mean that he had to.

* * *

_#5+1. Victor Zsasz_

Zsasz had speculated on the subject, sometimes, because he was curious, and because knowledge was important in his line of work.

Just as vigilance and an awareness of one’s surroundings were important for a police officer.

It was a rookie mistake, really, not to make a security sweep, and not to notice that doors or windows you had left locked were now open. To blindly fall from one room into another, and to shed both clothing and weaponry indiscriminately.

Gordon was too distracted, was still otherwise occupied, and Zsasz helped himself to the contents of the man’s kitchen cupboards. If it were anyone else he wouldn’t do them the courtesy of waiting but he liked Jim.

By the sound of it he wasn’t the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	139. Chapter 139

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked on Tumblr to write Jim's POV for chapter 21, [Letting Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22239665). :)

Jim was drunk. Beyond drunk. So far past the line he couldn’t even see the line.

Literally.

He was squinting just to make out the screen of his cell phone, disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders at the realization there were no new messages. No missed calls. Nothing to suggest Harvey was sparing him a thought, apparently preferring a late night of paperwork to his company.

Seemed to prefer just about anything to spending time with him at the moment, and Jim couldn’t work out what he had done that was so terrible. What the final straw had been, or how he was supposed to go about fixing it.

“I love him so much,” he heard himself slurring to someone, plaintive, and then Alvarez’ hand was clutching at his arm as he groaned,

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

There was no need for that, no need at all, and Jim was just opening his mouth to say so when Alvarez doubled over and proved that he really wasn’t joking.

They all got kicked out of the place for that, and somehow found themselves at the new transfer’s place, Alvarez not ready to accept his chances had been scuppered, and Jim staring mournfully at his now dead cell. Harvey might have texted him. Maybe. Hopefully.

“Have you been together long?” Helen asked him finally, sympathetically, and probably ended up wishing she hadn’t when Jim proceeded to ramble on and on about Harvey until she was snoring, and by the sounds of it their erstwhile companions were making use of her bedroom.

He fell asleep himself at some point, woke to somebody shaking his shoulder, and his head throbbed and his stomach churned as he tried to make himself look presentable and searched his pockets for money to contribute to the taxi fare.

“I hope you make it up with your boyfriend,” Helen told him out on the steps of the precinct, make-up hiding the worst of the night before, while Jim all but crawled to his desk and waited for Harvey to be done with his morning briefing.

They needed to talk. He needed to talk. He wasn’t going to give up so easily. Couldn’t, because being with Harvey was so much better than he had even dared imagine. Harvey accepted what others had wanted to change. Pulled him closer where others had wanted to put distance between them, and looked at him like there was nobody in the world he would rather see, even when Jim had been in better shape the time he had clawed his way out of his own coffin.

“What is it, Jim?” Harvey asked, professional but the fond smile still gracing his face, and Jim didn’t have the resources to try and be cool and confident about things.

“I don’t know what I’ve done but I’m sorry,” he managed, voice scratched up and uneven, and he watched Harvey fidget with the pen in his hands, expression twisting for a moment as though his words had hurt more than sticks and stones ever could.

“You haven’t done anything. Look, this isn’t the time or the place. We can talk later.”

Jim clung to the promise all day. Swallowed down a couple of painkillers and forced himself to power through his paperwork, gaze sliding over to Harvey’s office window roughly every three minutes or so.

His head still hurt and his limbs still ached. The dehydration piled misery on top of misery, and none of it compared to the aching of his heart every time he considered the possibility that Harvey might have had enough of him. Just because he was happy it didn’t mean that Harvey was. Just because his own breath came short whenever he imagined being alone with his partner, it didn’t mean that Harvey was equally as enamoured.

By the end of shift, Jim was a wreck. All he could do was lean heavily against the edge of his desk and wait for Harvey to speak to him. He watched like a hawk, unable to wait any longer, and he sagged with relief when Harvey drove him back to his place, because it had to mean Harvey wasn’t simply planning on saying it was over and then walking away.

Harvey made to offer him a drink. Set about stalling, delaying the inevitable, and Jim had to lay it all on the line because if there was any chance of Harvey forgiving and forgetting - of making another go of things - Jim was determined to reach for it.

“I know I’m hard work,” he said, unable to hold back the frantic tinge of desperation, “I know I’m not easy to live with. But I’ll try harder. Please let me.”

His voice caught at the last, overwrought and overwhelmed by the prospect of losing the best thing that had ever happened to him, and suddenly Harvey was pulling Jim to him. Was clutching him close, strong arms wrapping around him, and Jim clung to Harvey in return, burying his face in Harvey’s shoulder as he struggled for composure.

“It’s not you,” Harvey promised, his own voice sounding wrecked, “It was never you.”

Jim couldn’t let go, couldn’t let up, and Harvey only moved to kiss him. Stole his breath and got his heart racing, and then stroked his thumbs over Jim’s cheekbones, blue eyes gazing into his own like they were the only two people in the universe.

“I don’t want you to regret this, Jim,” Harvey said, as though this was biazarro world and everything had been flipped on its axis. “I don’t want you to wake up ten years from now and think, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t want you to miss out on kids and dogs and a drop dead gorgeous wife who’s going to pack you lunch and kiss you goodbye every morning.”

It took a second for Jim to realize that Harvey was being serious. For him to make sense of the words he was hearing. Harvey really seemed to believe that he was going to want to look elsewhere for those milestones, instead of at the man in front of Jim.

He started laughing. Couldn’t help himself, couldn’t get a grip on himself, and it wasn’t until Harvey started glaring, the hurt and confusion obvious, that he had any success in pulling himself together. He sucked in a deep breath, calming, and felt kind of done in by the surge of love that washed over him.

“We can do all those things if you want to,” he shrugged, helpless as a smile curled across his face, “You could leave me little love notes with my sandwiches.”

That would be adorable, really, and the imagined disdain on Alvarez’ face as he watched Jim read them only made the idea sweeter.

“Do I look like a drop dead gorgeous wife?” Harvey questioned, and the insecurity he heard beneath the exasperation made his heart clench. Harvey was everything to him. The light in the darkness and the only patch of warmth in the cold of Gotham’s winter. He was what Jim was fighting so hard for, against the tide of the press, and the opinion polls, and the corruption that festered everywhere, and he was the reason Jim didn’t lose himself to the fight entirely.

He trailed his fingertips over Harvey’s face. Traced the familiar features and then let his fingers tangle in Harvey’s hair, loving the feel of it even as he tugged Harvey closer, their foreheads pressing together. It felt so good, had him shivering, because he had been so afraid that this was over.

That he would never be allowed the opportunity to explain to Harvey what it was he saw when he looked at him.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, pressing closer still, “you have no idea.” He brushed a chaste kiss to Harvey’s lips, to the angle of his jaw, his ear. “I’m not some confused kid. I know what I want. I want you.”

“There’s no way I’m ever making you bagged lunches,” Harvey told him, in lieu of all the sentiment Jim could see on the other man’s face, and Jim didn’t push for it. Just grinned, so beyond happy with the way things were going, and told him that he accepted the challenge.

Put his all into it, the lingering effects of his hangover forgotten, because they hadn’t been together - hadn’t even touched - in more than a week and he never wanted to go that long again.

Didn’t understand, sometimes, how he could have ever gone so long without it in the first place. All those nights of wishing and wanting, watching Harvey from behind lowered lashes as they played at being nothing more than friends.

He could never go back to it, Jim knew. Confessed as much, between heated kisses, and Harvey rewarded him by latching on to the skin of his throat. Kept at it, even as his own fingers tightened in Harvey’s hair, and he whined out something incoherent about Harvey needing to realize that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Was so intent on it that later he fell asleep curled in so close it ought to have been smothering, and woke in the morning to find if anything he had only managed to shift closer.

“I’m still not making you lunch,” Harvey warned, even as he poured coffee and kissed him soundly, “but I will totally take you out to dinner.”

Jim settled for kissing him all over again.

“I suppose I can make do with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	140. Chapter 140

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Someone threatens Harvey to get to Jim (because everyone knows who Jim's great weakness is) and of course he freaks the fuck out, and after rescuing Harvey Jim starts to distance himself from Harvey because he thinks all he does is make his life worse and put him in danger, and Harvey thinks it's because Jim thinks he's too much trouble and basically lots of sad pining till a happy ending. :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vague mentions of rape / sexual assault.

“Hello, Jim. I hope you’re sitting comfortably.”

The entire room fell silent, his colleagues all stopping what they were doing to stare at the screen. Jim scarcely noticed. Couldn’t register anything but the sight of Harvey’s bruised and bloodied face, and the gloved hand twisted tight in his greasy hair.

He felt sick. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Wanted to curl into a ball and sob even as he wanted to put a bullet through someone’s skull. The guy addressing him via the videotape for starters.

“You’d better listen up, Jim, if you want to see Detective Bullock again. Alive that is.”

He braced himself against the nearest desk, icy cold and burning heat washing over him in waves, so that he wasn’t at all certain he wasn’t about to pass out in front of an entire precinct full of people who hated him.

With reason, he thought desperately, because they had been working on the assumption that it was one of Harvey’s enemies who had taken him hostage. One of the crazies he had put behind bars, or someone who wanted a symbol of the GCPD to wreck revenge upon.

The truth was that this was his fault, just the same as always, and he stared at the masked figure as his head swam and his gut churned, terrified that it was already too late.

That he was never going to get the chance to apologize.

“This is what I want you to do,” said the guy on screen - woman maybe, he couldn’t be sure with the mask and the voice distorter - and Harvey cut in like he had a death wish. Demanded, frantically, that he not listen. That he not give in, that he not negotiate, and Jim flinched when the butt of a gun was brought down on Harvey’s temple, fresh blood trickling down his face from the impact.

He listened to the rest of it in the cold grip of panic. Listened to Lucius’ assurances that they would get something from the video - a possible location, a lead, something - as though he were watching the proceedings from outside himself. Worked with Tuttle to draw up an action plan, too calm and too collected.

Then he went and broke down in the men’s room, shaking and wretched.

He splashed cold water on his face when he was in control of himself once more. Stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink for a moment, hating the man he saw looking back at him. He had to find Harvey. Would do whatever it took, he swore, and started hashing out a rough back-up plan. Began thinking about how he would get the information the gunman wanted.

How far he would be willing to go, if only it meant Harvey could walk away from this.

Tuttle knew, could see it in his face perhaps, and assigned somebody to act as his shadow. Kept a close eye on him himself, threatened to take his gun and his badge from him when he protested, and told him finally,

“Bullock’s a good guy, we go way back. I’m not gonna let him die because you want to go rushing in like an idiot.”

“He’s my partner,” Jim responded, voice not quite steady, and apparently Tuttle wasn’t done with his mind reading trick. Put a hand on his shoulder - more human contact than he’d had from anyone who wasn’t Harvey in longer than Jim could even remember - and said quietly,

“That’s why you’ve gotta work with us on this one.”

His throat choked up at that. His eyes stung with the onslaught of emotion. Maybe when this was over, when Harvey was safe - maybe they wouldn’t have to keep things quiet anymore. Maybe they could stop taking things slow because it had seemed like something he needed. Because he had been too afraid, and too freaked out, and a thousand other things which no longer mattered now he was faced with the all too real possibility of never even hearing Harvey say his name again.

When they finally tracked them down Jim was a mess. Hadn’t slept for days and hadn’t changed his clothes in longer. He was running off nothing but coffee and adrenaline and compared to Harvey he could still have looked like something off the cover of Health and Vitality.

He was too obvious, was powerless to stop himself, clinging to Harvey and refusing to be separated from him, not even as his partner was bundled into an ambulance.

At the hospital he had no choice but to pace the waiting room as they rushed Harvey into surgery. Dozed off eventually in an uncomfortable plastic chair, and woke to a harried doctor running through a long list of injuries. He listened without hearing, without making sense of it, then had a bit of a breakdown of his own when they let him sit beside Harvey’s bed, because Harvey wasn’t supposed to look that pale and fragile, and because he didn’t know how to deal with the knowledge of what Harvey had been subjected to.

That he hadn’t been there to protect him from it.

Harvey was out of it when he regained conciousness, pupils huge and panic evident, and Jim got as close as he could short of actually getting into bed with him. He couldn’t stop touching Harvey, couldn’t quit murmuring soothing nonsense, and when Harvey fell asleep again Jim got the full report on what had happened to his partner.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harvey rasped when he was conscious, and the obvious pain he was in made Jim want to punch something.

Kill somebody.

“You have to be tested for - because, you know,” Jim pushed, unable to voice it, none of the training he had done or his field experience making the slightest difference. “I’m so sorry, Harvey.”

Harvey just turned away from him. Hid his face in the pillow, for all that Jim had already seen the tears, and told him in a voice that shook to leave him alone. To go away, now, and Jim still hesitated for a long moment before doing what Harvey asked of him.

He tried again later, after an agonizing half hour spent wandering the hospital corridors, but Harvey only shook his head, tired and apologetic as he said,

“Please, Jim. I just can’t do this now.”

He kept it together during the walk to the elevator. Pushed the right button and found the right exit, and then broke down in the cold night air, because there was nothing he could do to make it better. He couldn’t turn back time and he couldn’t take away the memories. He couldn’t beat the guys responsible to a bloody pulp, eve, because they had already been booked into the holding cells with a whole catalog of injuries they hadn’t had when he had seen them being put into police transport.

The desk sergeant on the night shift wouldn’t let him be alone with them either, his intentions too obvious, or the prospect of the paperwork it would generate too onerous.

He had no choice but to go and sit in his empty apartment, and clutch at a shirt Harvey had left there. The same shirt he had been sleeping with for the last week or more, his own desperate tears soaking into the collar.

Harvey deserved so much better than him, Jim knew, and it dawned on him slowly that that was the one thing he could do.

Set Harvey free again.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Harvey said the following evening, when Jim’s shift was over and he was back at the hospital.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Jim assured, glad to see on Harvey’s charts that all the tests had been done at least, and forced a smile onto his face, “the doctors say you can go home Friday.”

Harvey frowned at him, uncertain, and it was all Jim could do not to reach out and touch him. To be overbearing and over the top, and cling to Harvey’s hand as he told him how much he loved him. Instead he kept his hands to himself. Dug his fingers into the material of his pants, every time they wanted to wander, and didn’t kiss Harvey goodbye when visiting hours were up though his heart ached to do so.

It was better this way, had to be, and on Friday he carefully didn’t linger as he helped Harvey in and out of the car and up the stairs of his apartment building. He kept his touch professional, distant, and only stayed long enough to ensure that Harvey had enough food, and to watch him take his painkillers.

“Aren’t - I thought you’d want to hang around,” Harvey tried, clearing his throat, “the game’s on tonight.”

Jim wished he could. Imagined petting his fingers through Harvey’s hair, and curling up around him on the sofa. Whispering, honestly, how terrified he had been that he would never get to hold Harvey again, and trading soft kisses for reassurance.

“If you need anything, just give me a call,” was what he actually said, and when he fell into bed, drunk and emotional, he pressed his nose into the collar of Harvey’s shirt, and imagined he could still smell the other man’s cologne clinging to it.

He called in on Harvey Saturday and Sunday, and pretended that he didn’t notice the hurt in Harvey’s eyes when he looked at him. When Harvey reached for him, beseeching, and Jim just patted at his arm and said that he’d see him at the precinct on Monday morning. He did, too, though by rights Harvey ought to still be in bed resting.

“Someone’s got to see to it you actually do some work,” Harvey said, when Alvarez broached the topic, and Jim couldn’t help but smile until Harvey looked over at him. It faded away then, dying on his lips, and he timed the day just so, ensuring that he wouldn’t be around during the times Harvey might be free to demand he speak with him.

He succeeded in keeping it up for days, so that the conversations they did have were inevitably short and light on substance, and if it weren’t for the way Harvey gasped and swore and went pale as a ghost on the stairwell, he might have made it a full week before having to talk about it. As it was, he wrapped an arm about Harvey’s middle, helped him through the door of the locker room and to sit down on the bench, and fussed even as Harvey told him he was fine. Or would be, given a moment.

“Are you sure?” Jim asked, “I can drive you to the hospital.” And, then, because what was the point of all this suffering if he simply gave in at the first hurdle, “I can get Alvarez to drive you to the hospital.”

“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Harvey asked him quietly, looking up at him through a curtain of unruly hair, “The tests came back clear, you know.”

“That’s,” Jim started, lurching forward as though to crush Harvey into a hug. Sanity prevailed. It was his fault they were needed, his fault that Harvey was sat there looking so done in and miserable, and he settled for patting weakly at Harvey’s shoulder. “That’s really good news, Harv.”

Harvey just shook his head and scraped his hair back from his face.

“Yeah. Everything’s fantastic.”

They were still friends. At least, Jim hoped they were. They met up for lunch at the same greasy diners, and they still went for drinks in the same dingy cop bars. They even still went to each other’s apartments sometimes, to drink beer and eat take-out, until finally Harvey switched the game off with 20 minutes play left on the clock and asked him what the fuck they were doing.

“I don’t understand what happened, Jim. One day you tell me you can’t live without me, and the next you can’t bear to touch me. I never thought, that you of all people -” He cut himself off. Pinched at the bridge of his nose, as though holding back tears, and Jim had never hated himself more than he did at that moment.

“It’s better this way,” he insisted, because it had to be, “I was never any good for you.”

Harvey made him leave for that. Slammed the door behind him, so that it echoed down the hallway, and Jim had to force himself to take step after step, further and further away from any hope of reconciliation.

It hurt like nothing he had ever known, because Harvey acted just the same way he always did. Larger than life and ready for anything, and Jim started skipping lunch and staying late in the records room, rather than have to watch Harvey ignore him. He wanted Harvey to be happy, and he wanted him to find someone new. Someone who would never ruin his life the way Jim was destined to.

He just couldn’t bear to see it happen. Couldn’t act like it wasn’t tearing him up inside, and he remembered it all well enough from when Barbara found solace with Montoya, and Lee with Mario.

He wasn’t a good guy, that was the truth of it. He felt sick to his stomach with jealousy.

Tuttle caught him one night, face buried in Harvey’s spare jacket like the loser he was, and the next day Harvey finally got around to getting the lock on his locker fixed. It hit him like a punch to the gut, the pointed finality of it, and when word went around that the abduction case had a court date, he wasn’t joking at all when he said that he hoped they rotted to death in Blackgate.

They got five years a piece in the end, as part of a plea deal, and Jim took it out on the punching bag at the gym, until he was dripping with sweat and his jaw was aching from clenching his teeth together.

“Your shift finished hours ago,” Harvey said, when he opened the door of the locker room to find the other man standing there, and Jim could only croak out a useless apology.

Could only stand there and watch as Harvey walked away from him.

Except it was already too late. The damage was already done. It didn’t matter that they were scarcely speaking, that his life was falling apart around him for the gaping chasm where Harvey’s support ought to be, because the criminal fraternity had long memories. Warned that they would punish those close to him if he didn’t do their bidding, and he ran like a madman through the streets of Gotham, determined to save Harvey from the trap he was walking into.

He didn’t get chance to explain, and no opportunity to apologize. Simply knocked Harvey to the ground, shielding him as best he could, and woke up in a bed at Gotham General because the blast had really done a number on him. Harvey looked okay, at least, and when he moved to pull his hand away Jim squeezed desperately. He wasn’t ready to be left on his own again.

“You could have died,” Harvey admonished, when he was floating the borderlands between awareness and unconsciousness, and Jim clutched at his hand still tighter and thought about how it would have been completely worth it.

He must have said it aloud, he realized later, because Harvey was still there when he came around for the second time, watching over him with an expression Jim had resigned himself to never again seeing aimed in his direction. It was Harvey who picked him up when he was discharged, and Harvey who unlocked the door of his apartment and pushed him through, telling him quietly that he didn’t need to worry because he had done some grocery shopping.

Jim couldn’t remember the last time he had been. The last time he had eaten a proper meal, even, instead of leftover take-out or something from one of the vending machines at the precinct. The place was looking a lot tidier too, cleaner, and he didn’t need to open his bedroom door to know Harvey had already seen all the embarrassing evidence of the state he was in. The empty bottles and the pilfered items of Harvey’s clothing he invariably slept curled around.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, because his back was in agony, the still raw skin itching underneath the bandages. Because he was so tired, so lonely, and all he had succeeded in doing was making Harvey believe that he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry.”

Harvey pulled him to him and Jim couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t keep up the act, wasn’t physically capable of it, and he leaned heavily into Harvey’s embrace, throat prickling with the care Harvey was taking to keep his hands gentle against his back.

“I thought it was me,” Harvey whispered, cradling him still closer, “after what happened, I thought -”

And suddenly Jim knew exactly what Harvey had thought. That what he had done was so much worse than making himself miserable, because he hadn’t been there when he should have been. He had left Harvey to deal with something awful on his own, and it hadn’t made him any safer anyway.

It had only made everything worse.

“It was my fault it happened. It was all my fault, Harvey.”

“I’m a police captain, Jim,” Harvey said roughly, voice catching, “you think I can’t attract enough trouble off my own back?”

Jim huffed a laugh at that, wet and strangled. “I should have given you more credit.” 

Harvey dropped a kiss into his hair to say all the things he couldn’t find the words for.

For the first time in he didn’t know how long, Jim thought that maybe - just maybe - things were on the right track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	141. Chapter 141

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _So the married prompt got me thinking about who proposed and, well, what if they were both planning on proposing and one of them just happened to find the other's ring._

“Are you planning on doing anything today? At all?”

“Sleeping,” came Harvey’s response, the older man not even bothering to open his eyes. Jim felt his temper flaring, temple twitching with irritation because there were a thousand and one things that needed doing.

They were still living out of boxes, more or less, and the flat-pack bookcase was not going to put itself together.

“Do you even care that this place looks like a pig sty?”

Harvey did crack an eye open at that. Groaned like it was dawn not half nine, and pulled the blanket up to his nose.

“I’ll try and care later. Promise.”

Jim was going to hold him to it.

Made a start himself because who knew when the next free day would come along. And how much of it Harvey would want to squander by sleeping in late and doing absolutely nothing productive.

His own boxes were easy to sort through because he had made the effort to pack them properly in the first place. Had used a sensible system, and sticky labels, and when all that was left were books and other shelf residing knick knacks, he even put the bookcase up, making sure to be louder with the hammer than was strictly necessary.

Harvey didn’t move, though it had to be irritating, and by the time midday rolled around Jim decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Tore through the tape on Harvey’s boxes, and shook his head for the benefit of a non-existent audience, dismayed at the way Harvey had simply thrown everything he could in together. Clothes and photographs and kitchenware, and a pile of miscellaneous weaponry that Jim had a good mind to return to the GCPD evidence lock-up.

He was three boxes in and separating cutlery from Harvey’s tie collection when he found it. He had to stare at the thing, just for a moment, and swallowed thickly as he reached for it. It might not be what he was thinking of, that was what he told himself. It could be a set of cufflinks, maybe, or else something Harvey already owned.

It wasn’t though, he just knew, because the box was new and shiny, and the embossed name of the jeweller’s store was enough to convince Jim it wasn’t anything Harvey had purchased for himself. His partner prided himself on being a cheapskate. Had complained bitterly, on more than one occasion, about the money he had lost over the years on failed engagements, and asked him rhetorically why it wasn’t like the movies where people were always mad enough to throw the diamond back at you.

“I’m never doing it again,” Harvey had told him once, not long after Scottie had left, three sheets to the wind but sincere in spite of it, “maybe next time someone can put a ring on my finger.”

Jim hadn’t forgotten that night, not in all the intervening years, and he supposed that the real reason the box was so familiar was that he had one just like it, hidden away in the keepsake tin he kept in the dresser. He was just waiting for the right moment, the perfect setting, and he would never have imagined that was a Sunday afternoon in the depths of a Gotham winter, rain lashing against the windows and cardboard boxes and packing tape strewn all about the place.

Would never have pictured Harvey still rumpled with sleep, pushing his hair back from his face and blinking at him groggily as he made sense of the scene in front of him.

“I started putting your stuff away,” Jim said, feeling sheepish, and made to put the box back where he had found it. Didn’t get very far, not with Harvey crossing the room and clasping JIm’s hands around it.

“That’s yours,” he said, voice rough with more than just sleep, “I was going to ask you nicely, with candles and stuff, but it doesn’t change what it means to me. Even if the answer’s no, even if you don’t see it changing, please take it. I just - I want you to have it.”

Jim’s own throat ached with the sentiment. His heart felt too large for his chest, like it was all too much to take in, and he finally opened the box to find a plain silver band, simple and understated.

“You don’t have to wear it or anything,” Harvey offered, like he expected Jim to take him up on it, and it was that uncertainty that had him sliding it onto his finger. It fit perfectly, proof that it wasn’t just some spur of the moment thing, and Jim couldn’t say anything for a long moment, preferring to pull Harvey into a crushing hug.

Clung to him, soaking up the heat and the attention as Harvey hugged him back, and only pulled away when he was certain he had regained his composure.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to ask. I’ve got something to show you.”

Harvey followed him with a frown. Looked kind of dumbstruck when Jim found what he was searching for, and didn’t bother trying to hide the glint of moisture in his eyes, when he realized what it was he was looking at.

“You’ve got to promise me you’re never going to give this back,” Jim said, taking Harvey’s hand and pushing the band into place, “because it means I’m always going to love you, even if you hate me.”

“You’re such an optimist,” Harvey told him, all helpless smile, and Jim couldn’t help but grin back.

“I think we should celebrate.”

“We could go back to bed?” Harvey suggested, tone low in a way that made Jim shiver and forget all about sorting through unpaired socks and chipped crockery.

“It would be a shame to waste a day off,” Jim agreed, Harvey already tugging at the hem of the shirt he was wearing, “wouldn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	142. Chapter 142

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the [comment_fic prompt](https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/854028.html?thread=105298444#t105298444): _Gotham, Harvey Bullock/Jim Gordon, Hit Me. (314 words Wednesday challenge.)_
> 
> Set in S04:E03.

Harvey had always known it wouldn’t last forever. From the very beginning, from the very first moment Jim touched him, he had known he was on borrowed time.

Jim would want more, deserved more, and when he returned from Miami loose limbed and shame faced, Harvey understood that the end was just around the corner.

He clung on until the last moment, all the same, pretended that he couldn’t see, that he didn’t know, and then Sofia Falcone walked through the doors of the precinct and crushed the last of his misguided hopes under her heel.

“You get all the luck,” he croaked out later, clapping Jim on the back in congratulations, and tried to cut off Jim’s apology before it could even get started.

Jim hadn’t made him any promises.

It wasn’t as though Harvey had ever expected that what they had would be exclusive, no matter how long it lasted. He had been given longer than he had imagined he would, at least, and that would have to be enough.

He wasn’t going to stand between Jim and his chance at being happy.

"I’m sorry,” Jim said anyway, big blue eyes so earnest it hurt like a knife to the heart, “yell at me, hit me. Anything.”

“I’m not angry,” Harvey managed, because he wasn’t. Not with Jim, at any rate. It was his own folly that had got them into this mess. His own inability to stay away from what he wanted. “You and me, we both knew it was nothing serious.”

Jim didn’t have a response for that, and Harvey told himself it was better that way. He didn't have the words to tell Jim how much it had meant, what little they had shared, and Jim didn't need to hear it.

He settled for downing the rest of his drink and giving Jim a sad smile.

"Nothing lasts forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	143. Chapter 143

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey writing stories/novellas for magazines when he was younger to make ends meet since he discovered he had a knack for it (maybe even books) under a pen name. It's been years since he's even thought of that part of his life, until he's partnered with Jim, who turns out to be a huge fan of his writing, except he doesn't know it's Harvey :D_

Slovenly lackadaisical cynic, that was what his new partner thought of him. That was okay though, really, because Harvey had no lack of words to describe Jim Gordon.

Sanctimonious little shit kind of summed it up nicely.

Because Harvey wasn’t an idiot. He might not have letters after his name or a fancy college to list on his CV, but he wasn’t the brain dead Neanderthal Jim pegged him as. He was a good detective, when he put his mind to it. He had been awarded a commendation.

Twice, actually.

Just because it had all fallen apart in recent years didn’t negate the fact it had happened. He had been the blue eyed boy once, lauded for his community spirit and his dedication to duty. Where had it gotten him? Three dead partners - four if you counted Amanda - and one confined to a wheelchair.

It was for Jim’s sake as much as his own that he wanted to return to flying solo.

Essen was having none of it, no matter how he framed the argument, and Jim just sneered at him in disgust and corrected his reports with red ink and snide comments, like the school teacher he had most hated. He had looked down his nose at him too, hating the time and attention he was forced to waste on a scruffy kid from The Narrows with shoes that didn’t fit and a chip on his shoulder.

The guy had told him once that he would never make anything of himself, and lately Harvey had been doing his best to live down to expectations.

He would die alone and unloved somewhere, knifed by a thug in a darkened alleyway perhaps, and the Department would have to spring for his funeral because there was nobody else to pick up the slack.

Jim listened to his drunken prediction with an unreadable expression. Poured all his good whiskey down the sink while he was passed out and snoring, and stood firm when Harvey tried to sock him one for it.

“We could really make a difference, you and I,” Jim told him, the tilt of his jaw proud and the fire of challenge in his eyes, “but you’re either with me or against me.”

Harvey was with him. He had already succumbed, was already in way too deep, and Scottie threw it in his face just the way he deserved because it was never about returning to the Force. It was about returning to Jim and they both knew it.

Jim was a pain in the ass. An insufferable righteous know-it-all, and though Harvey tried, he simply didn’t give a damn. He loved Jim, adored Jim, and three years down the line he was only more enamoured of him. It killed him, each and every time he had to say no to the man, and so he did his best to avoid it completely, no matter how painful the situation, or how dangerous.

“You can’t be serious,” Lucius opined before one such operation, and laid out his objections using words Harvey didn’t even know the meaning of. He couldn’t follow the argument, didn’t understand the detail of it, and his cheeks flushed with shame when Jim and Lucius shared a look that spoke volumes about his attained levels of education.

“We can’t all be good at everything,” Jim said later, correctly deducing the reason for his sulking, and if Harvey wasn’t so pathetically head over heels for the guy he might have told him to stop being such a patronizing smart-ass. As it was he settled for glowering into his beer and consoling himself that he couldn’t be as stupid as Jim still obviously believed him.

Because long ago and far away, or back when Jim was learning to tie his shoelaces and over in the old slum district, it was his brain that had kept a roof over his mother’s head. His grasp of the English language - inadequate though it might be, in Jim’s eyes - that had paid her medical bills and helped make her last months comfortable.

She had started reading more after the diagnosis, said the television gave her terrible headaches, and Harvey had flipped through the trashy tales of plucky pets and cheesy romances that graced the pages of her magazines. Had pronounced he could do better, too many times, and his mom had clipped out the submission address and the publication’s claim that they paid $200 for every story they printed.

For all his front, he hadn’t had much confidence in his chances. He hadn’t done well at school, had never considered himself much of a wordsmith - but he liked reading, and his mom told him she had faith in him. She hugged him tight when that first cheque came in, tears of pride behind her teasing banter, and he started scribbling endless sentimental pap, so he could give up his shitty job on a death trap of a building site to move back home and look after her.

“You’re going to be famous one day,” his mom said when he sold four stories in a week, all equally forgettable - terrible - romances, “maybe they’ll turn your book into a movie.”

“I’ll have to write a book first,” he had laughed, embarrassed, but it was sweet of her to say so. Meant a lot to him, more than he could ever say, that he had done something to make her proud of him. That he could be there, all the way up to the very end, gripping at her hand and crying until it felt like he was broken.

Like he had no tears left, too numb to feel much of anything, and he spent most of the next eighteen months doing his utmost not to think about what had happened. He wrote instead. On and on and on, typing out thousands of words of escapism on a temperamental word processor. Stuff for kids and stuff for adults. Stuff that ended up in specialist magazines, and a whole series of easy readers that the acceptance letter said were going to be aimed at the teen market.

He didn’t really care, so long as he had enough cash to pay the electric bill and put food on the table, until one day he looked around at the state of the place and realized he had to rejoin the land of the living.

Had to get some fresh air, maybe, even if it was just to find an idea for a story that didn’t come from some old black and white movie showing in the early hours of the morning.

He ended up packing that part of his life away in a couple of cardboard boxes. Signed up for the Police Academy and got himself an over starched new uniform. Moved across town to be closer to the precinct, sold the word processor for $10 and a crate of beer, and stacked the rest of it up in a closet to be forgotten about.

At least until the day he lost sight of Jim on some dumbass foot chase, only to find him curled up on the floor, clutching at a knife wound. He was going to have to stay in hospital a few days, that was the verdict, and Harvey let himself into Jim’s apartment to pick up his toothbrush and a change of clothing. It wasn’t that he was snooping, not deliberately. He just happened to linger a little, so very aware that he was in Jim’s bedroom, and the book was lying right there on the night stand.

Was well read enough to fall open right in the middle of some overwrought love declaration, and Harvey had to sit heavily on the edge of Jim’s bed, wondering what the hell he had been thinking. It could be worse, he supposed. It could be his own name on the cover.

Brigid Goodwin had been shameless though, by virtue of being non-existent, and Harvey shook his head again at the awful art and the awful prose somebody had willingly paid him for.

He bundled it into Jim’s overnight bag though, helplessly curious, and played the part of being larger than life, mocking Jim for his choice of bedtime reading. Perhaps Jim knew, that was his first thought. Maybe Jim was just reading it to ensure he had plenty of material to insult him with. But Jim flushed up adorably. Tried to snatch the book from his hand and told him snootily,

“Just because you’ve never read a book in your life doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t get enjoyment from it.”

“I read,” he protested, pushing for a reveal that wasn’t coming, “I just don’t read trash like ‘Love on the Frontline’. I have taste, Jimbo.”

Jim flushed up harder, the tips of his ears burning. “You can’t judge a book on its cover. Or its title. Now give it here or I’ll push the call button.”

“You just can’t get enough of those nurses, can you?” He asked, because it was expected, but handed the thing over. Watched the way Jim stroked his fingers over the beat up paperback cover, like he needed to check it was safely in one piece, and felt a twist of emotion in his chest so strong that for a moment he was convinced it was the onset of a heart attack.

It only grew more overwhelming, Jim on enough painkillers to stiltedly confess that he had read it over and over, out on deployment. That it had made him feel better in the middle of a war zone, and Harvey didn’t know how to deal with it. Jim trusting him with that tale. Jim finding comfort in something he had created.

Jim having no idea that that particular story had started life as two guys who risked everything to be together, based on some article he had read in the newspaper, and was turned down by every publisher he sent it to on the grounds that nobody was going to want to read about that kind of thing. He had made the bare minimum of changes, eventually, switching out names and rewriting a few crucial passages. Got it accepted, finally, and moved swiftly onto the next project, lest he have time to spare for grieving.

“I loved her stuff when I was a kid,” Jim was saying in the present, Harvey realizing with a jolt that he was referring to his pen name, “there was this one, with a boy who talked to a ghost in his mirror. That was my favorite. Roger set it on fire because I told mom he was cutting class, and I’ve never been able to find another copy.”

That was a lot of words for Jim. So many Harvey wasn’t surprised to see his pupils dilated or the very recent time he had received his most recent dosage written on his chart. Jim was off his face, to put it nicely, and Harvey knew it was taking advantage but stroked the hair back from Jim’s forehead and told him that his brother sounded like a grade A dick.

There was good reason, Harvey thought sometimes, why Jim had turned out the way he did.

“He doesn’t speak to me anymore,” was Jim’s response, as though it didn’t occur to him that it ought to be the other way around. It cut him up inside, made his throat ache with emotion, and when he went to pick up Jim another change of clothing he looked around a little more closely. Found nothing on the bookcase, the disappointment sharp, then saw a whole pile of paperbacks in the top of Jim’s wardrobe, stashed with his keepsake tin.

They weren’t there to be kept out of sight, that was the thing that really destroyed him. They were there to be kept safe, because Jim thought them important and special, and that night he grunted and cursed and sneezed at the clouds of dust he dislodged, emptying out his entire storage closet until he found the box he was looking for.

The book was right at the bottom of it, a slim little volume with a suitably spooky looking photo of a dark haired kid staring at his ghostly pale counterpart. He couldn’t remember what it was about, or even where the idea had come from. They had sent him a proof copy, all the same, and he wrapped it clumsily in packing paper to present to Jim that coming Friday.

It was Jim’s birthday, a day Harvey knew from past experience that Jim hated, so he turned up at Jim’s door with pizza and beer, and shoved the package into Jim’s hands without saying a word. Jim raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, and Harvey forced himself to act cool and collected, eating and drinking as Jim pulled carefully at the paper.

He went silent when he saw the contents. Too silent. It settled low in his gut, the fear that he had miscalculated somehow, and then Jim was swiping at his eyes, too obvious, and croaking out,

“You have no idea what this means to me.”

“It’s just a book, Jim,” he offered, covering his own nerves with a swig from his beer bottle.

Jim shook his head.

“It was the last thing my dad ever gave me. The day before he died, we were at a neighbor’s yard sale. He said we could both pick anything we wanted, Roger and I, and - and -”

He trailed off, struggling to speak, and Harvey couldn’t take it. Moved to sit beside Jim, pressed up close, and kissed his cheek like he had a right to. Wrapped an arm around his shoulders and smiled as he told him he always knew he was a sentimental sap, underneath that gruff exterior.

“It must be you rubbing off on me,” Jim said, all watery eyes and watery smile, and in deference to the occasion Harvey didn’t even make the joke that statement was begging for.

Instead he stayed right where he was, close and comfortable, because if Jim wasn’t going to complain Harvey certainly had no intentions of putting any space between them. Jim was still on painkillers, reacting with the drink to make him woozy, and when he fell asleep on Harvey’s shoulder it was so perfect it made his heart ache to know that it didn’t mean anything.

He wished he could stay in that moment forever. Imagined how he might have phrased that, back when he was writing clichéd drivel for a living, and finally accepted that he would never have found the right collection of words. He loved Jim with everything he had, everything he was, and all the words in the world still wouldn’t be enough to convey exactly what Jim meant to him.

Not that it mattered, not really. Nobody wanted to hear about his lovelorn obsession, least of all Jim, so he kept it to himself. Pined from afar, dreamed of what was never going to be, then got rammed by a car while attempting to secure a murder scene, and resigned himself to another stay at Gotham General. Lay in his uncomfortable hospital bed and waited for Jim to bring him his toiletries and his phone charger, then tried to sit bolt upright because he was a slob.

Always had been, always would be.

He hadn’t bothered to tidy those boxes away. Hadn’t bothered to repack them, or stack them, or anything, and he had no choice but to lie there and think about how much Jim was going to hate him. Jim had trusted him with his memories. Had, thanks to Harvey’s own encouragement, talked more about his quest to track down all of Brigid Goodman’s trashy paperbacks, and what it was that so appealed to him about them.

“They made me feel like someone understood,” Jim told him, embarrassed but resolute, “like she knew what it was like to be lonely and grieving.”

He should have told Jim then. Explained that it was truer than Jim could ever have imagined. He didn’t, said nothing, and he only had himself to blame for how betrayed Jim was going to feel.

He was a mess by the time Jim put in an appearance. Had worried himself sick, on top of the pain and the lingering shock of getting hit in the first place.

“I can explain,” he started, wincing at the audible edge of desperation, but Jim just cut him off with an equally frantic,

“Is this real?”

He had a manuscript in his hands, the paper faded and musty, and Harvey frowned as he looked it over. It was Love on the Frontline, in its original version, when it had had the working title Don’t Be A Hero. He had still had some self-respect, regardless of how much awful prose he had unleashed on the world.

“Yeah,” he managed in answer to Jim’s question, “I was kind of proud of that one. I guess that’s why nobody would touch it.”

Jim just gaped at him for a moment. Raked a hand through his hair and then dropped into the chair beside the bed. The silence stretched, pushing his nerves past breaking point, and he was just telling Jim that he was sorry when Jim slumped forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Do you know why I liked that dumb book so much?” He asked, kind of muffled, and it hurt to shake his head. Hurt more to have to whisper, no, he didn’t, so that Jim heaved a sigh and went on, “It’s everything I ever wanted. When Mary - _Mick_ ,” it seemed he had never been one for great originality, “tells John that it doesn’t matter that he messed up. That she loves him anyway…” Jim swallowed and looked away, “I was such an idiot.”

‘Aren’t you always?’ That would have been his usual comeback, but now the thought of joking about it turned his stomach. If Jim were to decide this was it, that some stupid stories he wrote more than half a lifetime ago were reason enough to throw away their connection. It simply didn’t bear thinking about.

“I wrote to the publishers, you know,” Jim said before he could get his own mouth into action, “to try and find out more about you. I’d have sent you a fan letter, probably, if you hadn’t moved without a forwarding address.”

He had never thought about that. Had never cared enough, he supposed, though he had received a few letters before the move, including one from a little old lady who told him she had named her corgi cross Brigid in his honor. He had never been sure if it wasn’t actually some kind of veiled insult.

“I read this one so many times it felt like I knew you. Like I could just tell Mary Walsh was Brigid Goodman, because you put too much of yourself in there. You made me fall in love with a character in a stupid book and all the time it was you, Harvey. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” Harvey answered, truthfully, and Jim just turned those big blue eyes of his on him.

Made his heart seize up and flop over in his chest, to be the subject of Jim’s undivided attention, and Jim took hold of his hand, gripping tight as though to ground himself as he said carefully and determinedly,

“Mary was loyal, and stubborn, and forgave things she knew she shouldn’t. If she had been on duty earlier she’d have shoved me out of the way and taken a hit from a car because she’d rather get killed than force her idiot partner to stop ignoring the elephant in the room. She’s you, Harvey, and you’re her, and you didn’t even try to disguise it. Mick Walsh, he even looks like you.”

He had rarely seen Jim so passionate about anything, certainly not something that wasn’t order or justice, and he had to take a few seconds to process it. To try and formulate a response.

“This elephant?” he began eventually, heart thumping like it wanted to make a break for it, and Jim tightened the hold on his hand until it was crushing. Leaned in close, tense and awkward, and pressed the briefest of chaste kisses to his mouth. Harvey tried to follow him when he pulled away. Must have looked a pitiful sight, cut and bruised and gazing at Jim like he was the sun and the moon and the stars all rolled up together, because Jim took pity on him and moved back in for another kiss.

Then another and another.

They kissed until his head was spinning, the entire situation overwhelming, and then Jim told him that he had better get some sleep, and that he would be back in the morning.

Jim was good to his word too. Kept him company every chance he got, and picked him up when he was discharged, uncaring how often or loudly Harvey protested that he was perfectly capable of getting home unaided.

“I thought you might want to stay at my place until you’re feeling better,” Jim said, too casual, and Harvey wasn’t about to argue. Jim’s place was cleaner, and quieter, and boasted Jim into the bargain.

There was no contest.

When they got there Jim steered him over to the sofa. Fussed about in a way that made Harvey’s eyes roll and his heart flutter, then looked a little sheepish and told him that he hoped he didn’t mind, but that he had taken the liberty of bringing some of his stuff over. Clean clothes and the rest of his toiletries. The box of his old writing - including all the defunct magazines and the piles of rejection letters.

“You can have it,” Harvey shrugged when Jim explained that he was curious and had wanted to read through it, “it’s no good to anyone else, that’s for sure.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Jim promised, like he hadn’t even spoken the latter part of that sentence. Sat quietly with him for a few minutes, fingers petting through his hair, so that he had to nuzzle in closer.

Had to sigh, happy and contented, not even caring that his bruised ribs were crying out in protest.

“I get why you didn’t tell me,” Jim said finally, referring to their whispered conversations in the sterility of the hospital, open and honest with the privacy curtain pulled around his bed, “what I don’t get is why you stopped writing.”

He thought about it for a long moment, wanting to give Jim a considered answer.

“The same reason I’m here right now,” he said, in the end, “I needed to stop dreaming about life and start living it.”

“Are you saying you dreamed about me?” Jim asked, trying for playful and not quite succeeding.

“I'm saying you're my life, Jim,” Harvey countered, channelling his inner Brigid.

The way Jim kissed him in reward, heated and urgent, made it all worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	144. Chapter 144

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After I had the writer prompt yesterday I remembered I had a similar thing in drafts. So I finished it off and here it is!

“What you need,” Harvey told him, punctuating it with a wide gesture and a splash of beer on the table between them, “is a hobby. Read a book, go see a movie. Take up train spotting. Anything, Jim, that doesn’t involve work.”

“I have hobbies,” Jim countered, a little drunk and a lot petulant, and it wasn’t until he was lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling that he conceded Harvey might have had a point.

The truth was that he had had hobbies.

Back when he was still a rookie, when he and Barbara were still planning to build a life together, he had always had something to fill his free time. He liked art, he liked literature; for all the things people said afterwards about him, about their relationship, it had never been the case that they lacked common ground.

It was how they had met, initially, Jim lost in the confident brush strokes of an up and coming artist, and Barbara coming to stand beside him, just as moved by the sense of forward looking optimism.

Jim looked them up that weekend, older and wiser and crushed with disappointment as he wandered their latest exhibit, because the vibrancy was gone. Gotham had drained it out of them, he guessed, the same way it did to everything it touched.

It was a virus, as surely as he was, and he turned instead to the written word in the hope it would provide the escapism he so wanted.

Harvey offered him the choice of his own collection, dog eared paperback after dog eared paperback, packed full of wisecracking gumshoes with drink problems. It didn’t take a detective to work out what it was about them that appealed to his partner.

From his perspective, they only proved infuriating. He didn’t want to read about law men who took risks and cut corners. He lived it already, day in and day out, and finally he gave up on a half read novel in disgust. He could do a better job.

Had done a better job, really, stationed out in Afghanistan with nobody back home to write to and nothing to fill his downtime but scrawling out page upon page of op-eds, and reviews, and entirely forgettable short stories he had printed in magazines he would be crucified for reading.

The other guys had thought him hilarious anyway. Stuck up and aloof because he tacked Matisse and Kandinsky prints above his bunk in place of centerfolds, and when one of his rough drafts made the rounds of the camp he became a laughing stock, because none of them seemed to understand that there was more call for romance than his earnest attempts at war poetry.

It was that thought which guided his hand when he put pen to paper, and though it had been a long time - though he felt like a different person - the words flowed just the way they used to. He was calm when he finished, fell into a dreamless sleep, mentally exhausted rather than physically, and not being jarred awake by a nightmare did such a lot for his temper that even Alvarez commented that he wasn’t being as insufferably irritating as usual.

From there it was inevitable, fated even, and he wrote endlessly, spilling all his frustration and his heartache. He resurrected his favorite of his old pseudonyms, the one that had sometimes inspired people to write to him via the publisher, and sent it off to anywhere and everywhere because he wasn’t too proud to admit that the validation of knowing his scribbles were being read had always been the real draw of the thing.

The romances did best, just as expected, and it didn’t take long before he was concentrating on those exclusively. Didn’t take long before he had amassed a stack of embarrassment inducing publications, at least they did as soon as he caught Harvey flicking through them.

“The only thing worse than people who read this trash are the people who write it,” Harvey opined, shaking his head at whatever passage it was his eye had been drawn to. “I don’t know who left this here but let me tell you now, she’s not the girl for you, Junior.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Jim questioned, unable to help himself. It would be better if he dropped the subject, safer if he played along, but he had always been too stubborn for his own good.

He couldn’t help take it personally when it was, by his own reckoning, one of his better efforts.

“It’s all rose petals and bullshit. Nobody wants this kind of stuff any more.”

The criticism stuck with him all week, souring his enthusiasm, and perhaps he would have given up on the project entirely if the very same magazine hadn’t sent his alias a letter to inform him of all the positive feedback they had received. To ask if he would be willing to write a whole series for them, and had he ever noticed how popular a scenario conflicted heroes and glamorous villains was these days?

He hadn’t, not particularly, but he could read between the lines well enough. Jumped at the chance to write a cop doing things the way they ought to be done, and if he derived petty pleasure from contrasting his hero - the guy he wished he was - with the lazy apathy of his partner who shared every attribute except his name with Alvarez, well, it wasn’t like anybody knew he was connected to the stories.

It meant he had a free hand, meant he started to grow a touch complacent, and he was looking around the Iceberg Lounge, waiting to question its owner and soaking up details for his next instalment. He wandered through to the back office, always keen to catch Oswald red handed, and instead found himself staring at a too familiar magazine page.

It was the latest instalment of his serial, lying open on Oswald’s desk, and Jim was so wrapped up in the sight of it that he didn’t hear the man approaching.

“Jim,” he greeted, crisp and confident, and then his gaze followed Jim’s attention and if Jim didn’t know better he would have sworn that there was an embarrassed flush in the cheeks of Gotham’s criminal mastermind.

“Some bedtime reading?” Jim couldn’t help but push, because the layout editors left nothing to chance, especially not on pages with inset artwork, and Oswald swept a ledger and a pile of papers on top of it.

The memory of the encounter played on Jim’s mind for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, even, and he was so busy recounting it he thought for a moment he had to be imagining it when the very same magazine was slammed down onto his desk, right on top of the action report he was in the middle of filling out.

“You know anything about this?” Alvarez demanded, expression murderous, and for a moment panic twisted tight in his chest before it became apparent that the question was meant to be kind of rhetorical. Because Alvarez’s latest girlfriend - or mistress, Jim struggled to keep track - was a fan, and hadn’t failed to notice all the similarities between his fictional bad cop and her supposed sweetheart.

Alvarez fumed for days. Started to fall back on one habit or another, then remembered how hilarious everyone seemed to find it in his counterpart. And they did, because xeroxed copies were pinned up all over the locker room noticeboards, and Harvey read a few scenes out with surprising theatrical talent.

Guilt started to settle in then, because it was one thing for faceless strangers to read what he had written. It was quite another for people he knew - people who knew him - to be reading it. Judging it and finding it wanting. Being upset by it, even, and the next instalment was like getting blood from a stone, the memory of Harvey’s criticism and Alvarez’ outrage at the forefront of his mind.

He softened his characters a bit, meandered away from his plot outline, and procrastinated by instigating a long text exchange with Harvey about how hungover he was likely to be in the morning.

‘It’s not a good night if you can remember it,’ Harvey told him, more than a few vowels missing, and Jim smiled in spite of himself. Thought of Harvey’s line about rose petals and bullshit and started sketching out something different. Killed off Alvarez - suitably painfully - and wrote in a new partner for his lead protagonist. Went through a few iterations before settling on his first instinct, a womanizing smartass who wouldn’t seem out of place in any of Harvey’s favorite detective novels.

You wrote best when you wrote what you knew, Jim had read that somewhere once, and maybe that was why he dedicated page after page to the slow path from antagonism to friendship, cataloging all the bumps along the way.

He saw Harvey reading it through his office window, glasses perched on his nose and an intent look on his face, and it tugged at something in his chest he had been attempting to ignore for months by that point. The fluttery sensation he got when Harvey smiled at him, and the way his breath came short when Harvey clapped a hand on his shoulder.

It was kind of inevitable when his story started heading in that direction, and if he didn’t put the effort in that he should have to differentiating Harvey and the character he had based on him, his excuse was that work was crazier than usual and he didn’t have the energy.

Didn’t have the willpower, perhaps, because he was all too aware that Harvey was reading his stupid scribblings. Hoped, deep deep down, that Harvey would put two and two together and reveal that he felt the exact same way. That there was more to the way he kept sticking by him, forgiving him, than his being some kind of masochist.

When it actually happened, when Harvey dropped a magazine to Jim’s coffee table and asked if there was something he wanted to tell him, Jim wished he could turn back time and tell himself not to be such an idiot. Harvey didn’t look pleased, didn’t look at all happy, and Jim’s gut churned even as he shrugged weakly and pretended not to know what Harvey was talking about.

“I thought it was a low blow what you did to Alvarez,” Harvey said, staring him down, “the guy’s a pain in the ass, sure, but at least he ain’t writing letters to the Gazette about it. This though. This is some next level shit, Jim.”

Jim swallowed thickly, tensing up instinctively as though bracing himself for a blow, and glanced at the magazine on the table between them. He had been following Harvey’s direction. He had stepped way outside his comfort zone. There had been no overblown love declarations or pretty speeches. No hand holding and absolutely no flowers.

Instead his counterpart’s partner had rounded on him, angry, and demanded to know why he kept looking. What it was he wanted from him. Made him admit it, harsh and unyielding, then kissed him hard and mocked him for how bad he wanted it, nothing like the romantic encounters Jim had sold to the women’s weeklies.

“Did you think it was funny?” Harvey asked him there in his living room, voice scratched up with the force of it, “Did you think I wouldn’t know it was you?”

“I - I,” Jim stuttered, not knowing how to begin to justify it.

“Is this really what you think of me? That I’m just waiting for the first opportunity to force myself on you?”

“What? No!” Jim drew on the righteous anger building in his own chest, “I thought you were something other than a petty minded bigot.”

Harvey glared at him all the harder. Went cold and calm and asked him in a clipped tone what the hell he thought he was talking about.

“Nobody wants to read sentimental love stories, that’s what you told me. So I wrote one that wasn’t. Nobody else is going to know I based it on me and you. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. The hurt of the rejection and the biting disappointment. He had tried and he had failed, and now Harvey was looking at him like he had never seen him before, searching his face for God only knew what. Reassurance that he wasn’t going to jump him in the squad car, maybe. Wouldn’t try and put an unwanted hand on him the next time they both had a drink or two too many.

“You’re being serious, aren’t you?” was what Harvey actually came out with, and when Jim frowned in response, not trusting himself to say anything constructive, he went on, “If you didn’t write that to make fun of how I feel about you, prove it to me.”

That threw him completely. Had him gaping, silent and useless, before managing, “What do you want me to do?”

“You could kiss me.”

He could, that was definitely something he could do, and somehow they went from glowering and posturing to him looking nervously into Harvey’s eyes. His fingers hovering tentatively just above Harvey’s cheekbone.

“Go on then,” Harvey breathed, hopeful rather than challenging, and Jim pushed forward carefully. Let his eyes fall close and nosed against Harvey’s cheek for a moment. Brushed their lips together, soft and tender, and only remembered when he pulled away that Harvey wasn’t into sentimentality.

Except maybe he was wrong about that too because Harvey’s fingers were gentle in his hair and along his jaw. His touch was reverent, adoring, and when Jim kissed him again, a breathy noise escaping him at the first swipe of Harvey’s tongue against his own, Harvey pulled him in still closer, holding him like he was something precious.

Like it wasn’t just Jim’s fantasy they were acting out.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Harvey whispered in his ear, like he couldn’t hold it back another second, and Jim had to turn their kissing frantic. Had to paw at Harvey’s shirt and spill confessions of his own. “Are you going to write about this?” Harvey asked him when they fell through the door of his bedroom, filthy grin warring with genuine curiosity, and Jim just silenced him with another heated kiss.

It wasn’t that kind of publication.

Later Harvey had him talk it through. Let him rest his head on his chest, and petted fingers through his hair as he admitted, sheepishly, of the day he had mocked him for his choice of reading material,

“I make it my business to know what you spend your time doing. I was put out you didn’t want me to know, all right? I was jealous you were writing silly love stories about blue eyed heroes and pretty heroines, when I wanted you to be acting them out with me.”

“You could have just said that,” Jim pointed out, shivering when Harvey ran fingertips through the close cropped hair at his nape, “I’m not a mind reader.”

“You don’t make it easy for a guy to think clearly,” Harvey told him, voice low, and Jim shivered all over again. Angled his head to kiss Harvey, losing himself in it. Getting them both fired up, panting and aching, because words were great, really, but sometimes actions spoke louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	145. Chapter 145

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” hehe :D_

“If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Jim blinked up at Harvey stupidly. Tried to make sense of where he was and what was happening.

Why he was all but in Harvey’s lap, the older man smiling down at him fondly.

“You fainted, Jim. Straight into my arms.”

That was embarrassing. Really embarrassing, but when he attempted to sit up and start moving on from it his head spun so badly he had to lie back down again.

“Just keep still for a minute. There’s no rush. Nobody’s watching.”

He had to turn his head to the side at that, eyes clenching shut against a swell of emotion. They hadn’t been getting on so well lately. Had been bickering and sniping and butting heads over what was best for the city, but underneath it all Harvey was still his friend.

Still understood him better than anyone.

“I’m sorry,” Jim croaked out then, because it was easier somehow, away from prying eyes. Just the two of them, huddled together in the corner of some abandoned warehouse, the sound of sirens and their colleagues talking outside distant enough not to encroach on the moment.

“You’re doing your best, just the same way I am,” Harvey said quietly. So quietly Jim finally looked up at him, at the honest concern in his eyes and the gray beginning to streak the hair falling into his face.

He reached a hand up, unthinking, to push it back behind Harvey’s ear, and when it was there he kind of let it linger. Stroked his thumb through the scruff of Harvey’s beard, and traced the tips of his fingers over the curve of his ear.

Harvey watched him intently, apparently waiting to see where he was going with this, and suddenly Jim was sick of the distance between them. They were a team. Partners. They were always going to be stronger together than they were apart.

That was his reasoning anyway, and it seemed good enough in that moment to curl his hand around the back of Harvey’s head and tug him closer. To lift up enough to reach, Harvey’s arms coming up around him to make it easier.

To enable him to kiss him until they were both flushed and breathless, only pulling apart at the sound of approaching footsteps and Tuttle’s voice calling out to ask if they were ready to get back to the precinct.

“I’m coming now,” Harvey yelled back, Jim hauling himself up to his feet and holding out a hand to his partner.

“I didn’t know I was such an accomplished kisser,” Jim quipped, feeling light and free and kind of ridiculously happy. It took Harvey a moment, the furrow in his brow disappearing as he clapped a hand to his shoulder and leaned in close, even as he started guiding him towards the entrance.

“I’ll show you what my mouth can do later,” Harvey murmured, just before they rejoined the others, and Jim felt the heat flood his cheeks and trickle down beneath his collar.

That, he thought desperately, had better be a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	146. 20 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock + twenty years later? :D_

Harvey hated these dinners. Pompous idiots and uncomfortable clothing. Awkward small talk and tiny portions that were half garnish.

The only thing that kept him attending, year after year, was the fact that Jim hated them even more, and he had made a pledge to Jim once that he was always going to be there when he needed him. He hadn’t always succeeded with it, had made some decisions he still regretted, but it only made him more determined not to leave Jim alone to face the music.

Jim was struggling at that very moment, the fixed grimace of a smile on his face looking painful as the latest wife of some civic dignitary or other put a hand on his arm.

That was probably the thing Harvey hated most, more than the falseness and the boredom. It was the way all the plus ones kept on getting younger, even as Jim’s peers began to gray at the temples.

“They trade them in for newer models,” one of the too few women invited to these things in their own right had told him once, tone disgusted, but when he had run into her at another event twelve months later, the guy on her arm hadn’t been the man she had introduced as her husband.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jim, and it wasn’t that he didn’t believe Jim when he said that he loved him. It was just that it played on every one of his own insecurities, and his deep set fear that Jim wouldn’t set out to hurt him - he would simply meet someone who could be all the things to Jim that Harvey couldn’t.

Some bright eyed detective versed in all the new techniques and the latest methods, or else some classy socialite with all the right connections who had never once punched one of Jim’s senior colleagues in the face after too much whiskey.

Even if the guy had royally deserved it.

Larkin was there tonight, a girl young enough to be his daughter hanging on his arm, and Harvey glowered even as he acknowledged that he was a total hypocrite. Jim’s hair was thinning these days, just a little, and his face was lined enough to make him look distinguished. He could still pass for five years younger than his actual age, at least, and Harvey wondered what people thought when they saw them together.

“You’re so lucky,” he was actually told later, when he went out to get some air and some relief from Larkin’s self-congratulating droning.

It was the woman who had been talking to Jim earlier, her perfect eye make-up now smeared down her cheeks as she swiped away tears with a shaking hand. Harvey fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it over.

He could be a gentleman.

She took it, wordless, and he leaned back against the railing of the balcony, keeping watch for anyone who might be approaching. Keeping an eye on how Jim was doing, truthfully, something flaring in his chest at the way his face lit up in a genuine smile at the sight of Drake from the 21st. Her expression suggested she wanted to talk to him about something grim and work related, and in Jim’s world that rated about 12 ranks higher than discussing the guest list or the menu.

“He would never go looking elsewhere,” the woman next to him - Helena, he remembered now - said, obviously well aware of where his gaze had wandered, “you only have to hear the way he talks about you. See the way he looks at you.”

The implication didn’t need to be spelled out. Harvey could see the way her own husband was standing too close and too intimate with his secretary, and he put a hand on her shoulder in a show of silent solidarity. Simply stood there for a long moment while she finished touching up her face and regaining her composure, then they both went back inside to deal with another course and more fake chit-chat.

Jim didn’t seem to notice he had been gone at all, contrary to everything that had just been said, and Harvey felt his appetite desert him. Pushed his dessert around his plate, listless, and startled when Jim put his hand on his leg and leaned in close to ask if he was feeling all right. His tone was so earnest, his big blue eyes filled with such concern, and it was the kind of thing he’d rather die than say aloud, but it felt like he was falling in love with him all over again.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, soft and sincere, and Jim stroked his thumb over the material of his pants leg before pulling his hand away.

He ate with gusto after that, feeling a thousand times better, and when Helena caught his eye she gave him a sad smile that seemed to say ‘I told you so’. Jim appeared to notice it too. Either that or they had been too generous with the free drink, because suddenly Jim’s fingers were at the nape of his neck, fixing the fall of his hair over the back of his collar.

Jim wasn’t much into public displays of any kind, never had been, never would be. At least he had thought that was the case. Except now Jim’s hand was resting between his shoulder blades as he leaned back in and asked if he would mind leaving before they served coffee.

He didn’t, not at all, and Jim pulled him in close as soon as they were away from prying eyes. Tangled his fingers back through his hair, and kissed him like he had been waiting hours for the opportunity.

“What was that for?” Harvey asked, in no way averse to it, and perhaps his first thought hadn’t been so far from the truth because Jim just shrugged and gave him a sweet half smile.

“These things always make me realize how lucky I am. It seemed like everyone there was getting a divorce, or headed that way. That could be me if I’d never met you.”

Harvey tried to keep his tone casual. Did his best not to look over invested in Jim’s answer.

“You’re never tempted then? Pastures new and all that.”

“There’s only one guy that tempts me,” Jim promised, and Harvey couldn’t argue with that set to his jaw. Couldn’t doubt the tone of his voice or the dark heat in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Harvey said, “because I have the exact same problem. I’ve had it about twenty years now, give or take.”

Jim beamed at him.

“Here’s to another twenty years then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	147. Chapter 147

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock + I have amnesia and you say you’re my best friend but I keep on forgetting and thinking we’re lovers? your choice on who's who :D happy ending please!_

“It only needs the Captain to sign off on it,” Alvarez said winningly, waving the file at him. Harvey gave the guy what he hoped was a suitably long suffering look but held out a hand for the thing. Started rifling through his jacket pockets for a pen, then stopped up short when Jim folded his arms across his chest and pointed out,

“Barnes will never agree to it.”

“What the fuck has Barnes got to do with it?” Alvarez asked, and Harvey couldn’t fault him for it. Barnes was a loose canon, a crazy still on the run, but Jim just frowned at him for a moment before backing down. Before shuffling through the papers on his desk and muttering,

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing though, Harvey was certain of it. He started watching Jim more closely, taking note of the offbeat statements he came out with, and felt a sickening twist in his gut every time Jim tried to hide the fact he had messed up. It twisted still harder when Jim didn’t even realize.

Because Harvey had had suspicions for a long time now. He had frowned at the way Jim spoke about his ex-girlfriends or his father, as though he had completely forgotten about their attempts to kill him, or the truths he had since uncovered about him. He had been confused, genuinely, by the conclusions Jim had drawn on some of the cases he had been working. Hadn’t understood the reasoning behind the connections he was making, and had kept his tone soft when he pointed out that it couldn’t possibly be the work of this mobster or that villain, because they were in Blackgate or six feet under respectively.

As the weeks went by Jim’s memory lapses only grew worse, and were supplemented by strange behavior. Jim had a sense of humor, deep down. Deep deep down. Most of the time he was dour and miserable, or at the very least morose and intense. He didn’t smile often and rarely laughed.

It scared Harvey, more than a little, when Jim burst into laughter as the ME attempted to explain the significance of the angle of the entry wound.

Perkins, from the Special Victims Unit, filed a complaint about him, pulling no punches as he described the inappropriateness of Jim’s interview technique. Harvey couldn’t disagree with her, no matter how much he might want to. Nor could he brush off the accusation from one of his own uniformed officers, outraged that Jim had seen fit to pass comment about the fit of her blouse.

It was like the filter between Jim’s brain and his mouth had been completely severed, and Harvey ordered him from the room himself when Jim started telling an irritating - but ultimately harmless - little old lady who came by the precinct most days to enquire after her long dead husband what the boys and girls in blue really thought of her.

He tracked Jim down to the locker room after he had done his best to salvage the situation, and rounded on him with a ferocity born of fear and frustration.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jim? She doesn’t do it on purpose - she can’t remember. That’s why we’ve got social services on the case.”

Jim just pressed his fingers to his forehead, rubbing like it could ease the pain that was twisting his face into a grimace. He looked lost, confused, and Harvey didn’t know how to deal with the plea for help in Jim’s eyes when he looked up at him.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He decided there was only one thing he could do. Pulled Jim in close and wrapped his arms about him, tight and protective, and then refused to take no for an answer. Went with Jim to the Force doctor, and to the barrage of tests the man arranged for Jim at Gotham General.

He was there when Jim collapsed in the middle of the diner favored by half the precinct, and attempted not to act shocked beyond belief when Jim came around and kissed him on the mouth right in front of the lunchtime rush.

“I’m not really hungry,” Jim told him, as blunt as he was sincere, “do we have to go back to work or can you take me home now?”

“I can get Alvarez to drop you at your place if you’re not feeling well,” he said, wishing he could take Jim up on his offer. Wishing that it was real and not another symptom, and Jim just frowned and asked him why he would want to go home when he wasn’t even halfway through his shift yet.

Harvey assigned Jim to desk duties when the test results came back, and tried not to give in to the terror that threatened to overwhelm him every time he remembered the scans the doctor had used to illustrate his diagnosis, and the way Jim’s face had paled at the words brain tumor. He’d prefer Jim to be at home, truthfully, but he didn’t trust him not to try and work anyway, and at least this way he could keep watch on him.

Because it wasn’t cancerous, that was the verdict. Was treatable, even, and with luck it wouldn’t be so very long before Jim was once more in control and at full capacity. Unless something went wrong, or the treatment didn’t work, and then perhaps they were looking at more of Jim losing his temper and smashing the coffee pot on the floor of the break room, or bursting into tears in the middle of the briefing room.

“What is it?” Harvey asked, frantic and overbearing in the privacy of his own office, “What’s the matter, Jim?”

Jim just clung to him, tears caught in his lashes, and told him childlike that it was so horribly sad that people were dead and missing, and how awful it would be if it were them in that position. Harvey stroked soothingly at his back, not knowing what else to do, and then pushed Jim to arm’s length when he tried to kiss him.

“But you love me,” Jim protested, “you told me so.”

It was true, he had. Just not quite in the way Jim seemed to be recalling it.

Jim rubbed at his forehead again and sank shakily into the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. Looked pale and sick and wretched, and Harvey crouched down so he could look up into Jim’s face, uncaring of how little his knees thought of the decision.

“I think,” Jim said, slowly and stiltedly, “maybe I’m confusing things. I’m sorry, Harvey.”

It was like a knife to the heart but he took one of Jim’s hands between both of his own. Promised Jim that he was going to get through this, and that he was there to help - whenever, wherever. Jim nodded, weakly, and it was a sign of how bad things were that he took the rest of the day off and, when Harvey let himself in with the key Jim had long ago entrusted to him, Jim was actually curled up asleep in bed.

Harvey sat on the edge of the mattress and watched him for a few minutes, fingers itching to reach out and stroke the hair back from his forehead. He looked so relaxed in sleep; so calm and so beautiful. Then he thought of the earlier scene in his office and hauled himself to his feet. Jim was confused and vulnerable. The last thing he needed was Harvey making things more complicated with the kind of declarations he had been wanting to make to Jim for years now.

Jim didn’t need them. Was convinced he had already made them, half the time, and took to greeting him with soft kisses to his cheek. Jim turned to him for comfort, and relied on him for reassurance. Repaid it all with attempts to hold his hand and snuggle in close, and invariably flushed up in embarrassment when Harvey gently reminded him that they weren’t actually a couple.

“It feels like we are,” Jim countered one night, exhausted and irritable from the meds he was taking. “It feels like we should be.”

It took him a few attempts to say anything in response to that. To get his throat not to clog and his mouth to co-operate, because Jim was ill and Harvey wasn’t going to be the kind of lowlife who would take advantage of that.

“You wouldn’t say that if you were well,” he managed, his heart aching in his chest, and Jim sulked and pouted and muttered, adamant, that Harvey didn’t know what he was talking about.

The next day Jim rapped at his office door and asked if they could go for lunch together. Insisted they buy sandwiches and go eat in the car, and then revealed that he had wanted the privacy to say what he needed to. Harvey braced himself for more bad news, considered himself something of an expert these days, and instead was met with Jim looking him steadily in the eye and saying,

“I might not be well but I know what I want. I wanted it before I ever started forgetting things.”

“I don’t think you did, Jim,” Harvey countered kindly, ignoring the way his pulse was racing, “I think you’re just confusing what you feel for me with what you felt for Lee, or for Barbara.”

Jim shook his head, determined. “I’m not. I know I’m not.”

Harvey wished he could share Jim’s certainty.

“Why don’t you wait and see how you feel tomorrow? Next week, maybe?”

“I’m not going to change my mind about this,” Jim said, stubborn.

Harvey gave him a sad smile and ate the rest of his sandwich.

Except the next day Jim had a seizure at his desk, pens and office equipment clattering everywhere as he shook and spasmed. Tuttle got him to the floor and succeeded in loosening his tie a little, and Harvey rang for an ambulance even as his blood ran cold. Even as he handed over the day’s schedule without a second thought, so he could sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Jim’s bed, helpless as another flurry of tests were carried out.

They were going to operate, that was the final verdict, just as soon as Jim consented to the surgery. Jim asked them for a minute, watched silently as the doctors filed from the room, and then reached out a hand for him. Squeezed his own in a death grip when he took it, and told him solemnly that he hadn’t changed his mind from the day before.

That he was never going to.

“Would you take a chance on me, if I come through this?”

Harvey swallowed convulsively. Blinked back the sting of tears and finally dragged Jim’s knuckles to his lips so he could press a kiss to them.

“You’re going to get through this, Jim. Don’t even think otherwise.”

He couldn’t bear to. Couldn’t deal with the possibility that Jim might not wake up from the surgery.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jim croaked, just as demanding as usual, and Harvey couldn’t speak. All he could do was shift close enough to brush his lips against Jim’s, hand coming up to touch his face, until he finally succeeded in whispering,

“Of course I will.”

After that came the waiting. The pacing and the worrying, and the treacherous tears that slid down his cheeks though they were utterly pointless. He went outside for a while, bummed a cigarette and smoked half of it with shaking fingers before dropping it to the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe. Jim would kill him if he knew he’d been smoking again.

Jim might never know about it, he realized suddenly, and he ended up sitting in the waiting room with his head buried in his hands, praying to God that he wasn’t going to have to attend another funeral.

He went weak with relief when the news finally came, and dozed fitfully as Jim slept on and on, punctuated only by the sounds of the machines beeping and blipping.

When Jim did wake up he was clueless. Didn’t know where he was, or what had happened. Slurred the few words he did manage but tried to reach for him like he needed the anchor. “I’m here,” Harvey assured him, choked up but covering with false confidence, and Jim seemed to calm at the contact. Settled enough to fall asleep again and Harvey left a uni at his door when he returned to the precinct, with strict instructions not to admit anyone who had previously attempted to murder Jim, no matter how charming they were or reformed they claimed to be.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Jim did well in recovery, was allowed home by the end of the week, and Harvey was sure things were going to be fine when Jim stubbornly told him that he didn’t need any assistance. Unwound the bandages on his own, and winced as he ran his fingers over the staples holding his scalp together. He was still struggling to find words, to deal with the tiredness, and when his hand dropped away like he had forgotten what it was he was in the middle of doing, Harvey took over without a word and finished it up with a careful kiss to Jim’s temple.

Pulled him down to sit beside him, and then into an embrace, so very aware of how close he had come to losing Jim for good this time.

“Are you sure we weren’t already doing this?” Jim asked after a few minutes, muffled into his shirt front, and Harvey tried not to let on how much the words affected him. Failed, probably, what with the way his hold tightened and the hitch in his breathing.

“We should have been, you were right,” Harvey managed, kind of caught up in it all, and Jim patted at his arm, pleased, because he always liked to hear that he was in the right about something.

Liked it even more when the occupational therapist agreed that he was fit to go back to work, and Harvey had no choice but to defer to the doctors and sign off on his return to the precinct.

“I’m going to be careful,” Jim told him, by way of comfort, and Harvey was too cut up to disguise his concern as he countered,

“You’ve never been careful a damn day in your life, Jim, and you know it.”

“I never forgot how to tie my shoelaces or went to bed with you either, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“I like how you put those two things on a par. I’m clearly going wrong somewhere.”

Jim just smiled at him at that. He had won, he knew, but at least he was going to be gracious with it. At least he was going to wind his arms about Harvey’s neck and kiss him, soft and slow, before suggesting that they go and put some practice in.

“Sure,” Harvey offered, and braced himself for the mock blow to his arm he knew was coming, “I can’t have you tripping over your laces, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	148. Chapter 148

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _gordlock fic with Harvey watching Jim spar? or Jim and Harvey sparring together, either one :) thanks!!_  
> 

Growing up in The Narrows, you relied on the three Fs to fill your time - fucking, fighting and thieving. That was how the saying had gone, at least, and Harvey supposed that his misspent youth was no evidence against the stereotype.

Right now it felt like it had been an age since he had indulged in any one of them, but he supposed it was like riding a bike. You got a little rusty, maybe, but you never forgot completely. At least he hoped not, because Jim seemed to be taking the whole thing entirely too seriously.

He had brought his gumshield and his hand wraps, while Harvey had only belatedly thought to ask if anybody had a spare set of gloves laying about.

“You shouldn’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash,” Jim told him, eyes flashing with the challenge, and Harvey had to resist the urge to sock him in the jaw right there and then.

Because Jim had done nothing but antagonize him since Harvey had returned from leave. Had pushed and needled and twisted, and Harvey might have it bad for the man but even he had his limits. Even he wasn’t going to let the constant insubordination and sniping slide without comeback.

How it had come to this, a sparring bout in the precinct gym, Harvey couldn’t say. Wasn’t sure when a joke became reality, or why the hell he hadn’t just said no while he still had the chance. Now there was nothing else for it, no way to back down without losing face, and he tried to call on all the petty irritation and frustration Jim had inspired in him over the last few years, and none of the sickly sweet sentiment that made him want to settle for hauling Jim in close and having a heart to heart about what the issue was.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us,” Harvey argued in return, “that’s always been your problem.”

It was a matter of pride now, a matter of honor, and though this encounter was supposed to be about stamina and experience, Harvey knew that they were both stepping into this with the intention of inflicting real damage on their partner. He knew that Jim wasn’t going to go easy, and there was no way he was simply going to stand there and take it.

No way that he wasn’t going to give this everything he had, and their colleagues watched on and yelled encouragement from the sidelines when he succeeded in landing a blow to Jim’s shoulder.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Jim snarled, teeth bared, and hit him in the gut so hard it winded him.

Things got messy after that, technique and finesse forgotten in favor of blind rage and mounting fury. Harvey’s heart pounded and his hair dripped with sweat, and when he succeeded in hitting Jim about the head the surge of satisfaction he felt was almost frightening.

Jim fought back twice as hard. Pushed him back and clocked him in the face so hard he swore that he saw stars, just for a moment. They were both panting, both out of practice, and somehow a lumbering jab sent them both crashing to the floor, all pretence of following Queensberry Rules thrown out the window in favor of an honest to God fistfight.

They grappled like kids, twisting and clawing for dominance, and it should not have been a surprise where the encounter headed. It was the oldest cliché in the book. It hit him like a ton of bricks, all the same, because one moment he was grunting and huffing in victory, Jim finally subdued for a second beneath him, and the next he was hyper aware of a hardness digging in his hip that wasn’t any groin guard.

Jim might have flushed - he couldn’t tell, his cheeks were already red with exertion. The look in his eyes said it all anyway. He knew that Harvey knew, and took full advantage of his startled shock, rolling them again so that he was pinning Harvey to the floor.

Harvey let him have it. Cracked his head back against the floor and told the room that he was done. That he had already proved what he had set out to. Jim looked at him at that, wide eyed, and the others left even as they remained in the same position, Jim all but straddling him.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Jim ground out as the door fell closed behind the last of their colleagues, “it’s an involuntary reaction.”

“Is it really?” Harvey queried, and propped himself up a little on his elbows, shifting his hips just enough for Jim’s mouth to fall open at the stimulation.

Now there was nobody there to watch, nobody but Jim to prove himself to, he heaved his weight up and over. Braced himself on his forearms and stared down into Jim’s startled blue gaze, his hair falling between them. They were silent for a long moment. Still, even. Then Jim made a frantic noise that ripped through Harvey like a livewire, and they were kissing in a graceless clash of teeth and tongues.

Jim bit at his lip. Brought his arms up around his neck, clumsy with the gloves still in place, and ground up into him, desperate whimpers spilling from him as he worked himself closer and closer.

This was such a bad idea. They were at work. They had just been fighting. Anyone could walk through the door and catch them at it.

Harvey just kissed him back, slick and wet and possessive, and rutted against him, spurred on by Jim’s mouth, cursing as he hissed out demands for harder and faster.

“This is what you really wanted all along, isn’t it?” Harvey told him, even as he did what Jim wanted, and Jim arched his head back and came with a strangled sob.

“I need to shower,” Jim managed finally, when their breathing was almost normal and Harvey couldn’t deny that he was feeling sticky and uncomfortable. Harvey pushed off him, groaning at the ache in his muscles and the dawning realization of how spectacularly he had just fucked up.

How completely he had just ruined the chances of salvaging their relationship.

Except Jim pressed his forehead into Harvey’s back, curling his now gloveless hands around his sides.

“Join me?”

Harvey slid his own hands down his sides and tangled their fingers together, just for a moment. He wasn’t going to ask questions, not just yet. Wasn’t going to risk scuppering it before it got stared.

“Any time,” he said instead, and meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	149. Chapter 149

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim helping Harvey through a difficult anniversary and reminding him that he's not alone and he's loved, even if it doesn't feel that way._

He didn’t understand how it could still hurt so much. Time was supposed to heal, that was what people said. What everyone had told him. She had been dead for more of his life than she had been alive for now, and the pain of it felt as fresh that morning as it had the day of her funeral.

It had him choking up during the morning briefing, and blinking back the sting of tears alone in his office. Staring unseeingly at his mountain of paperwork, and wishing - desperately - for the oblivion of the whiskey bottle he had been keeping in his bottom desk drawer.

When he gave in and reached for it, the thing was gone. Removed by somebody who thought they were doing him a favor, no doubt, and he looked up just in time to see Jim walking past his office window.

That only made it worse, the ache of loneliness more acute, because his mom had told him almost with her dying breath that he was going to find somebody special to share his life with. That he was going to be loved and happy and all kinds of other things that he really couldn’t blame her for being wrong about.

She hadn’t been a fortune teller.

He went to her grave after work, laden down with flowers and a new bottle he picked up at the corner store across from the florists. It was cold and gray, the ground wet and waterlogged, but he sat anyway, uncaring how it might offend the sensibilities of the other mourners.

It wasn’t like he was judging them for not breaking down in the cemetery.

He got a little drunk and a lot maudlin. Traced his fingertips over the names and dates carved into the headstone, and updated his mom on the things he had been doing, and the things he had been thinking, talking and talking as though she were sat just across from him and might join in the conversation at any moment.

It was getting dark when he sensed more than heard footsteps approaching, but before he could turn around and offer up an excuse for drinking on the premises, their owner had dropped down to sit beside him.

“Thought you might not have eaten,” Jim said, gently, and handed him one of his favorite sandwiches.

Harvey took it, a touch dumbstruck, and asked him, “How did you know where I was?”

“You’re my best friend, do you really think I wouldn’t know why today was going to be hard for you?”

He couldn’t say anything in answer to that because the truth was that he hadn’t imagined Jim would know. It wasn’t that he thought Jim cold or uncaring, it was just that Jim had enough problems of his own to deal with. Jim had more important things to worry about than whether or not his bum of a partner was going to be more miserable than usual.

“Do you talk to her?” Jim asked, soft and quiet. “I come here to talk to my dad sometimes. It makes me feel better.”

That was a big thing for Jim, Harvey knew, to confess something like that, and he let his shoulder bump against Jim’s in reassurance. Was surprised, legitimately, when Jim inched closer. Leaned into him, his body heat making Harvey realize just how cold it had gotten, and how long he had been sitting there, and brushed his fingers against Harvey’s own so tentatively it could be written off as an accident.

It wasn’t, Harvey was sure of it, and when he shifted his hand a little, Jim took hold of it and squeezed tightly.

“Yeah, I talk to her,” he said and squeezed back, “I’ve been telling her all about his hot headed dumbass I work with.”

“Do you think she would have liked me?”

Harvey shut his eyes for a moment, the question too close to stupid scenarios he spent lonely nights imagining. How his mom would have known without ever being told exactly what Jim meant to him, just as soon as she saw the way he looked at him. Sooner even. How she would have told him to have more faith in himself, and to actually try telling Jim how he felt rather than pining endlessly on and on.

“She would have loved you,” Harvey assured, because if it wasn’t for Jim he wouldn’t have anything. He would have given up long ago, would have simply quit trying, and maybe Jim could tell exactly what he was thinking.

“She would have told me to quit trying to get you killed, I’m sure, but I’d want her to like me. I’d want her to know that I’m here for you. I want you to know that.”

“I think my leg’s gone dead,” was what he finally managed in response, breaking a few minutes of silence with nothing but Jim’s hand in his own and the wind howling through the trees to focus on. Jim pulled away. Stood, stoic and silent, and then held a hand out to him and hauled him to his feet.

Hauled him in a touch too close, really, and held his gaze with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

“You’re not on your own,” Jim said, the words misting in the air, and Harvey nodded, once, before pulling his defences back around him and suggesting they go get a drink somewhere. Jim fell into step beside him, so close their shoulders brushed, and when Harvey dared to slide an arm around him, Jim only pressed closer still.

Smiled at him, a touch bashful, and Harvey let the warmth of Jim’s body and his encouragement spread through him, until he could smile back and mean it.

Maybe his mother had had the gift of second sight after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	150. Florist AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Florist AU where Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?”, with flirting, pining and a happy ending? <3 <3_
> 
> I went with Jim teen crushing on Harvey with the fire of a thousand suns. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of attempted suicide, period typical homophobia, etc.

_What does your nail polish say about you?_

_27 signs he’s just not that into you._

_Can ill-fitting shoes really give you cancer?_

Jim finished flipping through the magazine and dropped it back to the counter. He was so bored. So completely fed up with this shift that just didn’t want to end.

It was blowing a gale outside, rain lashing against the store windows, and Jim wished he was the type of guy whose conscience would let him shut shop early. He was getting paid to work until six though, so work until six he would.

Even if the chances of a customer walking through the door diminished with every passing second.

He was trying to find something, anything, to fill the time. Tidying stuff that was already tidy, and rearranging the desk drawer for the fifteenth time. He was just reaching for a pen that had rolled beneath the counter when the bell over the door sounded, and he shot up so quick he cracked his head against the drawer he had left open.

It hurt. Really really hurt, and he was still biting back a flurry of curse words as his would be customer dripped water all over the place and slapped a fistful of money down in front of him.

“Tell me, how do I say fuck you in flower?”

* * *

It wasn’t the first time Harvey Bullock had darkened the door of The Flower of Love. The first time, to the best of Jim’s knowledge, had been over a year ago, when he had been busy doing battle with the cellophane dispenser, and two uniformed GCPD officers had wandered in asking if they had seen anyone acting suspiciously that morning.

Marion, who owned the place, launched straight into her customary rant about crime rates in the area and the lack of visible police presence, while Jim stared like an idiot, suddenly all too aware of the floral apron he was forced to wear, and the nick on his chin where he had cut himself shaving.

“It’s a complaint I get all the time, love,” the red head had said, over familiar but disarmingly charming with it, “there just isn’t enough of me to go around.”

“You think yourself lucky I’m not going to report you for cheek,” Marion had countered, smiling in spite of herself, and Jim had watched the two men leave with a strange feeling twisting up in his chest.

When he looked back on that day, he couldn’t help but concede that the song that had been playing on the radio about love at first sight wasn’t quite so ridiculous after all.

Because he thought about Officer Bullock all day. All weekend. Kept finding his mind returning to the topic during boring lessons the next week at school, and spent an extra quarter of an hour getting ready for work the following Saturday, just in case there had been another burglary in the area.

There hadn’t, at least not one that necessitated neighbourhood enquiries, and perhaps that would have been the end of it. One afternoon of disappointment and then Jim would have got on with the rest of his life.

But the next Saturday Bullock was back, wanting to know if they would put a poster about the upcoming community action meeting on their notice board, and Jim didn’t care that the guys at school would beat him to a pulp if they knew what he was thinking. He had to know more about the man.

He went to the meeting, though he lived on another division’s patch and he had to lie to his mom about having explorer scouts that evening, and it was all worth it for the way Harvey smiled at him in recognition.

For the way Harvey’s uniform shirt highlighted the broadness of his shoulders, and the heat of his skin when he shook his hand on the way out.

From there it was just a slippery slope into total obsession. He found out Harvey’s name and which precinct he worked out of. What beat he patrolled and which shifts he worked. Where he lived even, and Jim tried not to think of ugly words like stalking and restraining order, for all that he was loitering around the guy’s corner store, watching him fill a basket with microwave meals.

He got his friends to hang out in the park Harvey passed on foot patrol, as often as he could get away with it, and felt his gut squirm with guilt even as he put the camera he had received the previous Christmas to uses he was sure his mother hadn’t intended for it.

His heart raced when he went to pick up the pictures from the developers, half afraid that they were going to look at his ticket number and tell him they had lodged a report about him. That they could tell, somehow, that his artsy street scene shots were all staged to capture a single subject.

Instead a disinterested woman handed them over and took his money, all while upholding her half of a telephone conversation, and he kept his head down all the way home, equal parts ashamed and jubilant.

Roger called him a freak when he came back from college for Christmas, laughing himself sick when he found Jim’s diary and his collection of photographs. The article he had clipped from the Gotham Observer, with a picture of Harvey smiling with his partner and the little kid he had rescued, and his own pathetic - thankfully coded - daydreams about the ways in which his path might cross with Harvey’s.

Old Mrs Schmidt across the way might be, not actually burgled because that would be awful, but convinced there was someone loitering. Convinced enough to ring for the police to come and check it out. And Harvey would knock on all the neighbors’ doors and want to look around. And Roger would be away, obviously, and his mom out somewhere for the evening. And for some reason Harvey would end up upstairs in his bedroom, completely unable to restrain himself.

Or perhaps he would see a crime take place, right in the middle of the street, and he would have to sit with Harvey in some little room while he tried to remember the color of the assailant’s eyes, and the brand of his jacket. Harvey would be impressed with his powers of observation, of course, and would reveal that he observed in turn, and had long been looking past the stupid apron that made up his work uniform.

Alternatively, Harvey could come into the shop wanting advice on which flowers would win his girlfriend back - Jim did his best not to think about her, but Harvey bought flowers from them most Saturdays now, and that meant he had to have one - just like most of the other guys who milled around looking at the displays. From there, for reasons Jim was happy to handwave, Harvey would look into his eyes and the rest of the world would melt away until it was just the two of them.

It was kind of terrible, sure, but it wasn’t like he had any real experience to draw on. He had kissed Casey Greer, after Homecoming, but her friends had all been giggling just around the corner, and it didn’t inspire the same kind of breathless excitement he got from simply thinking about doing the same with Harvey.

He wanted to do everything with Harvey.

Roger went back to law school after the holidays and their mom spent the whole night crying. Drank too much, and cried some more, and Jim got back from the first study hall of the new semester to find her passed out on the sofa, empty blister packs strewn all over the coffee table.

He cried later, alone in some deserted stairwell of Gotham General, and Marion accepted his stilted excuses that Saturday and gave him a huge bouquet of flowers to take to his mom’s hospital room.

“You’re such a good boy, Jim,” she said, her voice weak and her hand limp in his own, and that was about the time he started thinking hard about the future because he couldn’t lose her the way he had already lost his father.

He just couldn’t.

“Don’t do this because of me,” she argued when he told her his plans to stick around for another year, “you need to go and live your life.”

He trotted out all his carefully planned counter arguments. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet. Whether to study law like his father and his brother, or try something completely different. It would give him chance to save up, anyway, and then he would be able to concentrate on his studies without needing to work on campus.

Luck was on his side on that one because Jane, the girl who filled his shoes all the rest of the week, announced she was having a baby, and Marion said the job was his when the time came, if he wanted it.

If his fixation on Harvey only intensified after that, well, he needed something positive to focus on.

He wasn’t hurting anyone with it, aside from himself, and it gave him a reason to study the book of flower meanings kept in the back room of the shop and to practice tying elaborate bows and creating balanced color combinations. Harvey looked appreciative of it, when he called in one Saturday at the end of April, and told him happily,

“She’s going to love this.”

The jealousy was overwhelming, all consuming, and his mood was so bad the rest of the week even his mom commented on it. Marion told him to cheer up and that it might never happen, but it already had because his friends were starting to receive their college acceptance letters and he was gearing up for a whole year of having nobody to talk to.

Didn’t even have Roger over the summer because he went to stay with one first one friend and then another, and though Jim’s peers promised to stay in touch and not to forget him, by the beginning of November things were exactly the way he had predicted they would be. He hadn’t heard from anyone in weeks, his phone calls and his letters going unanswered, and so far the highlight of his new working life had been Harvey telling him that he was glad he was choosing the daily grind over college parties, even if it was only for a twelve month.

At least it had been until this very moment, because Harvey’s shirt was so wet it was clinging to him, and his hair - definitely longer than regulation, because Jim had read the handbook - was falling in his face the way it did in all Jim’s favorite fantasies.

“Fuck you?” He repeated, dumbly, just as Harvey noticed the hand he had clamped to the top of his head and said,

“Jesus, Jim, what have you done to yourself?”

He knew his name. Harvey knew his name. Harvey was coming around the side of the counter and petting careful fingers through his hair, raising goosebumps even as it stung and ached where a lump was rapidly forming.

“I’m fine,” he assured, the horrific temptation to swoon into Harvey’s arms playing through his mind, and Harvey nodded to himself and agreed that he hadn’t done any lasting damage.

Jim felt the loss keenly when Harvey stepped away, and did his best to fill the void by rambling about how he could totally put together a bouquet with the message Harvey wanted. Directed Harvey to sit at the stool behind the counter, and put all his accumulated floral knowledge to good use, picking out stems of laurel and yellow carnations.

“It’s really good of you to do this,” Harvey said as he watched on, “I know you were just about to close. I can give you a lift home if you like - if you’ve missed your bus or something.”

Jim frowned at that, confused, and it was probably the lighting but it looked like there was a hint of a blush in Harvey’s cheeks as he explained,

“I’ve seen you about, around Jameson.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“I was, ah, probably visiting a friend,” Jim lied, not about to admit to stalking an officer of the law, “I live over in Midway.” As soon as the words left his lips he wished he could take them back. He would be willing to spend an hour walking home in the rain if it meant he got to be alone in a car with Harvey.

Harvey shrugged and proved all was not lost. “I’ll drop you off there then.”

It was almost seven by the time Jim was locking up for the evening, and Harvey thanked him all over again as he lead the way to his parked car. Jim slid into the passenger seat, heart thumping hard, and thanked him politely for the ride when they pulled up outside his house.

Later, in bed, he imagined a different ending. Harvey hadn’t simply smiled at him and driven off into the night, not alone in the darkness. There he had circled Jim’s wrist with his hand. Had tugged, gently, so that Jim turned back to him and listened as Harvey confessed that he had been thinking about a situation like this for a long time. That he had been thinking about him, about every word they had ever exchanged, and then leaned in close and kissed him.

Touched his face and his neck, and then did stuff that there really wouldn’t have been room for, not outside of Jim’s wish fulfilment.

In the morning he could scarcely believe that any of it had happened, that the whole thing was as fantastical as his made-up continuation, and when Marion asked him if anything interesting had happened while she was out setting up for a wedding the previous day he glanced at the record book and shook his head.

“Nothing in particular.”

The reality was that he could think of nothing else. Went over and over what it could mean, because Harvey hadn’t volunteered the information, and Jim hadn’t wanted to risk rocking the boat by asking. Maybe he had split up with his girlfriend. Maybe he would be looking for a shoulder to cry on.

Maybe Jim should stop being such a lovesick loser, that was what Jim thought after another shift without sight nor sound of the older man, and went home to watch TV with his mom and listen to her well meaning reassurances that she would be fine if he wanted to go out with his friends.

With a girlfriend.

“You can always bring your friends here,” she offered, obviously reading something into his silence, “you know I’m not old fashioned about these things.”

He felt his cheeks flush at that but kept his gaze resolutely on the television and told her that he wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

It was almost true, because Harvey was certainly someone.

Turned up on Wednesday morning, grinning and cheerful, and cooed all over the baby Jane had brought in to visit.

“I love kids,” Harvey told her, sounding sincere, and Jim hoped that didn’t mean he and the girlfriend were back on again.

Felt guilty for it, instantly, and then didn’t really feel much beyond trembling excitement when Harvey turned his full attention on him. Explained to him that the flowers had been for the most hated member of staff at his great aunt’s nursing home and that, furthermore, she was the woman he came in and bought flowers for most Saturday afternoons, right before he went to visit her.

“You can totally say no to this,” Harvey said, like that was ever going to be a likely outcome, “but they want you to go to tea so they can thank you.”

“I don’t mind,” Jim said, entirely too eager, and just like that Harvey was telling him he would pick him up at the end of his shift on Saturday.

The day couldn’t come quick enough, because he didn’t care how the time was going to be spent providing Harvey was there, and because if he didn’t quit daydreaming about it he was liable to end up cutting his own fingers off.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful with those shears?” Marion chided, not long after lunch on Saturday, and Jim was focused for all of about five minutes before falling right back into wistful imaginings. He was a bag of nerves by four o’clock, jittery and restless, and he fussed in the mirror with his hair and the collar of his best button down.

Except half four rolled by with no sign of Harvey, then five, and five fifteen.

“Perhaps he’s forgotten,” Marion soothed, too knowing, and Jim wished the ground would swallow him whole. Wished the day would just be over - and then Harvey was flustering through the door, a dark bruise blossoming on his temple.

“Occupational hazard,” he said, by way of apology, and Jim felt all the disappointment and the crushing sense of rejection slip away as though it had never been there.

He was setting himself up for heartache, he knew that. Harvey was never ever going to look at him in the way he wanted, but he just couldn’t stop hoping. Dreaming. Everything he learned about the guy, every moment he spent in his company, only made him fall harder.

Only made him act like more of an idiot, and he thrust another bunch of flowers at Harvey wordlessly, then stuttered as he tried to explain they were for his aunt. Harvey acted like he was doing fine, like it was all completely normal, and clapped a hand on his shoulder as he lead him into a sunny day room and introduced him to half a dozen little old ladies.

“She loved the flowers,” one of them assured him with a cackle, speaking of their erstwhile activities co-ordinator, and recounted all the terrible things she had subjected them to before taking up a position elsewhere.

“I might be old but I’m not dead,” another said, backing up the horrors of amateur accordion recital nights, and then they all moved on to quizzing him about his non-existent love life.

“I bet you’re a charmer,” he was told, “I bet all the girls are after you.”

“Not really,” he managed, because the only girls who had shown the slightest interest, at least as far as he could see, were two middle schoolers who came in on the weekend to giggle behind their hands and and ask him what his favorite color was.

Great Aunt Pat, clearly the Queen of her domain, saw he was getting uncomfortable, and channelled the whole topic over to Harvey, Jim nibbling politely at a cookie and watching the back and forth with interest.

“And what about you? What happened to that nice girl you were courting?”

“Which one?”

“Do you see what I have to put up with? How am I supposed to see him married and settled when he talks like that?”

“You know I’m only teasing. Me and Natalie wanted different things, that’s all.”

“She was such a nice girl though. A nice Catholic girl. Are you Catholic, Jim?”

Jim startled at that, not expecting to be dragged into the conversation.

“No, M’am,” he offered, shaking his head, and Great Aunt Pat gave him a sympathetic look, as though to say he couldn’t have everything.

“Now don’t go asking him personal questions,” Harvey said, on his behalf.

“He doesn’t mind,” she told him in response, before Jim could a word on the matter, “and don’t keep trying to change the subject. It’s no good for you, all this gallivanting. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“I do now.”

“You’re not so old I won’t put you over my knee though, you mark my words.”

Jim had to stifle a laugh at that, covering it with an impromptu coughing fit, and suddenly he was being fussed and fawned over, and being told he ought to try putting honey in his tea and mixing up a mustard plaster.

“Thanks so much for doing that,” Harvey told him afterwards, so earnest it made Jim’s heart ache, “you have made their year, seriously. They were way too nice about that woman, you know. She was making their life a misery.”

Harvey looked so indignant as he said it, even as a hint of embarrassment crept in, like he knew what people said about guys who were so devoted to their elderly female relatives. Jim thought of his own mom - not that he would call her elderly - and tried to put into words what he figured it actually said about him. How it was good to see, really, and how he could tell how close they were.

“She says she has to keep me on the straight and narrow, now my mom’s not around to do it,” Harvey told him, over casual in an attempt to hide the raw quality in his tone, and Jim wanted so badly to kiss him he scarcely knew what to do with himself. Accepted with no cool whatsoever, when Harvey shook off the tension and asked if he wanted to go grab some dinner, and proceeded to hang on the man’s every word even as he spoke more about himself than he had perhaps ever.

He told Harvey about Roger, and his mom, and hinted vaguely at his reasons for pushing back his decision about college. About his dad, and the car crash, and Harvey kept it all moving so naturally, was understanding without being cloying, that when they meandered back onto the topic of his aunt’s insistence that he needed to get married, Jim heard himself saying that he wasn’t really into girls.

It was the first time he had ever told anyone. Because people had suspected, and people had made assumptions, but nobody had ever heard it from his own lips. It was frightening, liberating, and Harvey just nodded a little in acknowledgement, carried on eating, and said,

“Don’t tell her that, for God’s sake. She won’t quit until we’re pledging forever. Though,” he gestured with a fry, “you did say you weren’t Catholic. So you might be spared the talk of how I could be molded into a decent husband if someone were to try hard enough.”

Some of the shock must have shown on his face. The surprise and the utter disbelief at where Harvey had gone with the admission. Harvey misunderstood it, must have, because he took a swig of his drink and assured,

“I’m just joking, I swear.”

That was what Jim had been afraid of.

It didn’t take any of the shine off though, not really, because he had been to dinner with Harvey, and met his family, and he had friends who had been dating for months without managing to check off either of those milestones. He had his foot in the door, basically, and maybe he could convince Harvey to see him as something more than the idiot kid who had helped him out that one time.

He worked on it anyway, though Marion fixed him with a speculative look, and his heart pounded with nerves when he asked Harvey what he was doing that evening.

“A bunch of us are going to Nebula,” Harvey told him, referring to a club in town that Jim had never managed to get in the previous year, and hadn’t bothered since on account of having nobody to go with. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe,” Jim allowed and immediately started plotting because Saturday nights were 18+ and there was absolutely no reason for the bouncers to turn him away from the door this time around.

His mom watched him iron his shirt curiously later that afternoon, and asked him too casual questions about where he was going, and who he intended to go there with.

“Somebody from work,” Jim said, feeling guilty for his vagueness, even as he tried not to think about how stupid he would feel if Harvey never showed and he didn’t see anybody else he knew there.

He went anyway, couldn’t help himself, and there were a couple of girls he had known from school who acted like they had been bosom buddies instead of distant acquaintances. The one ruffled his hair - disrupting the style he had spent ten minutes perfecting - and the other laughed to their group of friends and told them all that everyone had wanted Jim at school.

They hadn’t. Had kept it to themselves at the very least, and if the alternative wasn’t looking like the stalker he was Jim would have escaped the very first moment he could. As it was he made awkward small talk, and out of uncomfortable desperation agreed when somebody claimed they could get served without any problem. He drank it too quick, and followed it with another. Felt strange and slow, and then felt like his heart stuttered and restarted, because he looked up and saw a familiar shock of red hair.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, how to act normally, and when another bottle was pushed into his hand he swigged from it eagerly and let himself be dragged onto the dance floor. It was kind of fun, more fun than he would have imagined, and perhaps it was the drink talking, but he wouldn’t mind doing it again maybe. Said as much - yelled over the music - and the girl opposite him just nodded and smiled and gave him a thumbs up when he told her he would be back in a minute.

The nerves were dampened down just enough to make it possible, just enough for him to actually go through with it, but when he loitered around the seating area Harvey and his friends - colleagues? - had sequestered, the older man smiled and introduced him. Budged up enough for him to sit, and Jim did his best to commit it all to memory, the press of Harvey’s thigh against his own and the smell of the cologne Jim would be almost willing to drown in.

“It’s like being a kid again in here,” the guy sat on his other side complained, loudly, and Harvey leaned in close to his ear to tell him to ignore it. That he should enjoy it while he was young, before the only reason he went to a club like this was to make a colleague feel glad they had grown out of it, and Jim just nodded dumbly. Accepted drinks he shouldn’t have and stuck to Harvey like a shadow. Ended up leaning against a wall outside while his head spun and Harvey smoked a cigarette.

“You going to be all right getting home?” Harvey asked him - because he was a nice guy and not because his drunken prattling hadn’t been driving him around the twist, Jim thought. He nodded, though he wasn’t at all certain, and one day Harvey was going to make a good detective because he eyed him up critically and said, “We’re going on to Courtyard. I can get you in but you can’t drink anything.”

It was a no brainer.

Because spending more time with Harvey was his number one goal in life, and because back at school none of them had ever once tried to get into Courtyard, lest word get out that they were interested in any of the things that went on there. Jim tried not to stare when it was actually happening in front of him, and flushed up anyway, the heat burning down the back of his neck at the sight of two guys kissing each other on the dance floor.

“I got you a coke,” Harvey said, handing it over, and Jim wished it was another bottle of dutch courage. It had to mean something, didn’t it? Why else would Harvey invite him along to a gay bar? But Harvey was busy joking and laughing with some pretty woman with blonde hair and smoky eye make-up, so he nursed his coke in a corner feeling hard done by.

Looking a mess, he supposed, hair dishevelled and eyes glassy, but another guy sidled up to him all the same to ask why he was sat alone and looking miserable.

“Did you fall out with your boyfriend?” He asked, and Jim couldn’t help but think that he was good looking. Dark hair and dark eyes, and probably not more than a handful of years older than him.

“I haven’t got a boyfriend,” he said, truthfully, and the guy was just shifting in closer when Harvey appeared from nowhere to sit beside him. To wrap an arm around his shoulders, and to press a kiss into his hair that made Jim’s breath catch.

“It’s like that, is it?” The other guy asked, reminding Jim that he had actually been talking to someone, but the look Harvey gave him was enough to have him stalking off without any further discussion on the subject.

“He’s bad news,” Harvey said, making no move to pull away from him. “You ought to steer clear of guys like him.”

Jim just tilted his head up to look at him, and wondered if perhaps Harvey wasn’t a little drunk himself. His eyes looked dark in the dim light of the club, and Jim could see that his cheeks were flushed this close up.

“Why?” He heard himself ask, breath coming shallow at the proximity, and Harvey finally shifted away to reach for his drink.

“You deserve better, Jim. Trust me.”

Jim played the words over and over in his head the next day, grinning stupidly even with the pounding in his head from the hangover and the dehydration. He spent hours planning what he would say the next time he saw Harvey. How he would word the suggestion that they go watch a movie, or hang out, or something else that wouldn’t make him sound like an infatuated idiot.

But when Harvey came into the store that Thursday, he wouldn’t meet his eye. Let his partner do the talking, and hand out the leaflets, and left without saying a single word to him.

It cut like something physical. Left him feeling sick and wretched, and he had to go and splash cold water on his face in the restroom and try to work out why Harvey had wanted nothing to do with him. What he had said to insult him. What he had done to ruin the easy connection he knew he had felt between them.

“Jim?” Marion called, rapping at the door, and he sucked in a shaky breath and went to go and face the music. To pretend that everything was fine, that he didn’t feel like bursting into tears, but she had flipped the sign in the window to closed, and was holding out some horrible plant tea he knew from experience he was going to be expected to dutifully sip at.

“I don’t want to interfere,” she started, which didn’t sound like her at all, “but just hear me out for a minute. Maybe it’s better this way. Before you do something you end up regretting.”

Jim thought of protesting. Of claiming that he had no idea what she was referring to. Instead he just stared into the ugly color of the tea and let her voice wash over him as she said,

“This is all my fault. I should have told him to back off but you liked him, and you needed cheering up, and I never thought he would actually try anything.”

He did look up at that, sharp and startled, but she just kept talking.

“Don’t try to deny it. Jane told me he was all over you on Saturday night. You’re not even old enough to be in there, Jim.”

“It wasn’t like that. I don’t even know if he likes me.”

Marion snorted. Softened when she saw the sincerity in his face, and sighed deeply. “Oh, Jim. See, this is why he should know better. What you need is to find a nice guy your own age.”

“I don’t want a nice guy my own age,” Jim ground out in response, the anger building, but Marion only went and flipped the sign and sent him off into the back room to fume to his heart’s content. To crash and bang, and finally sit with his head buried in his arms and wait until he could go home to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

Except there his mom wanted to know what was wrong. Looked so concerned and so worried that he had to put on a false smile and pretend that he was just tired. That it had just been a long day. He took a shower so she wouldn’t be able to hear him crying, and crawled into bed wrung out and exhausted, glad that at least Roger wasn’t home to make fun of him.

Roger did come home a couple of weeks later, for once planning to spend the full holiday break with them, and he picked up immediately on Jim’s moping. Guessed too accurately at its reason, and made endless snide little comments, so that Jim felt constantly stressed and on edge, bracing himself for the moment his mom put two and two together.

“Don’t tease your brother,” she said finally, almost a week in, “if he doesn’t want to date he doesn’t have to.”

Roger sniggered, but shut up, and later even invited him along to a house party he was going to. His mom cajoled him into going, telling him he needed cheering up, and Jim thought again of the embarrassment of having his boss give him a pep talk on his love life. Of Harvey deliberately not talking to him, day after day, and how sick and tired he was of trying to be mature and sensible when all he really wanted was to scream about how unfair it was.

So he went, and he drank, and when the next door neighbors called the police he did his best not to curl into a ball and die. Because of course it was Harvey who responded to the call, and of course Roger elbowed him hard in the ribs and said too loudly,

“Look, it’s the cop you followed home that time.”

Harvey ignored the comment, at least. Dealt with the host and told them all the party was over, and Jim thought he was going to escape the encounter without further injury when Harvey walked straight over to him. Asked if he was doing okay, and Jim just frowned at him because why did he even care?

“You just - you look unhappy,” Harvey said, so quiet he had to strain to hear it, and the frustration that bubbled through him in response threatened to take his breath away.

“I wonder why that could be,” he snapped, then forced himself to calm down a little. He had imagined this moment over the last few weeks. Had dreamed up cutting speeches in his head. Haughty witticisms that would show Harvey what a mistake he had made. Instead his words were just as quiet as Harvey’s, and just as stilted. “It just sucks, I guess, being ignored by someone you thought was a friend.”

Harvey said nothing to that. Simply held his gaze for a long moment, and then seemed to come to a decision.

“Do you want me to give you a lift home?”

“I’m here with my brother.”

“It’s all right, there’s room for both of you.”

He had never ridden in a cop car before, and kind of hoped he wouldn’t have to again. At least not behind the meshing. Roger was mercifully quiet for once, and even said thanks when they reached their destination.

“All the neighbors will think I’ve been leading him astray,” Roger said, referring to old Mrs Schmidt who was already curtain twitching at the living room window, and Jim didn’t say a word.

There was nothing left to say anyway.

Except it was Roger who knocked on his bedroom door a couple of hours later. Roger who made him shift his legs so he could sit on Jim’s bed, and Roger who did the last thing Jim would have expected and gave him a sincere apology.

“I never realized you were serious. I wouldn’t have been such a dick to you about it, if I had. You don’t have to believe me but I want you to know that.”

“Are you going to tell mom?” Jim asked in turn, hating how small his voice sounded. Roger only slouched more comfortably against the wall and rolled his eyes.

“She already knows, Jim. Why do you think I’m in here saying sorry to you?”

That made sense, Jim supposed. It certainly felt humiliating enough.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Mom doesn’t care.”

“Maybe I care.”

Roger kind of deflated at that. Reached for him with one arm and hauled him into an awkward hug, the way he had used to do in the months after the car crash and they had both relied on each other. Jim resisted for a moment before going with it. Ended up talking it through more honestly than he had been with Roger for five years or more.

“I can’t believe you broke the law to go to a club with him,” Roger laughed, when Jim recounted the last few weeks to him, “Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes himself and a cop. I’m not trying to be horrible, but you’ve got to admit it’s funny.”

Jim glared. Broke down into laughter anyway, and accepted Roger’s opinion that it wasn’t any great surprise Harvey had freaked out on him. The evening events he had been helping to steward in his scout uniform probably hadn’t been a great boost to his cause.

“I’m coming back to Gotham after graduation,” Roger told him finally, “I’ve got a placement at dad’s old law firm. Mom said - well, mom told me how things were in January. I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, but you’re not on your own, yeah? If you want to go study in San Francisco or something, I’m gonna be here for her.”

“San Francisco?”

“Or something.”

Jim snorted, lost to the surreality of the whole conversation, and when it filtered back to him in the morning he felt more positive than he had in months. His mom hugged him in the kitchen when he went downstairs for breakfast, just for a moment, and he nodded in acknowledgement of what she was trying to tell him.

Alex rang him after lunch, to tell him that he was home for the holidays, and Jim met up with a whole group of schoolfriends so that he felt almost the way he had used to. He had friends, he had people who cared enough to ask him what he had been doing, and how things were going. They loitered around their old haunts, the shopping mall and the arcade, and they all piled into a fast food restaurant where he all but walked right into the table Harvey and his partner were sat at, eating dinner in their uniforms.

“Sorry,” he offered, torn between elation and misery at the chance encounter, and Harvey fixed him with a look he couldn’t interpret. Spoke too loud and too false when he did open his mouth, and said that he’d see him at the flower shop, doubtless, before Christmas.

Jim spent too long twisting the words around and around in his head, pathetically trying to ascribe some hidden meaning to them. It got him nowhere, gave him nothing but heartache, and still he fussed about in the backroom come Monday, putting together a bouquet Harvey could give his aunt on his behalf.

Harvey didn’t show, for all his implied promise, and Jim determined to deliver them himself when his final shift finished before Christmas. The nursing home wasn’t much out of his way, and the receptionist recognized him as soon as he walked through the door. She assumed he wanted to actually visit and somehow he didn’t have the heart to say no, though the place smelled strange and he scarcely knew the woman.

It didn’t seem to matter, not if the way she greeted him was anything to go by, and he sat where he was told while she cooed over the flowers he had brought with him.

“I just wanted to,” he shrugged in response to her questioning why he had bothered, not having a better answer, and she smiled at him, following his gaze around her chintzy room, alighting on the endless framed photographs. There were black and white wedding shots and soldiers with smiles. School photos, dozens of them, including one of Harvey with long hair and a blazer.

There were more of him, with his mother - had to be - and looking smart in his cap and patrol uniform.

“Is Harvey meeting you here?” She asked him then, and he shook his head, feeling heat prickle along the back of his neck with embarrassment. They weren’t friends. Weren’t anything to each other. But Harvey’s aunt was just patting at his hand and saying, “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m glad he’s found someone with a good heart.”

“It’s not like that,” Jim stuttered out, mortified, but all he got in response was an offer of another cookie and a dismissive assurance that she was in touch with the modern world.

She made him promise to visit again before he left, preferably with Harvey in tow, and Jim felt like his cheeks were still burning even hours later. Harvey was going to be so angry with him. Would never speak to him again, probably, and maybe that meant things wouldn’t be any different to the current status quo.

He did his best not to think about it. Went out the following day to finish his last minute Christmas shopping, because perhaps Roger deserved a gift he had put actual effort into choosing, and when he got back it was to find a Christmas card addressed to him waiting on the doormat. It was a pretty snowscape, the kind he had stared at for hours as a kid, fascinated, and Harvey had written that he hoped he had a wonderful Christmas and a very happy new year.

Perhaps he hadn’t seen his aunt yet.

Maybe he just wanted to play mind games.

Jim couldn’t work it out, but he stashed the card away in his diary all the same. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he was never going to part with it.

Roger went back to college after New Year, along with the friends Jim had been spending all his free time with. It was back to normal, he figured, except there were some changes he couldn’t take back. His mom asked him if there wasn’t a boyfriend he wanted to bring home, and he stopped measuring each day by the likelihood of capturing a glimpse of Harvey.

He couldn’t bear to see him.

It was only fitting that Harvey turned up regardless, loitering awkwardly in front of the display shelf until Marion got the hint and gave some spurious excuse for needing to disappear into the back room.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Harvey said, wasting no time, and Jim hated himself for the way his stomach flipped over in excitement even as he pointed out,

“I’m at work. You’re supposed to be on duty.”

“Yeah, not now. Later. We could get dinner maybe?”

He shouldn’t do it, Jim knew that. When he was depressed and heartbroken he was only going to have himself to blame.

“Okay,” he said, anyway, and counted down the minutes until Harvey put in a reappearance. He was on time, dressed down in jeans and a plaid shirt layered over a t-shirt, and Jim tried and failed not to be so very obvious about how appreciative he was.

He hung up his apron and raked a hand through his hair. Cast a critical eye over his own rumpled shirt and pants, and gave it up as a bad job. It would have to do, no matter where they were going. It turned out to be a diner a couple of blocks away, well worn and kind of homey, and once they had placed their order Jim couldn’t hold back the nerves any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, desperate to get it over with, “I tried to explain but your aunt got the wrong end of the stick.”

Harvey tensed up. Hunched his shoulders a bit and focused too intently on the coffee cup in front of him.

“It’s my fault, really. I couldn’t stop talking about you.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at that, confused, and Harvey sighed deeply.

“You’ve got a mirror, Jim. Who wouldn’t fall for you?”

He was asleep, had to be. Daydreaming in the middle of his shift, or else caught in some kind of fever dream. He pinched his leg, hard, and the scene didn’t fall away. He was still sat there, gaping like an idiot while Harvey started offering up an apology. Telling him that he’d understand if he just wanted to go home, and he could give him the money for a taxi if he didn’t want to be alone with him, and a whole barrage of stuff that really couldn’t be further away from what Jim wanted to come out of this confession.

And maybe he didn’t go about it in the best way. Maybe he ought to have thought more about the consequences. But one moment Harvey was promising to keep his distance and the next Jim was on his feet, hands braced on the small table between them so he could lean over enough to press their lips together.

People stared, conversation stalled, but Harvey smiled at him so widely when he pulled away that Jim didn’t care. Ate his food when it arrived like he was floating on air, and countered every one of Harvey’s reasons why this would be a terrible idea with a reason why it would be the most epic thing to ever happen to either one of them.

“Epic, huh?” Harvey smirked, and Jim couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when Harvey had just admitted to coming into the shop week after week for the sole purpose of catching a glimpse of him.

“Totally,” he assured, and out in the car he got to live out when of his most dear fantasies, Harvey kissing him until he was overwhelmed and breathless. Until he was trembling, just a little, his head fuzzy with how much more he wanted.

That was when Harvey kissed his cheek, chaste, and said goodnight, the smile on his face suggesting that he knew exactly how affected Jim was.

“We’re gonna take this slow, yeah?” Harvey told him, and Jim was sure he would appreciate it. When he had calmed down a little.

Because Harvey insisted that he meet Jim’s mother, and that they didn’t lie about what they were doing. Was covering his ass in Roger’s informed opinion, which softened to taking sensible precautions when he remembered he was attempting to be a decent human being these days. Jim didn’t let it get to him. Took the lack of outrage as a win, and fought not to get choked up and emotional when his mom made a point of telling him that she was happy for him, and that whatever he chose to do with his life was fine by her.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” he told her in turn, the usual worries churned up by the statement. He had thought about the army some, back in school, but that was before he had spent so many hours working on funeral wreaths, and lying his way into gay clubs. These days it didn’t seem like such an obvious option.

His mom only patted his back and spoke with the kind of honesty he had once believed would never exist between them.

“You’ve got plenty of time to make your mind up.”

He did, he supposed, because Jane told Marion she wasn’t interested in taking her old job back, and it wasn’t like anything he might want to do was time sensitive. He finished his Assistant Scoutmaster training and started business classes at night school. Listened to Harvey talk about his days at police academy and filed it away for future consideration.

In the meantime life was good, life was really kind of awesome, and he got to go from dreaming about having somebody to share it with to actually living it.

Harvey was true to his word about taking things slow. Took him on dates to the movies, and to ball games, and even to the picnic grounds out at the lake, though it was just as cold and overcast as it always was in Gotham. There was nobody else there, at any rate, and Jim made the most of it by kissing him with more tongue than was ever going to be readily acceptable in public. He couldn’t help himself, felt like he had spent months constantly worked up and frustrated, and when he suggested that they go back to Harvey’s place before the rain started falling Harvey didn’t even put up a token objection.

Kept looking over at him on the drive back with dark eyes, the tension ramping up and up around them, and they ended up making out on Harvey’s beat up sofa with more purpose than Jim had ever been party to. He was freaking out a little, frantically excited anyway, and Harvey simply pushed everything to the next level by dropping his head to suck at Jim’s throat and tell him brokenly that he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. That Jim was interested, that Jim wanted this, and Jim panted and clawed at his shoulders, coming from nothing more than the pressure of Harvey’s thigh between his legs and the heat of his mouth on his skin.

It was shameful, embarrassing, but Harvey only kissed him all over again and stroked at his face as he told him how crazy hot him losing control of himself was. He had an idea, maybe, based on the hardness his fingers found when he dared to brush them over the front of Harvey’s jeans. He opened his mouth to apologize when Harvey grabbed hold of his wrist, afraid he had gone too far, but Harvey only kissed the spot beneath his ear and claimed that if he kept that up he would be liable to follow Jim’s example.

That sounded like the best thing ever. Like it was something he had to witness, as soon as possible, and he didn’t manage to get Harvey’s fly undone before there were hands tangled in his hair and Harvey was groaning out a litany of ‘oh God’s and ‘fuck, Jim’s. Harvey took over then, shucked off his jeans and looked at him wide eyed and a little wonder struck when Jim tentatively touched him. It was different to touching himself - the angle a little awkward, the effect infinitely more exciting. So exciting that he could feel himself responding all over again, and when his free hand wandered to help things along Harvey simply shifted their positions, until he was sat back against the sofa cushions, and Harvey was nudging his thighs a little wider apart and sliding down to settle on the floor between them.

“You don’t have to,” Jim said, voice not quite steady, because that was what the nice guys said in the romance novels Marion left about the shop, and not because he didn’t want it more than he had ever wanted anything.

“If you get any more perfect it’s going to kill me,” Harvey murmured, earnest, and just set about peeling him out of the clothes he was wearing. Kissing at his chest, and his stomach, and the crease of his thigh, so that Jim shook all over in anticipation.

He had never done anything like this before, had confessed as much right at the beginning, and he didn’t know if his reaction was normal or not, biting down hard at his lip to stifle the helpless whimpers wanting to escape him. Harvey’s breath was too hot, his gaze too intense. His hair made Jim arch his back, where it brushed against his oversensitized flesh, and when Harvey gripped one of his hands in his own Jim clung tight to it like a lifeline.

He was going to drown without it. Get swept away in the tidal wave of sensation and lose himself completely. Because Harvey was pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, then another, and still another. His mouth was right there, hot and wet and like nothing Jim had ever imagined, and he threw his head back, crying out with it.

Harvey squeezed his hand. Splayed the other over Jim’s abdomen, as arousing as it was soothing, and did something with his tongue that had Jim arching and twisting. Gasping out incoherently, too far gone to manage a warning, and then Harvey was swallowing around him, dragging it out until Jim was a total mess, trembling and twitching.

He curled his fingers in Harvey’s hair when he collapsed to sit beside him. Kissed him, slick and wet, and shivered all over when Harvey tensed up and came over his own fingers.

“I really wasn’t plotting to get into your pants today,” Harvey told him later, arms wrapped around him in a way Jim figured he was never going to tire of. Jim settled for shrugging, just a little, and tilting his head enough to grin at him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve been plotting to get into yours since the day I met you.”

For once, Harvey didn’t even have a comeback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	151. First Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _Gordlock + First Anniversary._

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Harvey -”

“Don’t ‘Harvey’ me. I’ve been punched in the face. Shot at. I’ve had to crawl through some goddamned alley. This is my nice suit, Jim. You know what a bitch blood is to get out.”

“It wasn’t like I planned it.”

Harvey turned on him at that. Jabbed a finger into his chest and warned him not to play the victim.

“You knew I was going to make those dinner reservations. You sat here and listened to me say it. Don’t go pretending that you didn’t arrange to meet your informant there. You just couldn’t switch it off for one damn night, could you? You got to play at being supercop 24/7, don’t you?”

Jim looked away at that, guilt settling over his handsome features, and Harvey cursed himself for a fool even as his own irritation began to drain away. Even as it was replaced with something soft and sweet and entirely too likely to result in him crooning sentimental nonsense into Jim’s ear.

“Come here,” he sighed, wrapping his arms about Jim when the other man went willingly. He pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple. Soothed his fingers over the bruise already blossoming along Jim’s jawline. Gently tipped Jim’s chin up and gazed into the big blue eyes he had too often wondered if it was possible to completely lose himself in.

“I am sorry,” Jim croaked out finally, so sincere it made his teeth ache - either that or the lingering effects of getting a fist to the mouth - then added, “I didn’t mean to ruin our anniversary.”

That was always going to be game over, as far as his willpower was concerned, because how he was supposed to be annoyed at Jim when he remembered that this stupid, beautiful idiot had agreed to share his life with him? Had signed up to be his partner for always, in everything, and was standing there right this moment, maybe thinking that he had made the wrong decision.

“It wasn’t like I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for,” he said, the words ill-tempered but his tone soft, and he had to kiss Jim just to make sure he understood all was forgiven.

Jim kissed him back, hands wandering like he didn’t care about the dirt and the damp clinging to his jacket, or the way his own bust up lip had to be stinging.

“I love you,” Jim whispered when he pulled back, the tilt of his jaw a touch defiant, as though challenging him to question it.

Harvey just stroked his thumb over Jim’s cheekbone. Bumped their noses together, breathing in the scent of Jim’s cologne and his soap, and told him the unadorned truth.

“I love you too. I just wish you’d stop trying to get us both killed. Just on special occasions.”

“I could try making it up to you,” Jim suggested, color licking across his face, and Harvey didn’t bother trying to fight the dumb grin the sight inspired.

Hooked his fingers under the knot of Jim’s tie and tugged lightly, taking a step back towards the bedroom.

“I never much liked the food at that place anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	152. Chapter 152

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody asked me to write Jim's POV of [Half a World Away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/24631512), so I combined it with another ask I received: _I just read your[kidfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22381166) with Jim getting custody of baby Babs, and it's crying out for a sequel with more gordlock, pretty please? <3_

Harvey loved him. Harvey had kissed him. Harvey was about to get on a plane and disappear to the other side of the world.

Chances were that he might never come back again.

Jim didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it. Why Harvey had had to complicate everything with love confessions, gazing at him like somehow he had all the answers.

Like he was going to beg Harvey not to go.

As though he was going to be able to be the man Harvey wanted him to be.

He wasn’t. Not now, not ever. He loved Lee, was going to marry Lee - just as soon as she agreed to it - and if Harvey thought that Jim was going to throw all that away on some mad idea of something that could never work, he was sorely mistaken.

That was what Jim told himself as he drained drink after drink, trying and failing not to look at the face of his wristwatch roughly every three minutes or so. Harvey would be at the check-in desk. The departures lounge. Boarding the plane and taking his seat. Leaving Jim alone in the hell hole that was Gotham, though he had promised he would be there for him.

Always.

He staggered home eventually, back to his lonely apartment, and he didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Just collapsed on the couch instead and thought of the last time Harvey had stayed the night, his features soft in sleep when Jim had gone to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Harvey must have loved him then. Must have been sat there, listening to Jim go on and on about his relationship with Lee, resigning himself to the fact that he was never going to get what he most wanted.

It was disturbing.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He dreamed about it anyway; Harvey’s thigh pressed against his own and Harvey’s hand on his shoulder. Harvey telling him that he was his best friend, the best partner a guy who could ask for, right before he turned around and tried to press a kiss to his mouth.

Jim decked him. Bust Harvey’s nose up bad, blood smearing hot against his fist, and when he opened his eyes it took a long moment to realize that it wasn’t real, and that it wasn’t blood but tears drying on his face.

The new Captain looked at him like she could tell when he hauled himself into the precinct. Called him into her - Harvey’s - office and told him bluntly that she run a tight ship. That his reputation preceded him and she had absolutely no intention of giving him the kind of free reign he was used to.

“Bullock knew I could be trusted to get the job done,” Jim protested, wishing that the hangover wasn’t pounding quite so intently in his skull, and Dalton just raised one groomed eyebrow. Leaned back in her chair, like she wanted him to see who was boss, and said simply,

“Bullock was a good cop, but even good cops have their blind spots.”

Jim fumed at his desk. Worked himself up into a fit of temper at the idea that everyone else knew, everyone else had seen, while he had never once suspected that Harvey wanted more from him than friendship.

Except that wasn’t really true, and he knew it. Was forced to concede it, slowly but surely, because everything was different with Harvey gone, and he had never particularly considered how reliant he was on Harvey to modulate his mood. To lift his spirits with a stupid joke when he was down, or to get in his face and soak up his rage when he would have rushed into a situation head first.

When he wanted to scream and kick, and took it all out on his partner instead because it was easier than admitting that maybe he was wrong about something.

Harvey sent him a postcard, less than two weeks in, and Jim stared at it until his vision blurred although the scene was generic and the greeting a platitude. ‘Am settling in well,’ Harvey had written, the familiar flow of his hand making Jim’s heart clench in his chest, ‘it’s good to be with family. I hope Gotham is not too crazy.’ There was more but it was blotted out too completely to make out.

He wouldn’t have written it, Jim was sure. He hoped not, at any rate. It would make it too real - too inescapable - to see it in print. Harvey’s feelings would fade now they were on opposite sides of the planet. In a few weeks he wouldn’t want to write. In a few months he wouldn’t even remember.

Loving Jim Gordon was a stupid thing to do. Harvey had to know that better than anyone.

Jim stashed the postcard in a draw and determined not to dwell on it.

Walked past a rack of tourist tat on the main high street then doubled back, handing over some loose change and printing out a quick ‘not as scenic but I still wish you were here instead of there’. He mailed the thing before he could think better of it, and that night he got drunk on Harvey’s favorite brand of beer and imagined what the older man might be doing at that moment.

Whether he had told his family about the walking contagion he had been willing to take on wholesale, and how far they had got in convincing him that he was better off without him.

Harvey was, Jim didn’t doubt it. He was a sickness, a virus, and Harvey’s apartment hadn’t even been re-let when Lee told him gently that it wasn’t working. That it was never going to work, not the way she wanted it to, and he threw the engagement ring he had bought from the roof of his apartment building, though Harvey would have said it was an awful waste of money.

After that his life only seemed to go from bad to worse, because Penguin was attempting to rise from the ashes yet again, and the opponents vying with him for power were not afraid to use fear to claw their way up the ladder. Jim’s caseload was growing by the hour, his shoulders bowing under the pressure, and lack of sleep made his reaction times slow enough that he was beaten unconscious and left in an alleyway - his gun and his badge spirited away into the bargain.

Nobody visited him in hospital because there wasn’t anyone he was close enough to. He had no family in Gotham, and no real friends. His colleagues blamed him for Harvey taking early retirement and saddling them with Dalton’s work ethic, and the split with Lee was still too raw for social niceties.

It really hit him in the early hours of the morning, the pain all consuming and the loneliness cutting, because the last time he had been stuck in overnight he had simply taken it for granted. Had woken up to find Harvey hunched up in the plastic chair at his bedside, the brim of his hat pulled down to shadow the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

He had tried to keep quiet, hadn’t set out to wake him, but Harvey was alert and fussing from the moment he attempted moving. Helped him sip water through a straw, and stroked his hair back from his forehead so it didn’t irritate him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harvey had assured him, when he was fighting the pull of sleep, and in the present Jim stared at the empty chair and swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat.

It still hurt when he reported for duty two days later, his ribs bound and his heart heavy.

“Do you want to live to see 40?” Dalton asked him, conversationally, and Jim didn’t know what she saw on his face, but he found himself stuck on desk duty until further notice. He railed against it, argued about it, and wished he could channel the rookie detective who had simply walked rather than be dictated to.

He needed the job though. Had no idea anymore who or what he was without it, and when he got home to find another postcard from Harvey he put a fist through his bathroom mirror because he couldn’t stand the sight of the man staring back at him.

Harvey kept sending them, oblivious, because he didn’t answer, but he didn’t dispose of them either. He collected them, needed them, and on the rare occasions when he did sleep, he liked to have close by. They were proof that he mattered to someone.

Proof that it hadn’t been a figment of his imagination.

Harvey had loved him. Had kissed him. Had been willing to risk everything just to let him know how much he meant to him.

If it were happening now he would have reacted differently, that was what Jim thought when the six month mark passed. He wouldn’t have let Harvey go. He wouldn’t have been such an idiot.

He would give anything for Harvey to abandon the life he was building to come back to Gotham.

To come back to him.

Because he barked a terse acknowledgement into his cellphone, expecting an update from ballistics, and instead got the partner at his brother’s law firm, voice cracking as he told him that there had been an accident.

Lee watched the color drain from his face. Saved him from himself by refusing to take no for an answer, and went out with him for the funerals, the pity on her face still easier to deal with than the renewed nightmares and the blind panic he felt when he opened the envelope Roger had left for him. They didn’t - hadn’t - got on. They had never been particularly close, not even as children.

Roger wrote that he was the only family he had, all the same, and that if he was reading the letter something terrible must have happened.

‘We’re not friends, Jim, perhaps we never will be. But I know you’ll do the right thing and I respect you for that. I know that you’ll do everything you can not to let history repeat itself.”

Jim stared at the sleeping baby he had just been granted sole custody of and wondered what the hell Roger had been smoking. He wasn’t fit to look after himself, let alone a child. He was messed up and beyond saving, and he was his mother’s son in almost every way - distant and defiant and incapable of sharing the load with anyone.

He was going to have to try, that was the conclusion he came to, because although he considered other options he quickly realized that he couldn’t go through with it. Roger had trusted him with the responsibility, and there was nothing left to do but get on with things. To wrap up Roger’s affairs, burying it all under the need to be focused and purposeful, and to make arrangements with his landlord and the precinct because his current apartment building was no place for a kid.

He still hadn’t gotten around to digging the bullets out of the wall from Victor Zsasz’ last visit.

Lee drew up a list of things he was going to need. Must have spread the word far and wide, and colleagues he would have said would pay to dance on his grave turned up to help him fix up a nursery, and donate outgrown baby clothes.

“You called Bullock back yet?” Alvarez asked him, putting the flatpack crib together with a practised hand, “I’m sick of getting messages about you.”

His gut twisted at that, the fraying thread of his composure threatening to snap at any moment, and maybe Alvarez had gotten to know him better than he had thought in the months since they had been partnered. Maybe he just wasn’t as sloppy a detective as Jim generally accused him of being.

“Look, I don’t know what went down between you two, but maybe it’s time to swallow your pride. Life is too short, you know that.”

He did. He couldn’t escape it, his whole world had just been turned upside down because of it, and still he only typed and retyped the same basic message without ever pressing send. What did he expect the response to be? Harvey was getting his own life together. Was busy, and happy, and he had sent him a postcard recently that said he had even been speed dating.

It was too late, Jim conceded. He had waited too long, acted too stubborn, and it was only now that Harvey had given up and moved on that Jim understood why he had orchestrated so many evenings to end with him crashing at Harvey’s apartment. Why he had always been so invested in Harvey’s praise, and Harvey’s attention, and why he felt awkward and restless whenever Harvey wore his glasses, or had to rake back his hair away from his face.

He was repressed and emotionally stunted, Barbara had said that to him once, and he had no reason to disbelieve it. When he did act on instinct it ended in disaster, and even if he were to uproot Barbara yet again and go to Harvey, Jim had zero faith in his ability not to ruin it all before it really started.

Harvey deserved better. Didn’t need to be saddled with him and a baby into the bargain, so he settled for tacking every postcard Harvey had sent him to his new living room wall, desperate to feel some kind of connection to him. He received another, forwarded from his old address, and Jim had to fight for composure.

Lost it later that night, completely and utterly, because Barbara just wouldn’t stop screaming, and he broke down, the enormity of it all finally dawning on him. Roger was gone and he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept more than three hours together. It felt like he was drowning, suffocating, because he couldn’t cope, and the only person he could have brought himself to talk to about it was thousands of miles away.

Barbara cried herself out, eventually, and he ended up committing all his maudlin thoughts to paper. Told Harvey that he hoped he was happy, that he hoped it was everything he had imagined it would be, and didn’t hold back when he admitted how desperately he was missing him. He mailed it on the way to the childminder’s in the morning, before he could chicken out of it, and spent the next few days in an agony of anticipation, waiting for Harvey to ring him.

To re-establish some point of contact, even if it couldn’t be what Jim really wanted.

Even if Harvey wanted to rant and rave at him first, deservedly.

But the call didn’t come and his inbox stayed empty. He hovered around the mailman, until the guy outright told him to back off, and still didn’t have any response to show for it. Perhaps Harvey was just done with him. Maybe he just didn’t see the point in tearing old wounds open.

Then Harvey’s cousin woke him up in the early hours of the morning to tell him that Harvey was on a flight back to the States, and that he thought Jim might like to know what time he was due in. In case it was relevant information.

Jim could read between the lines. Couldn’t quite contain the anxious thrumming of his heartbeat, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the handles of Barbara’s stroller at the airport, alternating between breathless excitement and stilted fear. Harvey might not want to see him. What if he looked at Harvey and didn’t feel the same things he felt when he thought of him? What if -

He caught sight of the older man, finally, and he needn’t have worried about the latter at least. His stomach flipped over. His heart stuttered in his chest. He flung his arms about Harvey’s neck so desperately he knocked the hat from Harvey’s head, clinging tight like he never wanted to let go again.

Harvey clung to him in turn, the scent and the heat and the solidity of him everything Jim had been wanting, and when Jim reluctantly pulled away Harvey doted on the baby and asked tentative questions about Lee and how he had been dealing with the situation. Jim tried to stay calm and not come on too strong. Concentrated on driving, on keeping his eyes on the road, and not freaking out when Harvey said he intended to stay at some motel or other.

“You’ve got to stay with me - with us,” Jim insisted, checking how Barbara was doing in the rearview mirror, and hoped his relief wasn’t too obvious when Harvey acceded.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he said when Harvey was actually sat in his apartment, the truth wrenched from his lips, “nothing’s been the same without you.”

It was too much, too overwhelming, and when Harvey told him that he had missed him, voice raw and tone sincere, all Jim could offer was a suggestion that they ring out for pizza. Harvey followed his lead. Kept the conversation light and easy, while Jim worked up the courage to address the elephant in the room. He put Barbara to bed first, lingered for a long moment watching her sleep and thinking about how different the life he was living was to the one he had envisioned for himself, and then determined that he was lucky to be alive at all.

He could have died that night his father’s car was totalled. He could have been blown to smithereens out on patrol, or taken down by enemy gunfire. Could have been killed a thousand times over, policing the streets of Gotham, and if he didn’t grasp hold of this second chance with both hands he knew he was going to regret it.

“I’m sorry for sending that letter,” he said, and it was the wrong thing to open with. Harvey looked crushed, disappointed - and maybe that meant it had been absolutely the right thing because it gave Jim the guts to continue, “I’ve been such a coward. You told me how you felt and I did nothing. Lee and I, we broke things off, and I couldn’t pick up the phone to tell you.”

“It’s all right,” Harvey managed, gaze damp and the lilt in his accent more pronounced than ever, “You never owed me anything.”

“It’s not all right! Can’t you see that? I didn’t even have the guts to explain myself to you, but I still wanted you to give up your chance to be happy for me.”

He reached out and touched Harvey’s hand. Shivered when Harvey didn’t pull away. When he reached for him in turn, the fingers of his free hand sliding through the close cropped hair at his nape, gentle pressure bringing their foreheads together the way they had stood on Harvey’s last night in Gotham. The way they had stood so many times, staring deep into the other’s eyes, Jim too dense to understand why the proximity made his pulse race and his skin tingle.

“I can be happy anywhere, Jim,” Harvey whispered, “it’s just easier the closer you are to me.”

Jim had to swallow thickly. Laid his palm against Harvey’s cheek, thumb stroking through the soft rasp of his beard, and forced himself to make sure Harvey understood what he meant by it. What he wanted from this reconciliation.

“I missed you. So much.”

He had to kiss Harvey then. Had to get as close as he could, had to seal the deal, and Harvey just kissed him back so sweetly it made his toes curl. Had him clutching tight at the back of Harvey’s shirt, and making a noise that was just a little embarrassing when Harvey stroked his tongue into his mouth.

“I didn’t understand what I felt for you,” Jim admitted when they broke apart enough for him to speak, the smile refusing to budge in spite of the serious subject matter, “Even when you left, I didn’t understand why it hurt so much. Why I thought about you every second of every day. Then Roger died and it made sense. The idea of you not being there, even on the other side of the world, it terrifies me. I love you, Harvey.”

There it was, all laid out between them, and there was a sickening moment of nerves while he waited for Harvey’s reaction. While he feared Harvey’s rejection. Then Harvey was hugging him so tight he lifted him off the floor. Was so exuberant he spun him in a half circle before putting him down again, the smile on his face wider than Jim had ever seen it.

“You haven’t changed your mind then?” Jim grinned, giddy with it, and Harvey just kissed him all over again.

“Never.”

They ended up lying side by side in his bed, Jim awkward and unsure of the boundaries, with the intention of sleeping off being put through an emotional ringer. He was too aware of Harvey though. Couldn’t think of anything but the fact Harvey was in his bed. For good, potentially. They turned towards each other by degrees, slow but sure, and Jim lost himself to the kiss when it came - the heat of Harvey’s mouth, and the mint of his toothpaste.

It felt so intense in the darkness, intimate and game changing, and his own breathing stuttered when he brushed the backs of his fingers along the erection straining Harvey’s boxer shorts. He had never touched another man before, had worried that he wouldn’t be able to when the time came, but the way Harvey gasped and kissed him harder was so hot that he was eager to feel skin against skin. Harvey moved to kiss his neck when he wrapped his hand around him, grip loose the way he liked to touch himself, and Jim couldn’t help but rock into him for relief, his other hand tangling into Harvey’s hair to hold his head in place.

“Slow down,” Harvey panted when Jim used his thumb to spread the growing slickness, “you’re too good at that.”

The thrill of the older man’s praise sparked along his spine, just the same way it always had done, except this time Jim was free to show his appreciation. Made quiet breathy noises when Harvey returned the favor, kissing his way down his chest and stomach, and had to bite back frantic whimpers when Harvey sucked him, the hands he used to stroke over his thighs and abdomen so reverent it made his heart ache even as he writhed under Harvey’s ministrations.

He stroked Harvey off afterwards. Kissed him wet and fervent through every tremor, and didn’t protest when Harvey pulled him in close and wrapped his arms around him. It should have been too close, too much, but Jim only burrowed in further until he was all but on top of Harvey.

In the morning it took a moment to work out why he was so warm and so comfortable. Why he had slept through until light was filtering through the window blinds, and why the bed was dipping as somebody sat on his mattress.

“Morning,” Harvey said easily, beaming at him, and clambered back under the blanket complete with a baby and a feeding bottle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jim croaked out, running a hand through his dishevelled hair, and Harvey only shrugged.

“It ain’t rocket science.”

It might as well be, that was Jim’s experience of everything from bath time to working out the settings on the nightlight, and he let himself stay where he was for a few minutes, watching as Harvey made the whole process look simple.

“She just likes you better than me,” Jim suggested a couple of days later, as a similar scene played out, “I can’t say I blame her.”

“You just stress too much,” Harvey countered, “and she picks up on it.”

It was true, probably, because his life was one constant manic rush these days, juggling work with childcare. The unexpected overtime with his childminder’s desire for a work life balance. Another gave him the sorry but… speech before Harvey had been back ten days, and Jim scrubbed tiredly at his face even as he braced himself for another evening with the phone book.

“You know I’m not completely incapable, Jim,” Harvey said, even as he fussed over Barbara and got her out of her snowsuit, “I wouldn’t even charge you for it.”

Jim felt the offer like a stab wound to the side. He hadn’t ripped Harvey away from the life he had been building to act as his unpaid housekeeper. To have to pick up after him, and babysit Barbara. He was selfish when it came to Harvey, and he knew it, but he didn’t want Harvey to resent him when he came to his senses.

“It’s okay,” was what he said aloud, “it’ll be better to get her settled somewhere before you come back to the Department anyway.”

“I’m not going back. I can’t.”

Jim blinked at that, startled, because of course Harvey was going to return to the GCPD. He had never even considered an alternative.

“You can,” he said stupidly, “Dalton wouldn’t make things difficult.”

Harvey shook his head. “No, Jim, you don’t understand. I can’t go back, I don’t want to go back. I did it once, for you, but it’ll kill me if I do it again. I’ve got a second chance at life, yeah. I can’t give it all to the job, Jim.”

The silence stretched, broken only by Barbara’s burbling, as Jim tried to get his head around the revelation. Tried to make sense of a world in which Harvey wasn’t going to have his back, no matter how crazy the case or how dangerous. Except Harvey would, he realized belatedly. Harvey was offering him the kind of normality he had given up on ever experiencing.

Harvey was giving him something to come home to each evening. A life beyond duty and responsibility.

He watched the way Harvey gave into Babs’ charm, the worry receding to the edges in favor of smiling and encouraging her, and he heard himself asking,

“Would you really want to do that? Be home with a baby?”

“You make it sound like torture.”

It would be, if he had to do it.

“I like kids,” Harvey shrugged, “I’m good with them. I’ve got my full pension coming in and I want to take things easy. Well,” Barbara punctuated the statement with a sudden screaming fit, “easier.”

“This wasn’t why I wrote to you,” Jim told him, still anxious about the idea. “I never want you to think that.”

Harvey’s expression softened, too knowing as always, and he moved across the room to pull him in close. To let him rest his forehead against Harvey’s stomach, arms coming up to wrap around his middle.

“I’ve got no intention of going anywhere, Jim. Me, you, Babs - we’re family now, yeah? If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth, would I?”

Jim nodded, a little weakly, and hoped that he was making the right decision.

Alvarez agreed with Harvey’s verdict when he found out, telling Jim bluntly, “He’s a big boy. He knows his own mind.”

“I don’t know if I could give this up,” Jim admitted, more open than usual in the quiet of a boring stakeout, meaning the badge and everything that came with it. Alvarez just snapped at his gum, unimpressed, and said,

“A few more months as your partner and I think I’ll see the appeal.”

Harvey seemed genuinely happy, at least. He was fawned over at mother and toddler meetings, and turned to for advice on everything from teething to home security. He was more secure than Jim ever remembered him being, less reliant on bluff and bluster though his mouth remained just as colorful, and he was succeeding in staying off both the hard liquor and the cigarettes.

Instead Jim took to meeting him for lunch at one of the diners near the precinct, a couple of times a week, watching on with a doting sense of pride as Babs clutched at a spoon and attempted to feed herself.

“Been busy?” Harvey asked and Jim gave him the rundown.

“Double homicide and an attempted shooting. I might have to stay late if nobody starts talking.”

“We fed some ducks and picked up your dry cleaning. There’s no rest for the wicked.”

Jim fidgeted with his coffee at that, the guilt gnawing at him, but Harvey just sighed and reached out to touch the back of his hand for a moment.

“I also read the paper at Mulligans, over a beer and a danish, and got given cake by a lady who didn’t expect to do anything about it when she complained about the crime rates. I’m doing what I want to do. I’m where I want to be, Jim.”

Later Harvey proved it to him in action where he had felt his words to be failing. Drove Jim half out of his mind with teasing touches and tender kisses, and Jim couldn’t help but babble about how much he loved him, reduced to incoherence by the way Harvey hitched his legs up higher and whispered filth about how tight he was, and how good he looked when he was so desperate.

Jim ran his fingers through Harvey’s hair afterwards, loving the soft sounds of contentment it inspired, and marvelled at how happy he could be living a life that looked so little like the one he had always believed he wanted.

Because when he came home from work there was no kiss at the door, nor the smell of home cooked food or furniture polish to greet him. Instead the place was a tip, toys strewn everywhere, and Harvey had piled unwashed dishes in the sink and left him to fend for his own dinner. The TV was on, a low buzz in the background, and Jim found Harvey sprawled across the sofa, Babs nestled on top of him, the two of them sleeping peacefully.

It made his heart clench up and his fingers itch to reach and touch Harvey’s face. It made him want to smile and _sing_ and save the moment forever, though he settled for fixing himself a sandwich and watching over them both as he ate it.

“You should have woken me up,” Harvey said when he opened his eyes, taking stock of his surroundings, and Babs protested sleepily when he sat up and encouraged her to do likewise.

“Maybe I liked having some peace and quiet,” Jim offered, playing indifferent, and Harvey just smiled at him, knowingly,

“Or maybe you’re just the kind of creep who gets off on watching a guy sleep.”

“I think you’re confusing me with yourself,” he said, even as he took over soothing the grouchy toddler.

“I think you’re just jealous you can’t pull off this kind of rumpled chic.”

“It does look good on you,” Jim agreed, gaze taking in Harvey’s mussed hair and creased shirt. Harvey stretched and stood and kissed him on the temple.

“I always knew you were crazy.”

Jim shrugged, uncaring. Gotham was a crazy place - but what he had here, the life they were building, it was the sanest thing he had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	153. Chapter 153

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock + "how do you know you're in love? all the songs make sense" :)_

The great thing about his dad was that he never talked down to him. He never brushed off Jim’s questions, or told him that he was simply too young to understand. He always took the time to explain, treated him like an equal, and that was the reason it hurt so much when he answered his question so glibly.

‘All the songs make sense,’ didn’t clarify anything about how you knew when you were in love, not to Jim’s mind.

It must have shown too, though he tried so very hard to be mature and not to sulk about it, because his dad put a hand on his shoulder and elaborated,

“What I mean is that it isn’t any one thing. You can’t pinpoint what love is, or even why you love someone. You just know that you do. You can’t imagine ever living without them.”

Jim thought of those words at his father’s funeral, swallowing over and over again because his mom wanted him to be brave. Because brave boys didn’t cry in front of anyone. Not even when the person they loved most in the world was gone and never ever coming back again.

Maybe it was better not to love anyone, not if it hurt this much to lose them.

It was part of the reason he held back, he thought sometimes. Why he kept quiet and maintained distance, until it was too late and he was in too deep, shattered and heartbroken when he found that the object of his affections had grown tired of waiting. Sent him Dear John letters citing his inability to communicate and his refusal to allow anyone see past his barriers.

He tried harder. Failed just the same, first with Barbara and then with Lee, and then tried at keeping things physical.

That didn’t work either, only ended in disaster, and he marked the milestone by getting blind drunk and telling Harvey that he was committing himself to a life of bachelordom. That he was going to focus on his career, on his mission to clean up Gotham, and Harvey just let him rant and rave and then hauled his ass home and left him a trash can beside the bed in case he needed it.

Harvey was good like that. He didn’t hold Jim’s mistakes against him. He had the sticking power to work past all Jim’s defences, and the bull headedness to ignore his self-preservation measures - his attempts to push before being subjected to the pull - and carry on coming back for more.

His friendship was better than any romance, that was what Jim told him one night under the liberating influence of too much whiskey, and Harvey only shook his head a little and cast his gaze to the ceiling.

“It is,” Jim insisted, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He didn’t, truly, because the time he spent with Harvey was the bright spot of his day. Harvey’s dumb jokes never failed to make him smile, and Harvey’s quiet words of encouragement were increasingly what got him through the roughest of his cases. He wanted to give Harvey reason to praise him, to look at him like he had lived up to the faith the older man had placed in him, and he didn’t really care how obvious he was in the process.

“You’re the best friend I ever had,” he told Harvey freely, “I love you like a brother.”

Or maybe not. He loved Roger - he was family - but it wasn’t as though he had any interest in seeing more of him.

“Like a brother,” Harvey repeated, smile wide but tone a little strangled, and in the morning Jim winced at the memory of how Harvey had had to give in and let him sleep on his sofa, because he had been refusing to take no for an answer.

He winced still more when Harvey woke him up with a painkiller and a cup of coffee, and it took all his willpower just to force himself into a sitting position.

Harvey coddled him all morning. Not overtly, not overbearingly, but enough that Jim couldn’t help but give him a weak smile in gratitude. It was the little things that made Harvey so important to him. The countless insignificances that came together to form the whole - the fleeting touch of Harvey’s hand on his shoulder, and the easy back and forth as they went over a case file.

The ridiculous stories Harvey told him when he was feeling down, and the way his fingers were gentle when he helped to patch Jim up, even as he told him the injury was his own fault for being so damn foolhardy.

He even liked the things which drove him mad - Harvey’s willingness to compromise and his slovenly approach to housekeeping - because without them Harvey wouldn’t be the person he was.

It was difficult to explain, impossible to define, and he was mulling it over in his head when he became aware that he was humming along to some hideously sappy love song on the radio, applying the same sentiments to his relationship with Harvey. Never wanting to be without him. Wishing that Harvey could be just as fixated on securing his company.

The realization hit him full force. Stole his breath away and left him disbelieving and startled. Because he would have known if he was falling in love.

Surely.

Except the more he tested the theory, the more convinced he became. He watched Harvey over the next few weeks. Sat closer to him and dared to rest his hand between Harvey’s shoulder blades. He thought about Harvey whenever he had a spare moment and, later on, deliberately as he lay alone in his bed.

It was real, irrefutable, and all that remained was the problem of what he was going to do about it.

Being in love was all well and good, after all, but if the other person didn’t love you back it was liable to get kind of painful.

He did his best to test the water. Tried to steer the conversation to dating and romance, and when subtle didn’t work he accepted too many drinks and slouched back into Harvey’s sofa, all the better to ask him what sort of guy he would go for, if he had to.

“I don’t think so,” Harvey said, “You might be but I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.”

“I’m not going to hold you to it,” he assured, “it’s hypothetical.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow at that. Searched his face for sincerity, perhaps, and refrained from commenting on the way Jim had stumbled over his own choice of wording.

“Okay, since you asked - I usually go for guys I think won’t laugh in my face when I ask them. Does that answer your question?”

Jim blinked at that, bewildered, and before his brain could catch up his mouth was running on ahead with,

“So you’re not particularly picky then?”

“I don’t know what you want to me to say, Jim,” was what Harvey went with, attention focused on his beer bottle. “We can’t all look like you. We can’t all be heart breakers.”

As evidence went, it was fairly damning. Jim would have been happy to take his case to court on the back of it.

“You could break my heart. If you weren’t careful.”

Harvey looked pained. Winded, maybe.

“Did you lift that line from a song or something?”

Jim shrugged. It was possible.

“You make all the songs make sense, Harvey. Do you know what a big deal that is?”

“I know you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

That was possible too. Likely even. But he kissed Harvey anyway, and Harvey kissed him back. Got him worked up and frantic and then told him he was too drunk, that he was going to regret it in the morning, and Jim had to all but clamber in Harvey’s lap before he would kiss him again.

Before he could admit that maybe some of what Harvey was saying had merit, because he was drunk. So drunk that he passed out on top of him, and woke in the morning only to fervently wish that he hadn’t. The sun was too bright and the traffic was too loud. His mouth was fuzzy and his head was pounding, and even after a shower and some quality time with his toothbrush he still felt like death warmed up.

He didn’t regret it though. He hadn’t changed his mind about anything.

“We can forget last night ever happened,” Harvey said awkwardly when they met up for lunch, “I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“I meant what I said.”

“About the songs?”

“About my heart.” Jim gave him a bashful smile, “And the songs.”

“So you don’t want to forget it?” Harvey breathed, so hopeful Jim almost ached with it.

“No. Never.”

The way he felt when Harvey smiled at him, hot and cold and comforted and shivery, answered his own long ago question. You couldn’t help but know when you were in love with someone, even if it took you a little time to work out what it was you were feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	154. Chapter 154

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt on Tumblr: _Jim/Harvey going on lunchtime dates that are totally dates but they don't realize it until they've had a bunch of dates because they're dumb and pining :D_

No matter how crazy the case he was working, how absolutely insane the pace and the circumstances, Jim still made sure to meet Harvey for lunch at least twice a week.

Lunch was important, at least that was what Harvey said.

“Food is what gives you energy. It helps you focus. How are you supposed to make good decisions when you can’t even think straight?”

That was what he thought Harvey said anyway, it was kind of hard to make out around the mouthful of heart attack inducing cholesterol he was chewing.

Jim just liked getting to spend half hour or so with Harvey. It was like an oasis of calm in the frenzy that was his life, listening to Harvey grouse and joke, and sure up his faltering confidence with a hand on his arm or, better still, an arm around his shoulder.

He even got a kiss to the cheek sometimes, and those were Jim’s absolute favorite occasions because he had long been invested in the idea of Harvey kissing him.

Just Harvey in general, if he were being honest, so when Harvey turned up one day looking stressed and pale, Jim couldn’t help but return the favor. Lingered a moment or two too long, maybe, and told the other man that if he could help out in some way all Harvey had to do was ask him.

“You been drinking?” was all Harvey said, making light of the situation, and Jim tried not to let on how it stung. Harvey wasn’t going to be into him, he knew that. He had seen Harvey with women, had heard him even, and not once had Harvey ever given him reason to believe that he was interested in looking elsewhere.

It didn’t stop him hoping. Didn’t stop him being too obvious, staring at Harvey as he ate, and deliberately ordering desserts he knew he was never going to eat, just for the thrill of watching Harvey lick his spoon clean when he handed them over.

He had a thing for it, maybe. Was in way over his head, definitely. Got Harvey to meet him at an ice cream place he had used to visit sometimes when he was in uniform, and shivered all over with nothing to do with the cold every time he caught sight of Harvey’s tongue.

“Here,” Harvey said suddenly, holding his own spoon out and elaborating, “you’re looking at me like you haven’t eaten in a month.”

It wasn’t that kind of hunger, not at all, but Jim figured the middle of the lunchtime rush was hardly the place to say so.

Instead he took the spoon and tried not to think about the intimacy of the gesture. Tried not to think about soppy romantic movies either, and failed on both fronts, cheeks coloring up as he shared Harvey’s ice cream.

Harvey watched him do it, silent but intent, and by the time they went back on duty Jim had already started compiling a mental list of every excuse he could use to share food with his partner. Claimed he wanted to try out the tapas place that had just opened, and pushed his palate way outside its comfort zone just for the opportunity to accidentally brush his fingers against Harvey’s.

It was getting pitiful, completely pathetic, and it was always going to culminate in him inviting Harvey around to dinner, setting out wine glasses and flatware without really thinking about it. Without considering what kind of impression he might be making.

Not until Harvey was raising an eyebrow and asking him where the candles were. Jim hid his embarrassment by playing along. Switched out the case of beer Harvey had brought with him for the sole decent bottle of wine he had kicking around. Found a couple of candles in the cupboard and then wished he hadn’t, the atmosphere becoming close and intimate from the moment he flicked the lights off.

He picked at his food, drained his wine, and stared helplessly as Harvey licked his lips and swallowed, Jim’s blood running hot as his imagination ran wild.

If this were any other date, this would be where he made his move. If this were a date at all, he reminded himself. Because it wasn’t, no matter how much it might feel like one. Except Harvey was putting down his cutlery with a clatter. Was looking across at him expectantly.

“I’ve been on dates that had less sexual tension than this,” Harvey joked, the levity falling flat because it was right on the money and they both knew it.

Because Jim had to look away, ashamed of how blatant he must be. How desperately he wanted it, regardless of the consequences.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” Harvey said slowly, as though he was coming to his own realizations.

He could deny it. Kick up a fuss and act outraged. There didn’t seem any point though. Harvey was a good detective. Harvey knew him better than anyone.

Harvey was pushing back from the table and approaching him with an expression that Jim had never seen on his face, not outside of his own filthy fantasies.

“Is that why you invited me here tonight? You wanted to take things to the next level?”

It wasn’t - he had - but Harvey didn’t seem to need a verbal answer. Was more than content with the way Jim reached for his tie, his grip clenching as he pulled Harvey in closer, and then they were kissing like they had months of pent up frustration to work through.

Like they were never going to get enough of each other, and Jim started unbuttoning his shirt the moment Harvey’s hand slid up and under the fabric.

“You really want this, don’t you?” Harvey asked him, breathless and dark eyed, “This is really going to happen.”

He did and it was, and Jim sank to his knees right there in the middle of his living room, just to hear the way Harvey groaned in appreciation. He rubbed his cheek along Harvey’s straining erection. Mouthed at it, through his trousers, and tugged frantically at Harvey’s belt buckle when he cursed and bucked forward, telling him urgently,

“Jesus, Jim, you look so hot doing that.”

Harvey hauled him to his feet and dragged him towards the bedroom. Helped him strip even as he kissed him senseless, and somehow Jim found himself sprawled across the bed with Harvey between his legs.

“I think you’ve got a thing for my mouth, don’t you? You like watching me swallow?”

The noise he made in response was embarrassing, desperate, and Harvey just smiled at him before dragging his tongue up the length of his dick. Before taking him deep, without warning, and Jim cried out and arched up, because warning or no he could never have been prepared for it.

Because Harvey knew exactly what he was doing, had clearly been getting in practice someplace Jim didn’t know about, and the teasing pressure of his tongue combined with the soft rasp of his beard was enough to have Jim begging him for more. To squirm and whine and whimper, and raise himself up on his elbows to watch slack jawed as Harvey swallowed him whole, holding eye contact with him as he did things with his tongue that made Jim’s legs tremble.

Finally he couldn’t watch any longer. Couldn’t do anything but throw his head back and pant out nonsense lines about how close he was, and how he really couldn’t hold on another moment.

“You can if I want you to,” Harvey told him, his hand taking up the slack, and the promise behind it had his head fuzzy and his abdomen clenching. Harvey took note, because of course, and set about teasing him until he didn’t even know what he was saying. What he was doing, really, and he settled for reaching out blindly and then sucking on Harvey’s fingers.

On nodding, dumb, when Harvey crooned the question into his ear, and on rocking back against the intrusion, not caring about how long it had been or how he probably ought to take it slowly.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey groaned, and worked his fingers so perfectly Jim wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears clinging to his lashes. If he was going to last more than twenty seconds, and then Harvey was hitching his legs up and nudging against him, and somehow the edge of discomfort only made the pleasure more stark in comparison.

He wrapped his hand around himself, frantic, and Harvey pushed forward enough to kiss him, one hand finding the nape of his neck even as the other braced his weight up enough for him to keep thrusting.

“Don’t come yet,” Harvey told him, the authoritative tone not making the command any easier to follow, and Jim all but sobbed that he needed to. That he couldn’t help it, and then Harvey shifted onto his knees, the angle changing, and finally - finally - conceded, “Go on, Jim. Show me how much you want this.”

It went on and on, Harvey working him through it until he was a trembling mess. Until his throat was raw and he couldn’t take any more stimulation. Until Harvey was chuckling, kindly, and stroking soothing hands down his back in an effort to calm him.

Jim clung to him, overwhelmed, and croaked out shaky confessions about how long he had wanted more from Harvey than his friendship.

“I thought it was my own wishful thinking,” Harvey admitted in turn, “you’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”

“You should have said something,” Jim whispered, as though he wasn’t just as guilty of reticence, and Harvey kissed him sweetly before saying,

“Well, if I’d only known you were the type of guy to put out on a first date...”

“If this was a date then so were all the others.”

Harvey grinned at him.

“If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	155. Chapter 155

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober smut - threesome + double penetration. There is no plot here, nor any explanation...

It would have been easier, perhaps, if he had taken the other position. He knew Jim better - understood what his limits were. He had to see Jim’s face though.

Needed to watch as Jim received his punishment.

“That’s it,” he crooned, hands stroking up Jim’s thighs and around to the perfect globes of his backside. Settled on his hips as Jim fucked himself on Harvey’s dick, knees firmly planted into the mattress on either side of him.

It was a thing of beauty, witnessing Jim in the throes of pleasure. The shift of his muscles and the way his mouth hung open, lips red and swollen as he moaned and panted.

“Hold still now,” Harvey commanded, fighting back the urge to buck up again into the gripping heat of Jim’s body, Jim’s cock twitching wetly against his stomach, “try and relax, won’t you?”

Over Jim’s shoulder he saw Alfred raise an eyebrow and all the could do was shrug a little. He had it bad for Jim; he wasn’t ashamed of it. Jim was in need of discipline, sure. Was hard work, always. That didn’t mean he was going to be any harder on Jim than he had to be.

Alfred had no time for such coddling, pushing Jim forward with a firm hand and then spreading him wide open. There was a finger first, just to test the water, and though Harvey had spent plenty of time ensuring Jim would be able to take this, Jim still couldn’t hold back a startled whimper at the stretch of it.

“Christ, Gordon,” Alfred said, just a touch breathless, and then pulled free to crack his palm across Jim’s ass, Jim shaking with want and anticipation.

Harvey had to pet at Jim’s sweat slick hair and gaze into his glazed blue eyes as Alfred held his hips steady. As Alfred shifted closer, legs brushing against his own, and then Harvey was making desperate noises of his own, the heat and the pressure and the friction like nothing he had ever done before.

He touched Jim’s face tenderly, just for a moment, and might have hissed out some frantic filth about how fucking hot Jim looked, and how fucking amazing it was that he was taking both of them.

Jim whined, his cheeks burning and blotchy and his hand attempting to steal into the space between them. Harvey grabbed hold of it, demanding, and the sound Jim made when Alfred started thrusting in earnest was enough to convince him that further action was necessary.

That he ought to tease his fingertips over Jim’s nipples, and down his sides, and guide his movements so that Jim was all but sobbing about how close he was to coming.

“Do you think you deserve to?” He asked, gentle, even as he rocked Jim back into the forceful thrusts that were threatening to send his own eyes rolling back into his skull.

“No,” Jim croaked out, not so far gone as to be unaware why this was happening.

Harvey kissed him in reward, wet and slick, until Jim had to pull away to gasp for breath. To blink away tears and plead with him to be allowed to come regardless.

To drive Harvey past the point of no return, the entire situation way too much of a turn on. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t help but clutch Jim closer, and Alfred flashed him a knowing smile as he asked,

“Do you think he’s learned his lesson?”

Jim whined something incoherent, desperate, and Harvey stroked a hand down his back and nodded at Alfred. Let his head fall back as Jim clenched around him, responding to the change in angle, and grunted and groaned out his own release, triggered as much by the way Jim wailed as the increase in stimulation.

He kissed Jim’s temple. Held him as Alfred continued to use him, sweat beading on the man’s brow as Jim made pitiful little noises that made Harvey’s spent dick twitch in sympathy. Jim sobbed into his chest when the other man came, the streak of tears as hot as the smear of fluid on his stomach, and Harvey told him that he had done well and that he was proud of him.

“I don’t think he’s learned a bloody thing,” Alfred commented, clearly less than impressed with his attitude, and Harvey rubbed little circles into Jim’s shoulder and explained what his plan had been all along, ignoring the way Jim groaned pitifully in protest,

“I know, he’s too thick skulled. That’s why you and I are going to have to deliver this particular lesson on a regular basis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	156. Chapter 156

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Kinktober smut - nipple play.

It was obvious that nobody had ever paid Jim’s nipples much attention, and Harvey couldn’t help but think that the neglect was criminal. Because Jim was so wonderfully responsive, was invariably reduced to a pleading mess by the most basic of touches, and Harvey had made it one of his goals in life to show Jim just what he had been missing out on.

He liked to tease Jim. To brush his fingertips over the shirt fabric covering his chest, so that it almost seemed like an accident when he grazed first one nipple and then the other, and to let them catch on the blunt edge of his fingernail, so that Jim’s breathing hitched at the sensation.

Jim was always so eager, so frantic, and it only made Harvey more determined to drag things out. To torment him until the air was full of Jim’s breathy little noises, and Jim’s hand was attempting to wander beneath his waistband.

Harvey watched its progress that night, pulling Jim close to sit flush against his chest, so he could rest his chin on Jim’s shoulder. It gave him an excellent view, as well as easy access to the column of Jim’s throat, Jim letting out a strangled gasp when he pinched at a nipple and sucked a kiss into the skin just above his shirt collar.

The effect it had was immediate, violent, and Jim started scrabbling at the buttons on his shirt, urgent with the need for more contact. Harvey let him strip. Kissed him, and touched him, and then settled him back into his former position, the solid heat of him as perfect as the flushed curve of the dick Jim was wrapping his hand around.

“That’s it,” Harvey encouraged, “you need it so bad, don’t you?”

Jim tilted his head enough to kiss him, tongue slick against his own, and then arched back into him, helpless, when Harvey’s fingers found his nipples again.

“Don’t stop,” Jim panted out, hand striking faster and faster, “please don’t stop, Harvey.”

The problem was that if he gave in to Jim’s pleas this was going to be over before it had started. He was going to have to be cruel to be kind, that was the only thing for it.

So he directed Jim through it. Told him when to hold still and when he could move. Had him swipe the pad of his thumb through glistening pre-come, and trail his fingers up his own quivering thigh, frustrated whimpers escaping him every time Harvey altered the pressure he was applying to his peaked nipples.

It was so hot, so mind blowingly hot, watching Jim twitch and shudder, the muscles in his abdomen clenching as an accompaniment to the increasingly loud noises he couldn’t help making.

Jim wanted to beg, he could tell, and so he didn’t begrudge Jim the way he latched on to the skin of his throat instead. It was one of his own weak spots, was something he had always loved, and Jim went at it with an enthusiasm bordering on painful, pushed past self-control by Harvey pinching his swollen nipples between thumb and forefinger.

His hand was clenching and unclenching at his thigh, desperate to touch himself, but Harvey insisted that he wait a little longer. Plucked and pulled and circled and then, finally, shifted enough to suckle one stiff nub into his mouth, so that Jim cursed and whined and started fucking up into his own fist in a frenzied rhythm.

Jim shook with it. Tensed and shuddered and cried out with the force of his climax, his free hand tightening in Harvey’s hair, holding his head in place through every tremor. Harvey kept at it even after Jim’s hand went limp. Until it was too much and Jim was trying to push him away, limbs weak and voice wrecked beyond recognition.

“I think you’ve got a thing for being in control,” Jim managed eventually, still not ready to attempt moving, and Harvey just brushed a thumb over one of Jim’s nipples just to see the way he squirmed.

Given that Jim never listened to a damn word he said outside the bedroom, he had to make the most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	157. Chapter 157

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from ishipallthings: _Jim/Harvey taking YEARS to realise they’re in love when everyone else knows immediately, but once they realise it, things are so natural and they are sappy and domestic together. <33_

Fish saw it from the very beginning. Arched one of those perfectly groomed eyebrows at him and told him it would be weeks not months before he was wrapped around Jim Gordon’s little finger.

“He won’t live that long,” Harvey had opined, “the guy’s a damn idiot.”

She had known him too well though, had always been able to see straight through his bluff and his bluster, and he thought of her words as he stood at the door of Barbara Kean’s swanky penthouse, cursing himself for a fool.

He couldn’t leave Gordon to face the music alone, no matter what the consequences.

Because Gordon was a self-righteous idiot, it was true, but maybe Harvey wasn’t so entirely different. Maybe it hadn’t been completely crushed out of him, the dream of being a hero, and he endured Dix’ good natured ribbing after they paid the man a visit, simply shaking his head when Dix accused him of being taken in less by Gordon’s work ethic and more by the fit of his suit trousers.

“It’s not like that,” he pointed out, indignant, and the older man only fixed him with a look that said he was protesting too much.

It wasn’t though, that was the reality of it. Jim was his partner, his friend, but that was all there was to it. He came to love Jim, even, but it was as a brother. Family. Jim was the kind of guy he wanted to be, not the kind of guy he wanted to sleep with.

“Bullshit,” was Alvarez’ verdict when Harvey gave him a similar explanation, because he couldn’t quit talking about Jim. Couldn’t even pretend not to be out of his mind with worry for his safety in prison. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

It ended in a fistfight, over just as quick as it started, and then they were back in the car, him running his tongue over a tooth that felt a little loose and Alvarez prodding at a rapidly forming bruise on his jawline.

“I wasn’t judging you for it,” the man said then, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, “it’s just that everyone knows you ditched your chick for Gordon. She was hot too. Way out of your league.”

“Fuck you,” Harvey snarled, because it was far from the first time he had heard the accusation, but there was no real heat behind it. He had too many other things to worry about.

Like selling his soul to the devil incarnate - at least in this city - in exchange for Falcone busting Jim out of Blackgate. Like harbouring a fugitive, and clearing Jim’s name, and ensuring that Jim didn’t do anything stupid before he had chance to finish putting the plan into action.

Jim left when it was done. Went off to find Lee and beg for another chance, and Alvarez was wrong - he had to be. Harvey couldn’t have wished Jim well and meant it if he were truly into Jim. He couldn’t have prayed that Lee would change her mind, or that Vale would be what Jim needed.

Surely.

Because it hurt like a knife to the chest - and he had the scars as a reminder of how much that hurt - to see Jim so lost and so miserable. It was more than he could bear to think of Jim giving in to Tetch’s suggestions.

He might have said as much, his mouth loosened by too much whiskey, and when Jim finally agreed to return to the Department Harvey couldn’t help but stick close to him. Touch his arm and jostle his shoulder, and help patch up the endless cuts and bruises in the precinct locker room.

Jim was important to him, that was all there was to it, and when Alvarez smirked at the arm he had draped around Jim too knowingly Harvey refused to let it get to him. Jim understood what it meant. Jim knew what they were to each other and it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about their relationship.

How many times he was asked if there was something more going on there, or how he sometimes let himself imagine it, alone in the darkness, trying to picture how it would be to share everything with Jim.

It wouldn’t work, they were too different. He would drive Jim mad, he knew, and Jim had never made any secret of what did it for him. Fell for yet another pretty face with a sob story and a heart of stone, and Harvey had no choice but to watch on as Jim was suckered and their own friendship fell apart around them.

As the city went to hell in a handcart and Jim got his heart broken, yet again.

Jim was the one to come to him with an apology, for perhaps the first time ever, and though part of him wanted Jim to sweat Harvey found himself incapable of doing anything but pulling Jim into a crushing hug.

“You’re buying though, Junior,” he warned, something twisting up tight in his chest at the sight of the smile Jim gave him, and they ended up in some dive bar drowning their sorrows the same way they had hundreds of times before.

They just fell back into old routines without thinking about it. They bickered and bantered and spent all their spare time together, sitting too close and stealing food from each other’s plates like there couldn’t be anything more normal. More natural. That was how it felt, anyway, and when Jim was stressing out about a case one night, pacing the balcony at the precinct and demanding why the facts just wouldn’t add up, it felt just as natural to put a stop to it by putting his hands on Jim’s shoulders.

By touching his face, just for a moment, and sliding a hand around to the nape of his neck.

Harvey gazed into Jim’s eyes, saw the question and the confusion, and then the dawning comprehension because the truth was so obvious it threatened to take his breath away.

He loved Jim. Had always loved him, probably, and then Jim was pressing their lips together. Was kissing him just the same way he had all his impossibly perfect women, and when he pulled back they were both left grinning stupidly at each other.

“Maybe it’s time to call it a night,” Jim conceded, the barest hint of a flush in his cheeks, and they ended up kissing again in the locker room, and out in the parking lot, like they were making up for lost time. Like they were never going to tire of it.

A few months later and that seemed a distinct possibility, because after that first night they never questioned it. Harvey was sure of what he wanted, was more certain than he had ever been of anything, and Jim threw himself into it without any of the reticence that had characterised the other romances Harvey had been witness to.

“You already know what you’re getting into,” Jim told him once, by way of explanation, “and if you were going to try and kill me, you’d have shown your hand by now.”

“Are you doubting my poker skills?” Harvey asked, in mock outrage, but the dopey smile on his face gave the game away. The soft kisses he couldn’t help bestowing, and the way he only pulled Jim in closer, the two of them curled up on his ancient couch like neither one of them cared that they were becoming disgustingly domestic.

He didn’t, that was the reality. Was growing to kind of love it, really, and before the year was out they had moved into a new apartment together, and stood before a judge at City Hall to swear all kinds of things he had once claimed he would never be interested in. In sickness and health, forever and always, and he was so happy he couldn’t even sock Alvarez in the jaw when he leered at him on Monday morning and said,

“I told you so.”

Everyone had known before they did, apparently, but Jim only shrugged at the revelation and Harvey was content to follow his example.

They had worked it out eventually, had been through enough to not waste time on uncertainty, and if people thought he was a lovesick idiot when it came to Jim, that was only because they didn’t get to see the Jim he did. The Jim even he had barely known existed, because behind closed doors and away from prying eyes Jim wasn’t at all afraid of sappy sentimentalism.

Thrived on it, so far as Harvey could tell, and he wasn’t going to complain if Jim wanted to cook him dinner or give him back rubs. Was more than willing to return the favor, any time, and it thrilled him in ways he couldn’t explain to see Jim happy and smiling. To know that he was the cause of it, that he was the one who had helped transform Jim from the lonely angry guy he had been to a man who believed in himself - and was strong enough to ask for help on occasion.

To acknowledge that he couldn’t do it all single handedly, and to let Harvey take some of the pressure from his shoulders.

In return Jim shored him up when Gotham was doing its utmost to bring him low, and pressed in close when they had a few moments alone. Planted kisses to his cheek and told him that he had total faith in him.

“You’ve got to be the only one,” Harvey griped, because the Commissioner was breathing down his neck, along with the public and the media, but Jim only nuzzled into his neck for real. Kissed him so that his own breathing quickened, his reaction helpless, and then pulled back enough to touch his cheek and smile at him.

“I’m the only one that matters though, right?”

“Will I ever hear the end of it if I say yes?”

Jim tilted his head to the side, considering. “No.”

Harvey shrugged, the smile already tugging at his lips. “Thought not. Guess I’ll just have to put up with it anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	158. Chapter 158

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _I'm listening to Walking After You by Foo Fighters and omgggg my gordlock feels!! so I thought of these two lines as a prompt if you want: "If you walk out on me / I'm walking after you." The whole song is just perfect for them <3_

It was over.

That was what his every thought came back to. What kept him awake all that night, silent tears streaking down his face as he stared over at the chair Jim had been occupying.

The nurses didn’t comment in the morning. Simply gave him pitying looks and told him he really ought to try and eat something. That the doctors wouldn’t let him go home until he made more of an effort, as though he had anything worth going back to.

His apartment was miserable and the building a dive. He was in debt to his eyeballs, and his conscience wouldn’t even let him take the coward’s way out because there were too many people depending on him. People he had let down already. People whose lives he had ruined.

Dix had told him that once, when he had come to visit the man in his hospital bed, and the pain of it was still as fresh now as it had been over a decade ago.

He had messed up, he had wanted to play the hero, and all that was left for him to do was to pay medical bills and keep a roof over the heads of wives he had widowed and children he had orphaned.

Because he couldn’t do what Jim asked of him. He needed the job too much to make a stand against the Commissioner. He needed the money too much to say no to whoever proved to be Metzger’s successor.

He needed Jim so bad it felt like his heart was being torn in two, but that was personal and duty had to come first.

Even Jim had to understand that.

It didn’t mean that Jim forgave him. That Jim would ever forgive him. He didn’t return to Gotham General, at least, and he didn’t answer his cell when Harvey tried calling him. Harvey got the bus back to his place instead, because he hadn’t been joking about how bad things were, but he couldn’t bear to see the knowing looks on the faces of Alvarez, or Tuttle, or Harper.

They all knew, of course. Everyone knew except Jim, and that was only because Jim didn’t want to see it. Jim had never wanted to recognize the lovelorn devotion he was incapable of hiding, and Jim pretended not to notice that it wasn’t friendly concern for his wellbeing that made him hate anybody who got too close to him.

It was jealousy.

Jealousy was a sin, that was what he had been taught. An ugly stain on the soul that only led to greater evil, and Harvey supposed that it must be true, because he mixed whiskey and painkillers and wept as the room spun around and around, mind conjuring images of Jim in bed with Sofia.

Before she had arrived on the scene, before Jim had left for Miami, he had thought that perhaps he wasn’t quite so pathetically misguided. He had hoped, honestly and truly, though with the gift of hindsight it was difficult to believe the extent of his own stupidity.

Jim had kissed him right there, on the beat up sofa in his own apartment, and Harvey had been ready to get down on his knees and thank God for his benevolence. To swear that he would never take it for granted, not for a moment, because he would love Jim until his dying breath, with every fibre of his being.

The reality was that Jim had been drunk. Wasted. So far gone that in the morning he either couldn’t remember - or, at the very least, wasn’t prepared to admit to it. Acted like nothing untoward had happened, and frowned at him in confusion before asking how he could look so happy if his hangover was anywhere near as bad as the one he was suffering.

Told him that he couldn’t remember a thing after leaving the bar, and didn’t question the way Harvey had to excuse himself for a moment, because he was suddenly feeling like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.

He had tried to forget it. To chalk it all up to his usual rotten luck and return to watching Jim from afar, forever wanting and wishing. The problem was that he couldn’t. His frustration must have been too obvious. The heartache made him irritable and miserable.

Jim fell straight into the arms of the first woman who’d have him, anyway, and when she arrived in town Harvey didn’t wait outside Jim’s apartment door for a full two hours before accepting that Jim had succumbed to a better offer than drinking beer with him all evening.

That would have been pathetic.

The next time he actually saw Jim was at the precinct, his own throat still bandaged and Jim’s jaw set with the determination not to speak to him.

“Is it over?” Jim asked finally, blue gaze sweeping over him and finding him wanting, and Harvey knew that he meant the hush money. What he heard, all the same, was their relationship. The way he felt about Jim, and the dumb hope that one day Jim might come to feel something for him. Anything.

“It’ll never really be over,” he managed in answer, and watched Jim walk out on him for a second time.

He didn’t follow, not physically, but it didn’t really matter.

His heart was going to be with Jim, always. No matter what Jim did, or where he went. Who he was with, or how much he hated him. Everything he had to give - everything that wasn’t already pledged away - belonged to Jim.

It wasn't anybody's fault but his own that Jim didn't want it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	159. Chapter 159

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _The boys are either trapped somewhere (collapsed building and it'll take a few hours to clear the rubble?) or captured and Jim is badly hurt and confesses his love for Harvey before he fades out._

It was cold, so desperately cold, and Jim clenched his jaw tighter in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. Because perhaps it was more true to say that he was cold. He knew enough to understand that it was shock setting in. The blood loss and the trauma.

The rubble pinning his broken leg in place, and the fear that he wasn’t going to live long enough for anyone to rescue them.

“It’s going to be okay, Jim,” Harvey told him, voice scratched up and a little shaky, and Jim reached a hand out blindly in the darkness. At least it was his leg mangled, and not Harvey’s.

He couldn’t take that, he knew. Wouldn’t be able to bear it. Had nightmares, still, about Harvey’s blood spilling over his fingers, his face going pale as he begged the man not to leave him. Harvey squeezed at his hand and shifted closer, and Jim wished that he were trapped down there alone, even as he thanked God that Harvey were with him. Because he wanted Harvey to be safe, but he didn’t want to face death on his own.

He never wanted to be without Harvey.

“We’re gonna get out of here,” Harvey soothed, his free hand stroking back the dust and the dirt from Jim’s forehead, “you’re gonna be just fine, buddy.”

Eternal optimism - Jim liked that in a man. The thought made him grin. Laugh even, a hysteria tinged huff of air that sounded awful and hurt worse, the pain in his chest rivalling his leg for dominance. Harvey tore his hand away for a moment, inspiring a burst of panic that washed over him like ice, and then he was draping his suit jacket over Jim. Was shuffling closer still, strong hands manoeuvring him up until his back was against Harvey’s chest.

Until Harvey’s breath was in his ear and his arms were wrapped around him.

The heat of him was overwhelming. The steady thump of his heart and the solidity of him everything Jim had spent too long wanting.

He closed his eyes and imagined himself in some other scenario. Allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that his partner wasn’t offering comfort as he slowly bled out on the job. Instead they were settled on the couch in his apartment, or else pressed tight in a hot bath together, Harvey holding him close simply because he wanted to.

Because he knew that Jim wanted the exact same thing.

In the real world Jim let his head slump back against Harvey’s chest. Tilted it, just a little, so that his cheek was pressed against the soft fabric of Harvey’s shirt front. So that he could breathe in the familiar scent of him, beneath the dirt and the terror.

Harvey encouraged him to talk. Didn’t want him passing out and slipping away, like they warned about in training, and Jim did his best to comply. Slurred out answers to questions about his cases and his childhood, the two mixed together without rhyme or reason. Harvey was trying to keep him aware, he guessed. Was simply curious, maybe.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a hall monitor,” he protested - weak though it was - when Harvey made an informed guess about his extracurricular activities, and Harvey laughed helplessly. It sounded so good, was a stark reminder of everything he loved about his partner, and suddenly Jim couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

He was going to die down there, he didn’t doubt it, so if he didn’t say it now there would never be another opportunity. Harvey would never know what he meant to him - the ways in which he had made his life worth living, and how all the happiest memories he had were centered upon him.

“You’re what I’m going to miss most,” he managed, breathing shallow and stilted, “there’s nobody I would rather have had as my partner.”

“Don’t,” Harvey demanded, voice cracking. “You’re not going to die, Jim. Don’t you dare talk like that.”

Jim felt moisture in his hair. Tears, he realized, and his throat threatened to close up at the knowledge. His heart ached and his own eyes stung. He loved the man so much. Owed him a huge debt of gratitude - for all the times Harvey had pulled him back from the brink, or been there to pick up the pieces.

For agreeing to put the bad times behind them, and for trying to live up to the standards Jim had continually failed at himself.

“I love you,” Jim croaked, needing to say the words, “you have to know that.”

“I love you too,” Harvey assured, immediate, and Jim couldn’t breathe for it. Just couldn’t breathe in general. It was so close but so far. Almost but nowhere near.

“No, I love you, Harvey. I _love_ you.”

He wished he could see Harvey’s face. Was glad that he would never have to see the startled look of horror.

Gave into the darkness, finally, and was only distantly aware that Harvey was in the middle of trying to tell him something. There was nothing after that. Nothing at all save the flashes of something - pain and light and movement - but Jim couldn’t be sure they were real. They were over, it seemed, just as soon as they started. There was nothing but darkness and a distant ache, bleeding through the edges of the numbness.

Pulling him up and dragging him out, and then he was blinking at the sight of sterile whiteness. The scene slowly shifted into focus: the curtain rail above his bed, and the cannula in his hand. The starched white bedclothes, and the rumpled figure in the chair pulled in close to him.

“I told you you weren’t going to die,” Harvey said and, before Jim could get his own mouth to respond, was leaning over to press a kiss to his temple. To stroke a thumb along his cheekbone and offer him the kind of smile that made the pain fade away. Harvey didn't even need to say it - the way he clutched at his hand said everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	160. Chapter 160

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I saw your prompts list and would really like a fic where Jim and Harvey are forced to have sex!_
> 
> TW for dubcon, etc.

Harvey had imagined this moment so many times. He had pushed up into his fist alone in his bed, picturing it urgent and frantic, and lost himself in the bottom of a glass, dreaming about it gentle and tender.

He had fantasized about the breathless noises Jim would make, and the way Jim’s fingers would feel in his hair, those big blue eyes of his heavy lidded in anticipation.

Never once had there been mocking laughter involved, nor the threat of a handgun at Jim’s temple.

“Get on with it,” a voice demanded, and Harvey risked a glance up into Jim’s pallid face. Jim had his eyes closed, jaw set with the determination not to let on just how afraid he was, and Harvey did his best to ignore the pain in his knees. The searing burn across his back and his ribs, where their captors had stuck the boot in, and the leaden ache in his heart that he was really going to have to do this.

He tugged at the fastenings of Jim’s trousers. Pulled his soft cock free from the confines of his underwear, and pretended not to notice the way Jim flinched when his heated breath made contact.

This was about his humiliation, after all. It was his over-confidence that had put them in this position. His agreement not to call in for back-up, and not to involve any of their colleagues though he knew full well how every case he worked with Jim tended to resolve itself.

Now they were stripped of both their weapons and their dignity, and Harvey set about employing every trick he had ever learned, overriding all of Jim’s better instincts and working him to hardness.

It could be worse, that was what he told himself. They could have wanted Jim to be the one in his position, and that really didn’t bear thinking about. Because Harvey was the one who knew what he was doing, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid hurting Jim. Knew that Jim would hate him for it, no matter how he might try not to, and in contrast his own discomfort was nothing.

Jim was shaking by the time he was ordered onto his own knees, a potent mix of lust and fear and revulsion, and Harvey wished he could comfort him. Wished he had the right to kiss his cheeks and his mouth, and to promise that this wouldn’t change anything between them.

He didn’t though, and his pretty words would be a lie besides.

There was no way this wouldn’t leave its impact.

“It’s all right, Jim,” was all he did manage in a stilted whisper, attempting to convey through eye contact alone that he was ready for this. That he wasn’t going to blame Jim for any of it. Jim looked away though, ashamed, and placed a hand between Harvey’s shoulder blades. It trembled, just slightly, and Harvey heard rather than saw the menacing threat of further violence if the scene wasn’t brought to its conclusion.

“I’m sorry,” Jim croaked out, sounding absolutely broken, and Harvey pushed back through the pain, in the interest of getting it over with. Of ensuring that Jim would be able to finish before the reality of the situation dawned on him all over again.

The sound Jim made was worth it, tore from him without pretence or permission, and Harvey clenched his own eyes tight shut and tried to imagine himself elsewhere. Tried to envision some drunkenly rough encounter, or the two of them being so pent up that he had refused to wait any longer for Jim to move with him.

It didn’t work, not really, and he grimaced through it, Jim’s hands clutching at his hips like they needed an anchor.

He heard more laughter. Footsteps and the click of cellphone cameras. The sound of his own pained breathing, fighting back the horrific sting of tears behind his eyelids. It couldn’t go on much longer, couldn’t go on forever, and Jim’s fingers left bruises as he grunted and stilled.

Then even that touch was gone, and Jim was retching at the side of him.

They were left alone, eventually. Harvey wincing as he pulled himself into a sitting position and fixing his clothing, and Jim staring resolutely into space, jaw twitching with the strain of keeping his expression neutral. The silence stretched - there was nothing to say. Nothing to make it better, nothing to wipe it from their memories, and Harvey tipped his head back against the wall and wished he dared ask Jim to move closer to him.

He was glad he hadn’t, truthfully, when they were forced through it all over again, a mocking voice ensuring that there wouldn’t be a cop in the entire department who hadn’t seen the proof of his corruption.

Of just how low he was willing to sink, and what he wouldn’t do for the great Jim Gordon.

Jim tried to fight back. Strained at the bonds tethering him to the cell they were held in, and bared his teeth like a trapped animal. Got another beating for his troubles, swift and vicious, and when Harvey got one by association fell meek and silent, and did what he was told to.

Was sick again afterwards, tears streaking through the smears of dirt and blood on his face, and they must have been in such a state that nobody commented on it when their colleagues found them, though baiting Jim was almost a precinct tradition.

Jim avoided him in the days that followed. Wouldn’t meet his eye when their paths did cross, and left rooms rather than speak to him. Changed direction and pretended not to see him - anything but deal with what had happened between them.

At least until they found themselves alone in the precinct locker room, Jim bare to the waist and so trapped for the moment. He turned away, posture stiff but expression fearful, and Harvey couldn’t stand it a second longer.

“It’s not your fault. You can stop acting like I’m going to swing for you.”

“It’s what I deserve,” Jim said quietly, fingers clumsy as he made a hash of buttoning up the shirt he had hurriedly shrugged into. “You must hate me.”

“If you hadn’t done it they’d have killed us. That might have left a bitter taste in the mouth. As it is,” Harvey shook his head, not knowing how to convey what it was he felt for Jim, “you did what you had to do, Jim.”

They ended up in the sanctuary of his apartment, facing each other over cheap beer and greasy take out, just the same as a thousand nights before. It wasn’t the same though. Nothing was the same, and Jim left his food untouched as he confessed stiltedly,

“I got off on it. What kind of guy does that make me?”

Harvey bit back an ill advised smile. Touched a hand to Jim’s tense shoulder and told him quietly that that had been the whole idea. That he hadn’t been giving himself jaw ache for the sake of it.

Jim blanched at that, looked so lost that Harvey couldn’t help himself, he tugged Jim closer. Wound one arm around his shoulders and added the other when Jim gave in to the encouragement. When he let his head rest against Harvey’s shoulder, just for a moment, and sucked in shaky breath after shaky breath until he regained control of himself.

“Do you think we can get through this?” Jim asked him, earnest, and Harvey hid the turmoil in his chest by reaching for his drink and not letting on how desperately the words affected him.

“You and me, we’re partners,” he said simply, “we can make it through anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	161. Chapter 161

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Tumblr ask: _gordlock fluff with them defending each other to other people, and love confession/get together?_

“He means well. There isn’t a cop in the whole department who can hold a candle to him.”

“He’s a liability,” Tuttle countered, like he couldn’t see the way Harvey was glowering at him. “He’s a loose canon.”

“He’s gonna make Commissioner by the time he’s 40,” Harvey defended, time and time again, and Alvarez only snorted dismissively and opined,

“Yeah, if he lives that long.”

“He could stand to remember that there’s no I in teamwork,” Lucius ventured, in the middle of a particularly stressful investigation, and Harvey hoped to God the rest of the room couldn’t tell that he agreed with him.

Jim always had to rush in without thinking. Had to go it alone and hold his cards tight to his chest, so that the rest of them were left scrabbling to keep up with him.

To hope that he was on the right track, and that they were going to live to tell the tale.

He tried. Told Jim to call things in, to ask for back-up, then had to deny the request when it actually came, on the orders of those above him. Jim looked at him in disbelief. Blamed him, without question, and there was nothing Harvey could say in apology.

Nothing that Jim would accept, at any rate.

Because he was letting Jim down left, right and center. He was failing him on every count, was slip sliding back into the kind of cop he knew Jim hated, and still he took the backhanders and the hush money. Released Jim’s collars back out onto the streets, and turned a blind eye to crimes committed under Penguin’s licence system.

Almost got himself killed for it, at the hands of yet another of the city’s nutters, and broke down in helpless tears when Jim walked out on him at the realization, disgusted.

Jim hated him. Would never forgive him, not truly, and if he was an inconsolable mess in the days that followed, Harvey supposed that it was no more than he deserved. No more than to be expected, not really, and as things began to fall apart around his ears he braced himself for the inevitable moment when Jim told him that he had brought it all upon himself.

Except that wasn’t how it went at all, though he couldn’t have blamed Jim for voicing it. Instead Jim stood up for him when he thought he was out of earshot. Argued back, and argued loud, and jabbed one of the guys who had proved turncoat at the first opportunity in the chest, yelling,

“Bullock’s a better cop - a better man - than any of you will ever be.”

It was about to turn nasty, a fistfight just waiting to get started, and Harvey pushed through the door, his presence sending the others off with nothing but ugly looks and bitter mutterings. Jim ran a hand through his hair, then kicked at the bench bolted to the floor. Slammed a hand into the nearest locker, frustration bubbling over, and snapped,

“Don’t look at me like that. It doesn’t make what you did all right. It doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”

“I can’t take it back,” Harvey said quietly, “I can’t make it so it never happened.”

Jim sighed, the fight draining from him. Accepted his offer of a drink, and was the one to suggest they go back to his apartment where they could talk away from prying eyes and listening ears. Where he could say the things he wanted to say to him.

Harvey perched on the edge of Jim’s armchair, afraid to get too comfortable. Afraid that Jim was gearing up for some painful home truths before he slung him out on his ear. Instead Jim handed him a beer bottle and sat opposite him, close to the edge of his own seat, so that their knees were almost touching.

“I’ve missed this,” Jim said, fingers pulling nervously at the label on his own bottle, “it feels like it’s been months since we last spoke properly.”

It had been, by Harvey’s reckoning. Before the Pyg, before their falling out. Before his heart cracked in two and he went back to the drink and oblivion, anything but the reality of getting his rank stripped from him, and knowing that Jim could scarcely bear to look at him.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” Harvey offered, swallowing thickly, “I figured you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” Jim said, glancing up at him before fixing his gaze at some point on the wall behind him. “I don’t know how we got here, Harvey. I don’t know how to make things right again.”

This was the closest he had been to Jim in weeks. The first opportunity he had had to really study him in longer. He looked ill - pale and run down, with dark smudges under his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. He had lost weight too. Looked frail somehow, vulnerable, and when he swiped too obtrusively at the moisture in his eyes, Harvey felt it like something physical.

Could do nothing but sit there, throat aching, until Jim finally broke the silence.

“I thought you were going to die that day. Why didn’t you just come to me if things were that bad? I’m your friend. Your partner.”

That surprised him. Took his breath away, almost literally, because he hadn’t dared to hope that Jim still thought of him in anything like those terms. Had never once considered that Jim might have had any other reason for his anger, not beyond the betrayal and the disappointment.

He put his bottle down on the floor beside him. Pulled Jim’s from his unresisting fingers and disposed of it likewise. Took Jim’s hand in his own and ran his thumb over chilled skin, helpless, and scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice, as strained and scratched as it was.

“I was ashamed, Jim. It’s that simple.”

He still was. Was always going to be, really, because the things he was paying out for all stemmed from his own bad decisions. His own mistakes and his own failures.

Jim just fixed him with a look that broke him. Squeezed at his hand and said plaintively, “I know more than you think I do. I don’t think any less of you.”

He thought of Jim’s words back in the locker room. Clung to the sincerity in his tone now, and the way Jim was willing him to understand by look and by touch that he meant every word he was saying. He had to blink back emotion of his own. Sucked in a ragged breath and glanced to the ceiling, praying he wouldn’t break down completely.

Jim reached for him. Brushed away the treacherous tear that had escaped him, and held his gaze with an intensity that made his pulse hammer. That made his chest clench up tight, and the fear tinged hope churn in his gut. Then Jim’s mouth was on his own and all he could do was pull Jim closer.

Cling to him like a lifeline and kiss him back, desperately.

Groan appreciatively when Jim responded in turn, hands clutching tight at his shoulders, in his hair, anywhere he could get them, until Jim was all but straddling his lap, the two of them panting frantically into each other’s mouths, the startled wonder in Jim’s eyes reflected in his own.

“Promise me you won’t keep things from me,” Jim demanded, hands cupping his face, “promise me you’ll turn to me first, always.”

“I love you,” Harvey pledged in answer, fingers trailing reverently down the side of Jim’s face, “I’ve always loved you.”

Jim stole the words from his lips, so intense and so commanding Harvey gave himself over to it without hesitation. Swore to follow Jim anywhere, everywhere, and shuddered helplessly when Jim whispered ‘I love you’s of his own into the flesh of his throat. Along his jawline and into the shell of his ear, until Harvey had to drag him into another kiss, head spinning with the promise of it.

“I never set out to hurt you,” Harvey managed eventually, needing the sentiment to be out in the open, and Jim nodded in acknowledgement. Forestalled any further apologies and made a suggestion Harvey could give his full support to.

Because they would mess up again, both of them, but they would make it up and get past it. There was no other option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	162. Chapter 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _AU with Harvey as Jim’s training officer and Jim as the new rookie._
> 
> Jim chooses the academy over the army.

Harvey liked to think that he was tough but fair. Had it borne out in his performance reviews and the feedback forms his recruits filled out. Saw it for himself when he came across competent officers out in the field, for all that on first meeting he had feared they wouldn’t make it to the following Monday, let alone the end of probation.

The problem was that he had never counted on being paired with anyone - rookie or no - like Jim Gordon.

Gordon’s CV was as impressive as his academy scores. His record was squeaky clean, his file photo all chiselled jawline and big blue eyes, and Harvey just knew the kid was going to be an insufferable goody goody even as he told himself it was good angles and favorable lighting. Gordon wasn’t going to look that good in person.

He looked better.

Gazed up at him with those criminally pretty eyes and reeled off his codes better than anyone Harvey had ever ridden with. Not that Harvey let him know it. Instead he pounced on every little mistake the kid made. Came down like a ton of bricks when Gordon tried to crack a joke in the wake of an horrific call out, attempting to dispel the miserable tension, and chewed him out in front of members of the public over him fumbling two identical looking forms, though he had never done anything like it with any of the other trainees he had been responsible for.

Gordon glared at him sullenly, swallowed convulsively back in the squad car like he was so worked up and frustrated he might actually cry over it, and Harvey hated himself for taking out his own failure on somebody who didn’t deserve it.

Because he knew what it was like to have a bastard of a training officer. Had almost thrown in the towel time and time again, sick of the snide remarks about his background and his upbringing, and being forced to turn a blind eye to the backhanders and the hush money. It had erupted in a fist fight, finally, and he had stood before the Captain and refused to turn snitch though she threatened him with being thrown out on his ear.

Got blamed for the resulting IA investigation, anyway, and spent three years as the precinct pariah, until he proved his worth enough times that his supposed treachery was grudgingly forgiven if not actually forgotten.

The memory was enough to make him buy two cups of decent coffee by way of apology, and lean against the railings overlooking the city park waiting while Gordon turned the thing around and around in his hands before demanding to know what he meant by it.

“I don’t know what your problem is. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to.”

He was so earnest with it. So sincere and so young and so completely and utterly off limits that Harvey burned his mouth on a swig of coffee rather than risk telling him so.

Gordon nodded, like that decided it, and said steadily,

“We’ve got to work together for months yet. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to speak to me. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be a police officer, with or without your help.”

Harvey played Gordon’s words over and over in his mind that evening, downing beer after beer, and in the morning he ruthlessly ignored the pounding of his hangover and went in early to speak to the watch commander. Asked for Gordon to be reassigned to someone else, anyone else, though he had nothing to offer when he was questioned on why his request ought to be granted.

“I don’t think I’m what he needs,” Harvey managed eventually, too honest, and Drake only looked him over speculatively and pointed out that she didn’t have the resources to move Gordon anywhere. Reminded him that he was supposed to be training the kid, not becoming his bosom buddy, then sighed and said she would try speaking to him.

She did too, though it only made things more awkward, and he met Gordon out at the squad car, his arms folded across his chest and jaw set in a determined snit.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, doesn’t it?” He said, posture tense and tone clipped, and Harvey just raked a hand through his hair and ordered Gordon to get in and put his seatbelt on. “Anybody would think you cared,” Gordon griped, clipping it in with more force than necessary, and Harvey reflected that Gordon didn’t know the half of it.

Thanked God for it, truthfully, and then found himself praying to the guy not two hours later, his blood like ice in his veins as some scumbag aimed a gun right in the middle of Gordon’s forehead. It wasn’t the first time Harvey had been in this kind of situation, far from it, but he couldn’t remember his training. Could scarcely keep it together, even, and his breath came in ragged pants as he tried to regain control of the scenario.

Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and his heart hammered out an uneven rhythm. His voice didn’t sound like his own, his awareness pared down to nothing but Jim’s pale face, and when the shot fired procedure failed him, the perp making a run for it as he dropped to his knees beside Jim. As he panicked, and freaked out, and pressed shaking fingers to the flesh wound seeping through Jim’s uniform shirt, begging Jim to just please be okay.

Later, flirting with a pretty nurse at Gotham General, he could almost pretend that it hadn’t happened. Could blot out, almost, the churning fear in his gut, and the agonized ache in his heart at the idea that Jim was about to be taken from him. Except Jim smiled at him when he emerged from behind a curtained consulting area, his shirt stained but otherwise looking none the worse for the ordeal, and Harvey knew that pretending wasn’t going to make the slightest bit of difference.

“I could do with a drink,” Jim said, falling into step beside him, and Harvey couldn’t help but wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“Okay, Junior, but you’re buying.”

Jim jostled his shoulder into his own, just a little, and Harvey accepted what the answering hitch in his heart rate was trying to tell him.

What he felt for Jim Gordon was so much more than a desire to get his leg over.

Jim didn’t seem aware of it, at least. Accepted the shift in their relationship as the result of time and proximity, and though Harvey did his best to maintain some semblance of professional distance, within weeks he was spending more time with Jim both in and out of work than anyone. Was getting to know all of Jim’s moods, and all of his expressions, and it was for that reason that he couldn’t ignore the maudlin silence that permeated the gaps between calls.

“Come on then,” he insisted, “let’s hear it. Your girl tell you you’re just not delivering, that it?”

“She told me she’s found somebody better,” Jim said, looking out the window rather than at him, and Harvey didn’t need to be a detective to pick up on the hurt and the bitterness. They hadn’t been together long, hadn’t been anything serious, but it still had to sting, he guessed.

He wouldn’t have figured guys who looked like Jim ever even experienced speeches like that.

“After I’d already made the dinner reservations,” Jim added, obviously trying for levity, and Harvey knew it was a dumbass idea even as he opened his mouth and said,

“Well, you know I’m free Saturday. I can give you a few pointers on where you’re going wrong.”

He couldn’t look over, didn’t dare take his eyes off the road, and when he heard Jim say ‘sure, why not?’ he couldn’t quite be certain he wasn’t daydreaming. He shouldn’t do it, he knew that much. It was one thing to have a beer or two with Jim after a shift. To take in a ball game or grab a burger. It was another thing entirely to appraise himself in the mirror on Saturday morning, asking his reflection what the hell he thought he was doing.

What he was wearing, even, the collar of his new button down too stiff, and his unruly hair combed down into something that was almost a style. He splashed on too much cologne to make up for it. Checked his pockets and his wristwatch for the thousandth time, and arrived at the appointed meeting point, breath catching at the sight of Jim in form fitting pants and shirt.

“An art gallery?” He queried, all the same, “You trying to bore them into bed?”

“Art isn’t boring,” Jim countered, adamant, and proceeded to drag him along to stare at painting after painting.

Harvey had been there once before, on a school trip, and he had spent most of that skiving in the toilets with a cigarette or making crude remarks about the Renaissance nudes. Somehow he doubted Jim would find them amusing, and he supposed that at least you could tell what the artist had been aiming for. The modern section of the gallery boasted no such accolades, and Harvey snorted at some particularly offensive squiggles, telling Jim,

“My cousin Kathleen’s got better pictures than this stuck to her refrigerator.”

He expected Jim to roll his eyes. To lecture him for being a philistine, maybe. Instead Jim stood beside him and said eagerly,

“That’s the point though, isn’t it? It recaptures the wonder of being a child. It’s about how it makes you feel, not necessarily what it looks like. Doesn’t it energize you? Doesn’t it make you want to pick up a paintbrush and get messy?”

Harvey eyed up the canvas consideringly. “No. I can’t say it does.”

Jim just laughed, bright and honest, and suggested they go get some dinner. Displayed a side of himself Harvey had never seen before, informing the maître d’ of his reservations, and ordering wine like he knew exactly what he was talking about. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, not really. The kid came from a good family - had grown up in a nice house with plenty of money. His old man had been DA, even, and all Harvey could do was stare at the menu with a crippling sense of inadequacy.

He didn’t speak French, didn’t have a clue what any of it was, and finally asked Jim what he was thinking of having, rather than admit to it. Jim rattled something off, pronunciation perfect, and Harvey hoped the heat he could feel in his cheeks wasn’t visible as he said he’d have the same thing, and excused himself to the restroom so Jim could get on and order it.

It was his own fault, he told himself viciously. Splashed cold water on his face and cursed himself for a lovesick fool. Jim was fifteen years his junior. A trainee he was meant to be helping, not pining after like the worst kind of stereotype. He was going to leave right now. He was going to go home and sort his life out. Start treating Jim like the rookie recruit he was, and start thinking seriously about the importance of his career.

But he went back to the table to find two plates of steak and fries, Jim shrugging at him too casually and saying that he had changed his mind. It should have stirred his anger, been painfully patronizing, but Jim diffused it before it had chance to get going. Was sweet and self-effacing, and blushed too attractively when he claimed,

“There’s no need for me to show off now this isn’t a real date, is there?”

“Depends how many glasses of this I get through,” Harvey joked, accepting it for the offer of peace it was, and ate and drank and let down his defences enough to laugh stupidly at Jim’s terrible attempts at humor.

“I had fun,” Jim said when it was over, as genuine as Harvey had ever heard him.

“Me too,” he admitted, “though not enough to invite you up for coffee.”

“I knew you weren’t that type of guy,” Jim told him, all cheeky grin, “it is only the first date, after all.”

“You’re one of a kind, Gordon.”

Jim beamed. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

That was meant to be the end of it. An ill advised slip up that was never going to repeat itself. Except Jim drummed his fingers on the dashboard of the squad car in time with the latest one hit wonder blaring out of every boombox they passed, and told him that he owed him a date now.

“You been hanging around the evidence lock-up?” Harvey scoffed, waiting for the lights to change, and Jim went straight for his weak spot.

“You’re afraid it won’t match up, that’s okay. There’s got to be a reason you’re still single.”

“You’re on thin ice,” Harvey warned, “You think I won’t volunteer you for extra traffic duty, you got another thing coming.”

“When was the last time you took someone on a date anyway?” Jim went on. “Things have come a long way since ‘92, you know.”

“Yeah? And what do you know about ‘92? Your mom was still changing your diapers.”

“I was in middle school!”

“Exactly.”

“Hey, you think you two lovebirds could keep it down,” a voice sounded from behind the wire meshing, “some of us want to hold onto our lunch, you know what I’m saying?”

Harvey slammed on the brakes, too sudden, and heard rather than saw the guy lurch forward and get a face full for his troubles.

It was petty, perhaps, but he felt better for it.

So much better that he when he saw a poster stuck to a lamp post not far from the precinct he came to a decision. Told Jim that he was going to show him how it was supposed to be done, and did his best not to stare at the vision of Jim in jeans and t-shirt that weekend, the leather jacket slung on top getting him hot under his own collar.

“You said to dress down,” Jim said, obviously reading something into his helpless gaping, and Harvey shoved his hands into his pockets and pretended he took sinfully gorgeous rookies to the fair every day of the week.

Because Jim didn’t need to know that his version of dating was picking up guys and girls in clubs and bars, and the both of them lying about the fact they would call and meet up again as they said their goodbyes in the cold light of the morning. The last time he had really tried, the last time he had really wanted it to work out, she had chosen her career, and that probably put him not so very far off ‘92 and taking some girl who had never given him the time of day in high school on any ride that was likely to press them close together.

In the present he played to his strengths. Cleared the poor guy out at the shooting gallery and watched Jim hand over some monstrous stuffed toy over to the first little kid they came across. As he took up the air rifle himself and hit every target with an ease that would have made his firearms instructor proud of him. Grinned at the revelation that his score had just edged out his own, and told him that meant he was buying the cotton candy.

Harvey groused about it, more for show than anything, and tried not to imagine how sweet Jim’s mouth would taste as he set about demolishing the cloud of sugar.

“You’re just a big kid, aren’t you?” He accused when Jim followed it up with soda and more candy, and Jim gave him a kind of half shrug and said he’d never really done it as a kid. His dad was busy, and his mom was strict, and then a drunk driver had forced him into growing up quick.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Wasn’t anything he hadn’t already deduced from Jim’s files and his serious nature. It tugged at something deep inside of him, regardless, and he grabbed Jim by the hand and goaded him into trying ride after ride. Laughed like he hadn’t laughed since he was a kid himself, free and unrestrained, and pulled Jim to him on the ghost train, pledging to protect him from the ghosties and the ghoulies.

“I think I won, right?” He asked when he dropped Jim home, wishing that the prize was actually getting to touch him, and Jim just gave him a challenging look and said,

“How do you feel about the best of three?”

It was the stupidest thing he had ever done. Stupider than agreeing to deliver nondescript brown packages for the Mulligan brothers, and stupider than making out with their sister in the stairwell of one of the old tenement blocks. Stupider even than falling for his rookie in the first place, and still he agreed to the details of the thing without a single thought for what it would do to his reputation if anyone were to find out about it.

Three dates each, that was the way it was going to work, and whoever’s were deemed the better was going to be filling out all the booking paperwork and buying the drinks for two weeks.

Jim told him to dress warm that Saturday, and turned up with a rucksack and an overcoat. Asked to borrow his car keys, and when Harvey refused point blank told him that he couldn’t blame him for not offering to drive.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” Harvey said, following the directions Jim gave him, “I see now why you’ve got to put so much effort in.”

Jim smirked, unmoved, and they ended up out at the lake, the sky clear and the moonlight glittering on the surface of the water.

“It’s freezing,” Harvey complained as soon as they left the car, “I shouldn’t be able to see my own breath. This ever actually work for you?”

“It’s a good way to get close to someone,” Jim offered, cheeks and nose pink from the cold, but he simply shouldered the bag he had brought and lead him out to a deserted patch of ground with a nice view of the stars, and the moon, and the damn ice forming on the edges of the water. Harvey sat on a log, shivering, while Jim fussed and organized and finally started a perfectly competent fire going.

“You really were a boy scout, weren’t you?”

“I was an Eagle Scout,” Jim said, like that was supposed to tell him something, “I had 42 merit badges.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say you were still a virgin when you left for college.”

Jim flipped him the bird, without hesitation, but then pulled a flask from his backpack and handed it over, so he couldn’t be too offended. Definitely wasn’t, not if the way he settled beside him was any indication.

“The astronomy badge was one of my favorites,” Jim said, voice sounding different so close to his ear, and Harvey couldn’t deny that he was enjoying its legacy, Jim shifting closer as he pointed out various constellations in the sky above. Named the brightest stars, and brushed cold fingers against his cheek as he helped to angle his head in the right direction.

It was more interesting than Harvey would have credited. Was kind of awe inspiring really, meditating on the expanse of the universe and his place within it, and when he glanced over at Jim to see if he was about to start spouting something along those lines, it was to find Jim gazing at him instead, the look in his beautiful blue eyes enough to have his heart flip flopping in his chest.

“It’s still too cold,” Harvey said, needing to dispel some of the tension, and Jim took it as an invitation to sit even closer. To share body heat, and drink from the same mug, and tell him smugly when they finally called it a night that he couldn’t try and tell him he wouldn’t have been swooning if it had been a real date.

Harvey told him frankly that he could stand to work on his modesty, and Jim fell quiet for a long moment before plastering a brittle smile on his face and reminding him that he was only joking. That it wasn’t real, any of it, and Harvey forced himself to focus on that when he fell into bed, and not on how desperately he had wanted to nuzzle his ice cold nose into Jim’s cheek and kiss him senseless.

He failed at it, miserably, and was duly punished for his filthy fantasies with a headcold that threatened to floor him.

“This is you and your damn star gazing,” Harvey grouched, and when Jim suggested they call off the rest of the wager it hit him just how very pathetic he was, because it didn’t matter how ill he was. Spending time with Jim was worth it.

He just had to pick something quiet. Easy. Like filing into the back row of the cinema, him sniffling and sneezing as Jim crunched at popcorn and shifted restlessly. Pushed the arm of the seat up, finally, and when Harvey raised an eyebrow at him, Jim whispered that he should just go with it. Harvey was never going to protest about it, not when Jim’s fingers slid into his hair to work against his scalp. When he encouraged him to shift a little, to better face him, and worked his thumbs in little circles over his cheekbones and his brow.

It was too dark for anyone to see, the showing sparsely attended, but Harvey felt like he wouldn’t have cared less if Jim were doing it in the middle of the morning briefing.

“Can you breathe easier now?” Jim asked softly, fingers still touching his face, and Harvey nodded dumbly. Gazed deep into Jim’s eyes and tried to make sense of how Jim could make him feel want like he had never experienced, and remain so entirely unaffected.

He had to be, because he went back to watching the film, apparently unmoved, and when it was over suggested they go back to Harvey’s place for no other reason than he was still looking like he’d put the other diners off their meals. They ordered take out instead, and Jim elaborated on stuff he had already suspected, and spoke candidly about his relationship history.

About the highschool sweetheart he had been planning to marry, right up until the holiday they were both home from their prospective colleges and she told him that she just didn’t see her future including him.

“There hasn’t really been anyone serious since,” Jim said, like he was talking decades rather than a couple of years ago, and Harvey would have socked him in the jaw for it if he were in Jim’s place, but still said,

“She did you a favor, you’re too young to settle down. You could be in a different bed every night, and two on Sundays.”

“It’s never interested me,” Jim said, gaze on his food. “What’s the point in wasting time with somebody you don’t care about?”

The point was kind of obvious, to Harvey’s way of thinking, but that wasn’t really a topic of discussion he wanted to be bringing up around a guy who would be totally within his rights to lodge an official complaint about harassment.

So he dragged the conversation back to work. To the training seminar they were attending on Monday morning, and Jim’s upcoming performance review, and when Jim left he dreamed of the surprised look of pride on his face when Harvey told him that of course he was going to pass it with flying colors. He was the best trainee he had ever worked with.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he warned when his prediction came to pass, “you’ve still got a long way to go. There’s no substitute for experience, yeah?”

Jim fixed him with a strangely intense look. Agreed a little breathlessly, and it was a relief when somebody else barrelled through the doors of the locker room. Harvey couldn’t swear he wouldn’t have done something he’d only end up regretting.

Because it was only getting more difficult to work with Jim and not let on how it affected him. To try and act like Jim was just another rookie, just another colleague, and to not stare openly at the flat planes of his stomach when they hit the showers after a long day, his gaze drawn to Jim’s dripping form like a magnet.

Other people would notice, suspect, and perhaps they already had because the watch commander called for him to stay behind after the morning briefing, and asked him if there was anything he wanted to tell her about.

“I’m not saying that there’s anything inappropriate going on,” she said, eyeing him steadily, “I’m simply reminding you of departmental policy. You’re in a position of trust, and he’s 23 years old, all alone in the big city. I don’t think you need me to make it any clearer.”

She didn’t: it was crystal.

Jim wanted to know what had been said, nervously questioned whether it was something he had done, and it wasn’t fair at all but Harvey snapped at him. Was silent and standoffish where just the day before they had been laughing and talking, and told Jim to go eat lunch on his own because he had errands he needed to get sorted.

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” Jim said after three days of the terse silent treatment. “If I’ve offended you, I didn’t mean to.”

“You haven’t done anything,” Harvey countered, hitting his palm against the steering wheel in frustration before pulling over. If they were going to have this conversation, he wasn’t going to be able to give the road his attention. Wasn’t going to be much good for anything, truth be told, and Jim watched him anxiously as he waited for him to continue speaking. “I’m your training officer. I haven’t been acting like it.”

“You’re my friend,” Jim protested, “we’re partners.”

“We are not partners,” Harvey told him bluntly. “You need to get that into your head right now.”

“Fine,” Jim said, refusing to look away from the window, and the rest of the shift crawled by horrifically slowly, his own throat aching with the swell of emotion.

It was wearing him down, giving him sleepless nights, and his reaction times suffered because one minute he was chasing a couple of cocky kids down an alleyway, and the next he was gasping for breath, hands clutched to a knife wound in his stomach. He felt sick, cold. Fell to the ground and watched the world spinning.

He was going to die, he thought frantically. He was going to die all alone, with nothing but the buzzing in his ears and the rain falling all around him.

Then Jim was there, putting pressure on the wound and telling him that help was on its way. That everything was going to be fine, that it had to be, and when he came to at the hospital Jim was sat in the chair beside his bed, watching him like a hawk.

“You should go get some rest,” Harvey croaked. “You didn’t need to stay here.”

“Yes, I did,” Jim said stubbornly. “You’re my partner even if I’m not yours. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harvey shut his eyes for a moment. Wondered when - if ever - anyone but his mother had cared so much about what happened to him.

“Thank you,” he managed finally, not trusting himself to say more, and Jim just patted at his hand in recognition.

As if to say that there was no getting rid of him.

Harvey didn’t want to. Fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of his elegant hands and his soulful eyes, then woke with a start to find Jim asleep, his hand wrapped in his own.

After that Harvey couldn’t keep up the ‘this means nothing’ routine. Didn’t even attempt to, really, because life was too short to deny himself even Jim’s friendship. He could be dead tomorrow. So he finally agreed to hand the car keys over and let Jim drive him home. Let Jim help him up the stairs of his apartment building, and potter about his kitchen making soup and sandwiches.

“I didn’t think I had any bread,” Harvey told him, woozy with the painkillers, and Jim gave him a bashful look and admitted that he’d slipped the key from him and done some grocery shopping. Tidied up a bit too, just to help him out, and Harvey could only thank him again and sit too close, revelling in his body heat and the scent of his soap.

Back on duty he gave up trying to ignore Jim. Fell back into the easy banter with him, and made the decision to accept when Jim reminded him that they had never made it to the end of their wager. Found himself at one of the community centers on their beat, Jim promising that he was going to make an artist of him yet.

There were no naked people lounging about, at least, and no bowls of fruit like he remembered from his high school art classes either. Instead there was a lot of paint, and plastic down on the floor, and Jim got him taping off sections of paper before making the kind of mess his mom would have clipped him soundly around the ear for.

Jim was apparently fine with it, rolling up his shirt sleeves like that was going to protect them, and finished up with paint smeared across his cheekbone and flecking his hair and his clothing. Harvey wasn’t much better, laughed helplessly at the way Jim only made it worse when he tried swipe the paint from his own face, and acquiesced happily when Jim asked if he could keep the pictures.

He didn’t think anymore about that, not when he had Jim’s smile and Jim’s backside to fixate on, not until the night his plumbing packed in and Jim offered him his sofa. It was the first time he had actually been inside Jim’s apartment, and he looked about the place curiously, taking in the neatly arranged books on the bookcase, and the single framed photograph of a serious looking man with his hands on a boy’s shoulders.

“The bathroom’s through the bedroom,” Jim said apologetically, the place making up for being central by being tiny, and it was in the latter that Harvey got to see beneath Jim’s orderly surface. The wall behind the bed was a riot of color. Purchased prints and picture postcards. Pencil sketches and watercolor landscapes Harvey assumed had to be Jim’s efforts, and right in among it all his own dumb attempt at creativity.

“I didn’t think you were serious about wanting to keep those,” he commented later, tongue loosened by a beer or three, and Jim just slouched down further into his seat and said that it was important to keep things that represented good memories.

“You had fun, right?”

He couldn’t deny it.

“You think you’re going to top it?”

He never learned his lesson.

Couldn’t do because he was keeping a mental tally of how many days he had left as Jim’s mentor, simultaneously wishing the status quo would never end and desperately needing to be free from the constant pressure of not giving himself away. Of being with Jim, endlessly, afraid every second that he was going to get them both into trouble.

“Wait until you’ve finished training, and I’ll give you a night to remember.”

“Is that a promise?”

Harvey reached for his beer, to keep his hands occupied, and nodded.

Three more weeks and they could finish this. Could laugh and joke, and then Jim would move on to the next stage and forget all about him. Leave him alone to try and pick up the pieces.

Try and get over him.

Except three weeks later Jim was pale and anxious waiting for a one on one with the watch commander, and Harvey hated the part of himself that was selfishly hoping Jim was about to get extended in FTO for a few more weeks. He wouldn’t, Harvey was certain of that. He was going to be a good cop, probably end up a great detective, and if he could just reign in some of the enthusiasm and the self-righteous moralising, might even climb the ladder of management.

Those higher up agreed, all of them, and Jim tracked him down a couple of hours later beaming wide enough to split his face.

“So where are you taking me?” he asked, contrary to all Harvey’s expectations, so that he couldn’t help but ask whether he wouldn’t prefer to go out celebrating with his peers from the academy. His friends from college, even, and for some reason as Jim gave a deliberately light-hearted sounding answer, Harvey thought of his words so long ago, the night they had gone to the movies.

Jim didn’t want to waste time with people he didn’t care about, that was what he had said then, and Harvey couldn’t get past them now, hearing his own voice suggesting that Jim might want to come around to his place about seven.

He questioned what he was doing, what insanity he was succumbing to, and gathered all the junk cluttering up the living room floor and dumped it in his closet. Did the same with the bedroom, then remade the bed, even as he told himself it was all kinds of wrong to even hope that Jim might spare a single look at it. That done, he showered, and changed, and dug all the take out menus from the drawer before giving in to his first instinct and heating the stove up.

His mom always said it was a fail safe, that it would work on anyone, and he hoped to God that there was some truth in that. That Jim wouldn’t just laugh at his efforts, so very far removed from the swanky restaurant he had taken him to that first time, and then it was too late to do anything about it because Jim was there and thrusting an envelope into his hands and waiting for his verdict.

It was a thank you card, the message carefully printed in Jim’s angular script, explaining how grateful he was that he had gotten him as a training officer. How happy he was that they had become friends, and how he owed the glowing review he had received to his influence.

“I think you’re overselling it just a little,” Harvey said, warmth spreading through his chest, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“You’ll probably appreciate this more,” Jim admitted, and held up the bottle of wine he had brought with him.

“That looks expensive,” he said dubiously.

“Just worry about what it tastes like.” Jim sniffed deeply then, following his nose out to the kitchen. “Are you cooking for me?”

“It’s nothing special.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Jim sounded way too impressed, looked better than anyone standing in his poky kitchen had a right to, and suddenly the gaze Jim was fixing on him couldn’t be described as friendly, not by any stretch of the imagination.

“I’m not your trainee anymore,” Jim said, stating the obvious, and before Harvey could even try to think up a response to it, Jim was so close he could feel the heat of him, “so what I’m about to do isn’t anyone else’s business but ours.”

“What are you going to do?” Harvey managed, voice not quite steady, and then it didn’t matter because Jim was kissing him. Was kissing him so sweet and so perfect, and then there was the slick swipe tongue of his tongue and Jim was all but trying to climb him, his kisses turning desperate.

Harvey pushed him back against the wall. Let his hands wander, the feel of Jim’s solid muscles beneath his palms turning his own movements frantic. Getting him so worked up he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, and it was only when the smell of burning became undeniable that he finally succeeded in pulling away from him.

Had to press back for one last kiss, and then another, until Jim physically pushed him, laughing even as he panted, cheeks flushed and eyes dark as Harvey switched the food off and dumped it into the sink.

“Looks like it’s going to be take out anyway,” he said, raking a hand through his hair and letting his heavy gaze find Jim’s all over again.

“I think this is is still going to be the best date,” Jim offered, already closing the space between them.

“And is that going to be in any way related to the food?”

Jim’s fingers found his cheek as he confessed,

“Probably not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	163. Chapter 163

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst.
> 
> TW for suicide / character death.

It had looked easier from the outside, Jim was willing to admit that much at least. Rally the troops, follow the rulebook, and everything else would fall into place.

The reality was a little different. It never stopped, never let up, the pressure on his shoulders. The Commissioner breathing down his neck and the millstone of responsibility around his neck, because every decision had consequences. Every rota he approved and every operation he signed off on put somebody in danger.

People with spouses, and kids, and elderly parents. People he had looked down on from the moment he joined the department, relying on his judgement to ensure they got to go home after taking off the uniform.

It shook him up then, more than he wanted to confess to, to find himself conceding that maybe he understood some of what Harvey had been dealing with. To be thinking that perhaps - just perhaps - he had been too harsh on the man who was once his partner, right at the moment Alvarez came rapping at his office door to ask if he had heard anything from Bullock.

To tell him, a touch sheepishly, that he had ignored his express instructions and let Harvey not only see an open case file, but take it home with him.

That he had been trying to get hold of Harvey for over a week now, and IA had put a request in to see the file themselves, and if they could just get it back nobody even need know about this.

“We’ll talk about the details later,” Jim offered, disbelieving, but lead the way out to the parking lot. Drove over to Harvey’s place and fished the apartment key from his pocket, stubbornly ignoring the surge of emotion that stuck in his chest at the memory of Harvey giving it to him.

Things had been different then.

He had been different. Frantic and friendless, and way too reliant on Harvey for everything. Clinging too tight when Harvey offered a shoulder to cry on, and trusting that Harvey would never betray him.

“Bullock?” Alvarez called out when he got the door open, and Jim couldn’t help but grimace at the state of the place. The air was stale - thick with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and half eaten take out. If he didn’t know better, if it wasn’t for the empty liquor bottles, he might have thought the place had been burgled.

As it was he pushed through into the bedroom. Half expected to find Harvey in bed, sleeping off a hangover. What he did find was pitiful. The covers rumpled and unmade, and the sheet hanging off the mattress. There were more bottles on the floor, in amongst the clutter and the dirty laundry, and Jim figured that it was to be expected.

The few times he had seen Harvey since his suspension he had been blind drunk.

An absolute mess of a man.

“Captain,” came Alvarez’ voice, breaking through his reverie, “I think you need to see this.”

Jim didn’t break down at the sight of it. Didn’t freak out, and didn’t even feel particularly worried. Harvey was out drinking somewhere. In bed with some woman he had paid, or an acquaintance who felt sorry for him. There was no reason to go jumping to conclusions.

Alvarez felt differently, as did Tuttle and Harper, and by the end of the day he was being asked if he was going to authorize a search of the usual spots along the river.

“He’s not dead,” he stated, calm and confident, and ran through all the many and varied sensible explanations for Harvey scrawling ‘sorry Jim’ across a folded piece of paper.

Harvey’s worst fear was dying alone, he had told Jim that. So he wouldn’t jump. Not even drunk. Not even drugged to the eyeballs. Because he had been, according to the shady characters who hung around his apartment building. The sad dissipated figures who propped up the bar at his favorite watering holes.

It took up all his spare time, the investigation. He traced anybody who might have spoken to Harvey over the last few weeks. Anyone who might have some idea of his movements.

He spoke to bartenders and prostitutes. Pimps and brothel owners.

“He was in a bad way,” was the verdict he was given time after time, “he said he’d lost everything.”

That wasn’t true, not really. Because the suspension wasn’t going to be permanent. The rift in their friendship was going to fix itself. It always had before. Jim had never doubted that they would make it up again.

They were partners. They needed each other.

“He told me he wished he were dead,” one casual drinking buddy shrugged, describing the way Harvey had broken down in tears in the corner of some dive bar like it was nothing of consequence. Like it didn’t twist Jim’s gut into knots, the idea that Harvey had been so miserable and so desperate.

That it was the same night he had ignored call after call from the guy who had risked everything to bust him out of Blackgate. To back him up when nobody else would, and to talk him down from the grip of the Tetch virus.

Still he tracked ex-girlfriends and trawled through old collars. Combed through Harvey’s finances, and saw for himself where his pay checks were going.

“He was a damn soft hearted fool,” Dix told him when he went to visit, the stench of sickness and decay making him uncomfortable. “He always let things get to him. Always fell too hard for a pretty face and a sob story. You weren’t the first. He never learned his lesson.”

It left him unsettled and off kilter. The corroboration from other people he spoke to only increasing the unease he felt. Because Harvey was his best friend. They hadn’t kept secrets from each other. He should have known about the men in Harvey’s past, just as he should have recognized the blatant infatuation.

Instead he saw it in Harvey’s belongings as he packed them into boxes. The newspaper clippings Harvey had kept with his picture, and the bloodied shirt he had told Harvey to trash, folded reverently in a draw that everything else was simply shoved into. It was then that it hit really hit him for the first time.

Then that he picked up one of Harvey’s own shirts and buried his nose in the collar. Imagined he could smell Harvey on it and broke down in helpless tears until he could scarcely breathe. Until his throat ached and his face was swollen.

Until he finally conceded what the rest of the world had spent the last few months trying to tell him.

Harvey was gone - and he wasn’t coming back.

They were never going to make it up. They were never going to move on and put it behind them.

He was never going to get the chance to give his own apology.

No matter how he ranted, or how he raved, or how he cursed Harvey for his stupidity. How much he drank or how many tears he shed. The truths he admitted, brokenly, to a man who couldn’t hear them, and the happy dreams that turned to ashes upon waking, of knowing what it was to be wrapped tight in the arms of someone who loved him.

How things could have been, if events had panned out differently.

How things should have been, he thought privately.

There was nothing to do but keep going. Keep fighting for the city that was so determined to take everything from him. It would all be worth it one day.

He had to believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	164. Chapter 164

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More miserable angst. I gotta get it out of my system...

He had seen it a thousand times on the job. Love turned to obsession. Want corrupted by jealousy. Sane, competent people reduced to pitiful wrecks, unable to function because the person they had set their sights on couldn’t stay faithful.

Simply wasn’t interested.

Harvey had never understood it. Had sworn that he would never lose himself like that. He had seen what love had done to his mother. To the other women in their tenement block who had to stay away from church on account of the black eyes and bruises. To the guys on the Force who drank themselves into an early grave, worn down by the arguments at home and the constant turmoil.

He had never fallen like that for anyone. Not even Fish - not even on the occasions when she professed to feel something back. He didn’t need her. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t live without her.

Then Jim Gordon arrived on the scene, a gleaming beacon of hope in the midst of Gotham’s darkness, and everything Harvey thought he knew about himself was turned upside down. Everything he was, and everything he had been - none of it mattered. Nothing mattered but the way Jim made him feel when he looked at him.

When he smiled at him, pleased, so that it felt like his heart was going to burst with pride in his chest, because Jim saw something in him that was worthy of his attention.

Jim was so brave and so beautiful. Robbed him of his senses, so completely that Falcone smirked too knowingly when he went grovelling, and made crude insinuations about the things he would be willing to do for Jim - and the reasons.

He had argued back then. Had still been clinging to the remnants of his self-respect. Then Jim had been drunk and insensible on his sofa, pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Harvey couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t pathetically desperate for it. He pushed Jim away, all the same. Petted gently at his hair instead, and told him that they ought to talk about it in the morning.

Lay awake all night in a rapture of happiness, only for Jim to act as though nothing had happened, and if he had realized then that this would be his life for the next few years, Harvey liked to think that he would have walked away then and there.

The sad truth was that he would have stuck around anyway. He would have crawled on hands and knees if he thought it was what Jim wanted him to do. He would have done anything Jim asked him, anything at all, and he didn’t care how many nights he spent in hospital. How much it hurt - the ache in his heart and the agony in his limbs - because it was all worth it for those few brief moments when Jim sought out his company.

When Jim told him, earnest and sober, that he was the very best friend he had ever had. That he couldn’t imagine life without him.

That he was sorry if he had done anything out of order the night before, under the influence of too much drink and too much stress, and that it wouldn’t happen again. That was a promise.

It did, of course, because Jim was a liar.

A hypocrite.

Jim accepted his mouth and his hands, and raised bruises of possession up the length of his throat. Used him, over and over again, and refused to acknowledge anything they did under cover of darkness. Ignored the silent plea in his eyes, and turned away from everything Harvey was willing to give him.

It wasn’t good enough. Never would be. Never could have been, even, and it wasn’t that he was prepared to accept hush money from a gangster. It was that Jim would sooner screw a cold blooded killer than look at him as anything other than a last resort.

He followed them. Watched them. Drank and drank, and cut up his knuckles putting a dent in the wall of his apartment. Let Jim call him a traitor, a snake, and sobbed into the thin hospital pillow, thinking of the life he could have been leading had he only succeeded in staying away from Jim Gordon.

Scottie had loved him. The guys at the bar had respected him. His family had been ready to welcome him back with open arms and he had thrown it away, all of it. He had chosen Jim, worshipped at his feet, and in return Jim took his job and told their colleagues to steer clear of him. Jim stood by as he succumbed to the drink and the drugs, and looked him up and down with a sneer of disgust when Harvey turned up on his doorstep.

“You’re not coming in,” Jim said calmly, “you need to pull yourself together.”

He never remembered what he said in turn. What he yelled, pushed to the limit, and he ended up sat in the smashed up debris of his own apartment, staring at his handgun and wondering if he was losing his mind completely.

It felt like it.

He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. Was overcome with the ugly burn of jealousy, and scraped his fingernails along the scar on his throat, half wishing Jim had simply left him to die that night.

It would be better than this, had to be, and he broke down, shaking and shivering, when Sofia looked him square in the eye and he couldn’t pull the trigger. When he let her walk away, the tilt of her chin screaming victory, and sank heavily to the floor, waiting for one of her henchmen to put a bullet in his head.

There was a touch of a hand to his shoulder instead. Big blue eyes that bore into his own with an intensity he couldn’t look away from.

“What were you thinking?” Jim asked. “What were you trying to do?”

“She was right,” was all Harvey could manage, past the point of no return. Jim was a virus. He was in his head. Under his skin.

There was no cure for it.

Jim came to visit him occasionally, just the same, speaking words he couldn’t make sense of through the haze of medication. The numb sense of surreality, punctuated only by the screams that echoed down the sterile corridors.

“Don’t come back,” he insisted finally, in a rare moment of lucidity, “I don’t want to see you.”

It was the raw truth even as it was the biggest lie he had ever told.

He would be in Jim’s thrall ‘til the day he died.

He would give anything to mean it when he said that he wished he had never met him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	165. Chapter 165

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock prompt - We drunk kissed but you forgot about it and I don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf, with mutual pining?_

The pain in his head was the first thing he became aware of. It was enough to make him wish that he wasn’t aware of anything. Not the rasping ache of his throat, and not even the seam of Jim’s couch cushion pressing into his cheek.

Especially not that, maybe, because when Harvey hauled himself into a sitting position it was to find Jim stood there watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. That wasn’t a good sign, couldn’t mean anything good, and he accepted the glass of water Jim handed him with trepidation.

Ran a hand through the rat’s nest of his hair and squinted up into blue eyes.

Made a noise that scarcely sounded natural, and spilled water all down the front of his shirt and the blanket Jim had dug out for him.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked, the hint of a frown between his brows, and Harvey felt his heart pound as he questioned carefully,

“Do you remember much of last night? I don’t remember getting here from the bar.”

Jim sighed and shrugged a little, highlighting the pallor of his skin and the dark smudges beneath his eyes, “I don’t even remember leaving it.”

That sounded about right. Sounded exactly like the kind of luck he would be blessed with, and Harvey managed a strained grimace of a smile before forcing himself to start getting ready to show his face at the precinct.

He watched Jim closely all the same, hoping yet terrified that some fragmented memory of the night before might come back to him. Might steal the breath from Jim’s lips the way it had from its own, and have Jim seeking him out, demanding answers.

For his part, he could think of nothing else. Spent every spare moment piecing it all together, until he was fairly certain he had the events in the right sequence. The way Jim had sidled closer and closer at the bar, and the way he had spoken the suggestion they go back to his place right in his ear, so that Harvey had shivered helplessly.

Had nodded at him, dumbstruck, and wrapped his arm around Jim’s shoulder as they staggered down the street together.

There was a bit of a blank then, only the vague recognition of Jim’s weight braced against his own, and then the door of Jim’s apartment was slamming shut behind them. Jim was holding his finger to his lips and shhhing him, the two of them giggling stupidly, and then they were collapsing heavily on the sofa, too close and so very drunk.

“You smell nice,” Jim told him in a slurred whisper, shifting closer still, nose burrowed in the collar of his shirt. From there it was only a tilt of Jim’s head, and the clumsy press of Jim’s lips to his throat. The slick heat of Jim’s tongue, tracing up and over the scar from Pyg’s knife, and then he was the one moving.

He was the one with his hands framing Jim’s face, in his hair, clutching at the back of his shirt, holding him tight as they kissed and kissed, his head fuzzy with the drink and everything it meant to him.

Everything he wanted it to mean to Jim.

Because he had been waiting for this moment for so long. Had been dreaming of it for years.

Passed out in a drunken heap and woke to find Jim had expunged the entire scene from his memory.

In the days that followed Harvey almost wished he could do likewise. Desperately needed some way of coping with the disappointment. Of knowing how Jim tasted, the breathless sounds he made in the heat of the moment, and knowing just as certainly that he was never going to experience any of it again.

Jim had only been interested because he was blind drunk. Would probably think it some awful nightmare if he ever recalled it at all. Gazed at him in open confusion when he deliberately chose to sit with space between them, and asked him in the aftermath of a couple of glasses of whiskey if he was angry with him about something.

“Why would I be?” Harvey questioned, gaze on the liquid in his own glass, and Jim fidgeted restlessly. Downed a third glass and touched the back of Harvey’s hand with his fingertips.

“I meant what I said. I don’t want us to fall out again.”

Jim sounded so very sincere, looked more than a little embarrassed, and Harvey couldn’t help but turn his hand over. Grip Jim’s hand in his own, not caring who might be looking over at them, and promise too intently,

“We won’t. We can’t. You wouldn’t last two minutes without me.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but smiled all the same. Didn’t let go of his hand, didn’t even try to, and Harvey realized with a start that he was stroking his thumb against Jim’s skin. That he was smiling back at Jim, lovesick and dopey, and the only way out of it he could see was to feign a coughing fit, and act as though he hadn’t been wearing his heart on his sleeve.

The problem was that he couldn’t stop doing it. Was being more blatant than ever, so obvious their smartass colleagues couldn’t quit commenting on it, and he glared murderously at each and every one of them, trusting in Jim’s ability to ignore anything that wasn’t of immediate relevance to his caseload.

Didn’t give Jim enough credit, perhaps, because he was soaking out the worst of the latest blood stain in the locker room sink when Jim put a hand on his shoulder. Told him quietly that he ought to ignore what people were saying, that it would blow over when they saw there was no substance to it, and Harvey intended to make some joke or other when he met Jim’s gaze in the mirror.

It drove the words from his mind. Rendered him speechless, helpless, lost in the depths of Jim’s baby blues, the air thick and heavy as he attempted to draw enough oxygen into his lungs. He turned slowly, Jim not stepping backwards, so that they were stood facing each other. So that they were so close their noses were almost touching.

His heart hammered, his entire body at once leaden but over aware of every movement. The tingling of his skin, and the heat emanating from Jim’s body. Jim’s breath skittering across his cheek, and the excitement coursing through his veins as the moment stretched towards breaking point.

It was going to happen - it couldn’t not happen - and Jim was tilting his head to meet him when the door slammed open and they jerked apart guiltily. Blushed and blustered and ignored one another for the rest of the shift, the panic settling in his gut that Jim was gearing up to give him the rejection speech. To sock him in the jaw, maybe, rather than face up to something he didn’t want to deal with.

“We need to talk,” Jim told him, right on cue, and Harvey couldn’t decide if it was a good sign or bad that Jim invited him around to his apartment instead of their usual corner bar.

He debated inventing some excuse not to go. Delaying the inevitable. He could never stay away from Jim, that was the reality, and he stood tall as he knocked at Jim’s door, determined to take whatever Jim dished out like a man.

To not let on how much it hurt, or how crushing it was to be given irrefutable proof that his daydreams were completely ridiculous.

Except Jim didn’t seem to know what to say. Opened his mouth and shut it sharply, fussing with drinks instead, and talking about take out. Rambling in a way that was nothing like the Jim Gordon he had come to to know, and when Harvey reached out and put a hand on his arm Jim fell silent immediately, the two of them trapped back in the intensity of the locker room.

The tension was unbearable, the waiting torture, and then Jim was surging forward, fingers finding his hair as he pressed their lips together.

Harvey couldn’t take it, couldn’t stand it - had to kiss Jim back eagerly, the heat of Jim’s mouth even more intoxicating than it was in his memory. Jim blinked at him in a daze when they finally parted. Looked so good, cheeks flushed and lips wet and kiss swollen, that Harvey could hardly believe what had just happened.

“I’ve been working up the courage to do that for a long time,” Jim said, voice like gravel, and when Harvey started laughing he protested that he couldn’t see what was so funny about the statement.

“I’ll tell you later,” Harvey promised, the happiness making him giddy, and simply leaned in to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	166. Chapter 166

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Overworked Harvey with Jim worrying about him and wanting to take care of him - they get together and he finally gets a chance to._

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I’m dead. The way I’m feeling, I won’t have to wait too much longer.”

Harvey was joking, as usual. Smirking sardonically as he said it, and fishing in his pockets for a couple of pain pills that he swallowed without water. Jim just wished that he wouldn’t tempt fate like that.

Wished that he didn’t feel compelled to keep up his side of the conversation with yet more gallows humor.

There had been some close calls lately - way too close for comfort. So close that he winced along with Harvey as the other man all but collapsed into his chair, and had to fight back the urge to slide his hands along Harvey’s shoulders, though he knew he could work the tension from them if Harvey would just let him.

He could do a whole slew of things if Harvey would just stop acting so damn stubborn. Because Jim got the drive to be aloof and self-sufficient, really he did. He understood better than anyone. But he had been in the army. Had spent months being trained not to need anyone else’s assistance. Harvey, on the other hand, was simply ill and miserable, and it twisted Jim’s insides up into knots thinking about how he might be able to make him feel better.

“I’ve got a few hours left in me, at least,” Harvey told him then, waving him away, “so there’s no point in hanging around here. Go and work on your eulogy or something. Don’t forget to tell everyone how you’re gonna fix up all the mistakes I’ve made.”

It was that kind of talk that really got to him. Really worked its way under his skin and riled his temper because he had already apologized. He only wanted Harvey to give him a chance to make things right between them.

He sat daydreaming at his desk, sentimental and stupid, imagining how it would be if the world worked the way he wanted it to. If the city wasn’t such a hotbed of crime and corruption, and Harvey didn’t have to look constantly pale and exhausted. If they got to go home together at the end of every shift, and Harvey didn’t argue when Jim told him he should put his feet up and take it easy.

Didn’t accuse him of being sarcastic, or calling him old, and understood instead what it was Jim was trying to tell him. What Jim couldn’t manage in words, the enormity of them sticking in his throat, and wasn’t even sure he could truly manage in action.

Harvey only looked worse when their paths next crossed, sweat beading on his brow and the latest scar red and angry.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Jim told him, concerned about how the whiskey in his partner’s hip flask was likely to react with the painkillers.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Harvey countered, hearing only his tone and not the content.

Jim didn’t know how to get his point across. Was no good at being anything other than blunt and commanding, and he watched Harvey storm off in frustration, only to go home and lay staring at the ceiling. To think up alternative outcomes in which Harvey had admitted that he was drinking to try and dull the pain, and when Jim suggested he could think up better methods had smiled at him gratefully.

Had slumped back into his sofa cushions, tired and pliable, and let Jim make dinner and sort out his medicine. Let him fuss, and lecture, and cuddle up behind him, arms winding around Harvey’s middle so that his weight settled warm and comforting against his chest.

Jim wanted that so bad. Had always loved the feeling, more than anything, of being needed and depended upon. Of getting to play at being the big strong protector, he guessed, and the idea of Harvey willingly falling into his arms made his heart ache even as it got him hot under the collar.

Even as it got his pulse racing and his hands wandering, because he couldn’t help but think about curling up close with Harvey under the bedsheets, and from there it was too easy to imagine the thrill of having Harvey’s flesh under his palms. Of getting to touch, and taste, and draining all the tension from Harvey’s frame so that he slept soundly, head pillowed on Jim’s chest so Jim could pet his fingers through his hair until he gave into his own exhaustion.

It was the memory of that thought which accosted him in the morning, when Harvey took his hat from his head and raked a heavy hand through the tangled mess of his hair. It needed washing, combing, somebody to give it the kind of tender loving care Harvey so obviously needed.

Because Harvey looked half dead on his feet, his hands shaking as he did battle with the pill bottle, and Jim heard himself saying,

“You need to go home. You’re in no fit state to be here.”

“What choice do I got?” Harvey snapped. “I got bills to pay. People depending on me.”

If Jim had had the sense he was born with, he would have been content to leave it at that. To let Harvey get it off his chest and perhaps try again later, when they weren’t going to butt heads over it. He wasn’t one for holding back though, not when he was certain that he was in the right.

“You’ve got me, Harvey.”

“Yeah, I got you. I got you breathing down my neck and eyeing up my office chair. I won’t be cold in my grave before you’re making yourself comfortable in it.”

That was too much. Too far. Jim had Harvey pushed up against the wall of the thankfully deserted hallway, too close and too intent as he ground out,

“If you won’t take better care of yourself, what am I meant to do but make you? What am I supposed to do when you talk like that?”

He couldn’t keep the catch out of his voice. Couldn’t help the desperation that washed over him, because without Harvey he didn’t want the job. Without Harvey he didn’t want anything. That was the reality of it, the cold stark truth that put panic in his gut and ice in his veins. That made it all too obvious, all so very blatant, and he saw the realization in Harvey’s eyes right about the same time he became aware of how incredibly close they were.

They were nose to nose, almost, his gaze flickering from Harvey’s eyes to his mouth, and because he could never back down from a challenge - silent though it might be - he brushed their lips together. Made a sharp, breathy noise, and kissed Harvey properly, the heat of it so perfect it took a moment for his head to clear when he pulled away again.

Harvey’s hand came up to cup the nape of his neck. His thumb stroked along the skin, raising goosebumps, and Jim recognized the awed sincerity in Harvey’s tone for what it was.

“If this was your ulterior motive you should have just said so.”

Jim smiled at him, lost to it, and perhaps he really should have tried something that simple. Harvey agreed to go home at any rate. Promised that he would try and get some sleep, and not drink anything, and when Jim turned up on his doorstep the first moment he could it was to find that his partner had been as good as his word.

He had been dozing on the sofa, the rest putting a touch of color back in his cheeks, and Jim kissed him softly in reward, loving the unhurried way Harvey’s tongue slid against his own.

“Just let me look after you,” Jim insisted, fingers stroking over the warmth of Harvey’s shirt front, and maybe Harvey liked the idea. Maybe it was just that he could read him too well, that he could see Jim’s transparent interest. Whatever the reason he seemed content to let Jim act out his long cherished fantasies, and sat obediently while he heated up canned soup and proved that he did know how Harvey preferred to take his coffee.

He ate it too, without complaint, and agreed with just a hint of a too knowing smile when Jim made the breathless suggestion that he let him wash his hair.

“I get the feeling you’ve done this before,” Harvey confessed as Jim worked his fingers in circles against his scalp, and Jim just shrugged a little. Felt the back of his neck heat up, in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t about to admit to exactly how deep-seated this particular urge was. He liked it, that was all. It felt good, made somebody else feel good, and when Harvey moaned appreciatively and tipped his head back, Jim deduced that he wasn’t particularly hung up on getting an answer.

He could feel Harvey shivering by the time finished, with something that definitely wasn’t cold, and Jim couldn’t help but respond in kind, faced as he was with so much naked skin, and the unguarded want in Harvey’s eyes as he was granted permission to reach out and touch it.

They ended up in Harvey’s bed, wrapped in the sheets he had changed, and Jim had no control over the breathy sounds slipping from his own mouth, because it was even better than he had imagined. Harvey smelled so good, tasted so good, and barring some catastrophic emergency, there was no reason why either of them needed to get up early the following morning.

No reason why he couldn’t knead his fingers into the tense muscles of Harvey’s shoulders, nor sweep his palms down the length of Harvey’s arms. Why he couldn’t focus on Harvey’s hand for long minutes, kissing and touching and accepting Harvey’s curious gaze, until the cumulative sensation got him squirming.

Jim took his time about it. Revelled in it. Kept it soft and slow and scarcely there, until Harvey’s thighs were quaking and he replaced his hand with his mouth, swallowing eagerly as he brought himself off with none of the same care and attention.

“I like your bedside manner,” Harvey told him in the aftermath, nuzzling into the spot beneath his ear, limbs heavy and sated, “in fact, I think I love it.”

“Really?” Jim asked, clutching closer as he read between the lines, and relaxed back into the pillows when Harvey made an affirmative noise. When Harvey relaxed again in turn, at his own murmurs of ‘good’ and ‘me too’, and Harvey settled with his head on his chest, just the way Jim had daydreamed about.

“The only problem is that I’m not seeing the incentive to get well,” Harvey joked, the words muffled into his skin, and Jim let himself grin into the darkness.

“If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	167. Chapter 167

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim hears rumours that Harvey is dating someone new, and doesn't like it. at. all. (maybe what he hears is vague and he doesn't realise they mean him??) Jealous Jim and pining is the best combo._

He and Harvey were perfect for each other.

They balanced the other out, made each other better men, and Jim knew that together they could be so completely and utterly happy.

All he had to do was convince Harvey of the fact.

It was a delicate process. Not something to be rushed into - to be sprung on Harvey without careful preparation. At least that was what Jim had been telling himself, afraid that Harvey might react badly. Just afraid, period, because the idea of losing Harvey’s friendship was so awful he couldn’t bear to contemplate it.

Wishing and wanting, on and endlessly on, was nothing in comparison.

Until he received the kind of body blow there could be no recovery from.

Harvey was seeing someone. Had been seeing them for some time, apparently, and all Jim could do was pretend like the office gossip was old news to him.

“So you think Bullock will get by just fine without his boyfriend, eh?” McKenna grinned, tone too innocent.

“It’s only a week,” Jim said petulantly, referring to the course Harvey was away on, “I’m sure even he can last that long.”

The others only smirked and sniggered, and shared knowingly amused looks that Jim didn’t like one iota. What if Harvey couldn’t last a week without his mystery guy? What if the man was the reason why Harvey had consented to go on the training course in the first place? What if there wasn’t even a course at all, and Harvey was off somewhere alone with some idiot who was never going to love him the way Jim would?

He could disprove that last one, at least, and Jim tried not to think of it as checking up on Harvey. He was simply taking sensible precautions. This guy Harvey was sweet on could be a homicidal maniac. Jim knew only too well how many of them there were in Gotham.

The problem was that the course organizer, obviously concerned that there was more to the precinct wanting to double check on a contact number than they were letting on, told Harvey about his call. Got Harvey stressed out and panicked, Jim hearing it all too clearly underneath his casual greeting.

“There’s nothing going on here,” Jim assured, “you just concentrate on ‘Investigative Steps to Success.’”

“Can’t you make something happen?” Harvey whined, the noises filtering through in the background suggesting Harvey was pushing through a few doors to find somewhere a little more private. “I’m dying of boredom. I don’t know why they didn’t send you on this, it’s right up your street.”

“Because I don’t need a refresher course,” Jim offered, grinning in spite of himself, and he could practically hear Harvey’s eye roll.

“Yeah, well, I still wish you were here and I was there.”

“I wish you were here too,” Jim said, before the sentence fully registered, but rather than laugh at him Harvey just went silent for a long moment. So long Jim felt like he might actually die of embarrassment. Like he could curse himself for his own stupidity, because he needed to win Harvey back from the clutches of his new rival, not scare Harvey off with overwrought declarations.

“How about you buy me a drink when I get back? Give us both something to look forward to.”

It wasn’t a date. Jim knew that even as he eagerly agreed. Even as he started plotting, and planning, and getting up early the next day to go and get his hair cut. He eyed himself up critically in his bedroom mirror later that evening, satisfied with the slicked back neatness of his hair, even if the rest left something to be desired.

He was still in pretty good shape, overall. Not the way he had been in the army, maybe, but he hadn’t really drank then, or stuffed his face full of pizza and pastries. He hadn’t been covered in mementoes of the force then either, and he prodded at the ugly scar tissue and a cluster of new bruises, wondering whether Harvey would see them the way he did - the visual manifestation of his own failure.

Whoever this other guy was - and casual questioning of their colleagues had so far revealed nothing helpful, the general ruling being that they understood his interest but they had no desire to discuss Harvey’s love life - Jim was willing to bet that he wasn’t the sort to be constantly sporting split lips and swollen knuckles. He wouldn’t look like he hadn’t slept in a week either, eyes bloodshot and skin too pale. Jim frowned at his reflection, at the bruise he could already see forming along his jawline, then turned away in disgust.

He would just have to show Harvey that he had other things to offer.

Set about doing exactly that, pulling on a clean pair of pants and a pressed shirt, and went to go and fulfil his pledge to Harvey that he would look in on his former partner, because the nurses had rang him as emergency contact to let him know that he had had another accident. Had managed to break his arm, forgetting where he was and what he was doing, because the man was losing his marbles.

Looked on Harvey as the closest thing he had to family, and Jim hoped this visit would impress on Harvey that he could be reliable and family minded. He wasn’t going to insult the man, or upset him, or do whatever it was he usually did that made prospective in-laws hate the sight of him.

“He couldn’t be bothered to visit himself, could he?” Dix asked peevishly as soon as he had introduced himself, and things only went from bad to worse when he added, “Too busy with that young man of his, I expect. No time for old codgers like me these days.”

“So he’s younger than him, is he?” Jim asked in turn, rather than point out the fact that Harvey visited most weeks, or explain again that Harvey really was on a residential course.

“Of course he is,” Dix said, shaking his head like he thought Jim simple, “why else would he spend so much time moping about over him?”

Jim shrugged, clueless, and coaxed the other man into telling him everything he knew. Shifted in his seat, restless, at every revelation, because the way Dix was talking this was no recent thing. Harvey had been hung up on this guy for months, years even, and Jim felt sick to the stomach at the prospect of this being endgame.

He wanted Harvey to be happy. Needed it, more than anything, but if it meant standing back and watching him be happy with someone else, Jim didn’t know how he was going to handle that. He spent the next two days engaged in moping of his own. Was determined one minute, fired up with the conviction that he could prove to Harvey they would be good together, and the next he was done in and despondent, broken by the knowledge that he should have shown his hand sooner.

It was wearing him down. Had been for a long time, really, and Jim wasn’t proud of himself for using the key Harvey had given him for emergencies to let himself into his partner’s apartment. It wasn’t acceptable form at all, to rifle through Harvey’s belongings, but Harvey had told him he was welcome any time. Had reiterated the sentiment, over and over again, and somehow the memory of it only made Jim feel guiltier because he found nothing about Harvey’s mystery man, and only made himself miserable into the bargain.

He missed Harvey. He was surrounded by his things, by his smell, and it hit him all in a rush that this was the closest he was ever going to get to what he really wanted. Harvey all to himself, always, and though he knew it was a bad idea, he ended up crawling into Harvey’s bed, nose burrowed in the blankets as shed a couple of treacherous tears about the unfairness of it all.

If he had known the end was so imminent, if he had had any inkling that Harvey was fixating on someone else, he would have - he didn’t know. He would have confessed, maybe. Dropped to his knees, perhaps, and begged Harvey to just give him a chance. To just try it, for a week or two, and let him shower Harvey with the kind of devotion he deserved.

The kind that would leave his own psyche unguarded and vulnerable, the way he had never truly managed with anyone.

He fell asleep thinking about that. Imagining what it would be like to unburden his every secret, and to know that it wouldn’t drive Harvey away from him. That had always been the ultimate goal for him, trusting someone so much that he wasn’t afraid to be honest with them, and in his dream he felt so warm and so secure, it took a long moment to make sense of the cold touching his right cheek.

“What happened, Jim? Did somebody turn over your place again?”

Jim blinked into awareness, wished that he could close his eyes and blot it all out again, and found himself staring up into Harvey’s concerned face, hyper aware that it was early morning and he was wearing nothing but his underwear in a bed he hadn’t been invited into.

“I just - I was here, and it was late - and I didn’t think. Why are you back so early anyway?”

Harvey laughed a little at that last one, like indignant questioning was exactly what he expected from an unexpected guest in his bed, and Jim swallowed helplessly as Harvey started tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

“I couldn’t take it any longer. It was so quiet there, it was creepy. I wanted to be back in Gotham. I missed my own bed, you know what I’m saying?”

Jim just stared, wide eyed, because Harvey was clambering into bed beside him, cold legs brushing against his own as he turned to face him.

“If I’d known you were going to be in it,” Harvey started, and Jim braced himself. Attempted to pull himself together enough to get up and get moving, and go curl up in embarrassment somewhere Harvey wouldn’t have a front row seat to it. “I’d have come home sooner,” Harvey finished, and Jim figured he had to still be dreaming.

That seemed the most plausible explanation.

“Dix rang me last night,” Harvey went on, and Jim couldn’t look away from his gaze, no matter how much he told himself he ought to, “it took a while for me to work out what he was on about.” Harvey smiled, the soft genuine smile that always got Jim’s heart aching, and elaborated, “He told me that I couldn’t see what was in front of my nose, because there was I, pining away like some gutless fool - his words - and there was you, so jealous a blind man could see it.”

“I’m sorry -” Jim started, though the words had never come easy to him. Though they were so totally inadequate, anyway, but Harvey put a hand on his arm under the covers, the thrill of it leaving him silent and breathless.

“Were you really jealous? Did you really hate the thought of there being someone else?”

Harvey’s hand was still on his arm, his gaze still intent where it met on his own. Jim couldn’t take it. Couldn’t bear it. Closed his eyes against the sting of emotion and had to wait a few seconds before he could trust his voice not to waver.

“I know it must seem stupid to you but I couldn’t help it. I had - I just.” He had to swallow, the raw ache in his throat only fitting, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

If he moved now maybe he could cling to his dignity. Maybe he could make it from there before he broke down and pleaded with Harvey to try and see him as a serious contender. Maybe Harvey wouldn’t need to know how absolutely crushed he was feeling.

“I wish I could have been there,” Harvey said, and the only movement was Harvey’s fingers trailing up his arm, his neck, along his jawline. Jim opened his eyes, startled, and Harvey’s own gaze was damp. Overcome with something, obviously, even as the smile only grew broader, “He thought you were Alvarez, and I was being an idiot wasting my time on someone who wasn’t interested.”

The words settled slowly, their importance dawning as Harvey’s fingers caressed his ear and slid into his hair.As the color flamed in his cheeks because he was mentally revisiting other conversations, like the one about how long Harvey would last without his other half, and the way everyone had been looking at him as they said it.

“I never thought you could be interested,” Harvey whispered then and the confession winded him. Made him reach out for Harvey, desperate, no other thought in his head but reassuring Harvey that he had never been more interested in anything.

He kissed him, heated and possessive, and somehow they went from a chastely respectable distance between them, to limbs entangled, Harvey’s weight blanketed over him as Jim raked blunt fingernails down his back.

“You trying to mark me as your own?” Harvey asked between kisses, eyes dark with approval, and Jim just gave into the urge to tangle his fingers in Harvey’s hair and beam up at him happily.

“You know how I get jealous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	168. Chapter 168

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about a fic where Harvey starts going down a bad path (we saw him drinking his feelings away at the end of the episode) and Jim and him are drunk and brutal and honest with their feelings. They make up and figure out they both love each other, and have drunk angry passionate sex because Harvey’s has some close calls lately that make Jim nervous and he’s happy for Jim but also mad at him and also in love with him??_

They were always destined to end up here, squaring up for a fight in the filthy back alley of some nondescript cop bar. It was where things had first erupted, all those years ago, him fired up on self-righteousness and Harvey sick of the sight of him.

Nothing had changed, that was how it had to look from the outside, but things were different now.

He was different.

Because Harvey wasn’t just another corrupt cop on the payroll. Harvey was supposed to be his best friend, his partner, and still the other man had taken bribes and chosen to work with the Penguin. Had gone for the path of least resistance, the coward’s way out, and Harvey’s fist connected with his jaw as soon as the words left his mouth, sharp enough to hurt in spite of the drink and the drugs in his system.

“I might not have a death wish,” Harvey snarled up close in his face, “but I’m no coward. I’ve been there for you when no one else would. When I should have turned and walked the fuck away. You’re the coward, Jim. You’re the one who can’t face the guy you see in the mirror.”

It hurt worse than those early barbs ever could have. They were nothing then, not really, not when they were the words of a stranger. Harvey knew him better than anyone though. Knew things that Jim had believed he would never tell anyone - his deepest, darkest secrets, and his most closely cherished fantasies.

Harvey had there with him, for him, through thick and thin, and now it all lay in tatters around them because Harvey couldn’t measure up to the impossible standards Jim himself kept falling short of.

“At least I’m not a dirty cop,” Jim shot back, using all his weight to shove Harvey back against the wall. To slam his partner’s head against the wet brick and bare his teeth with the force of his frustration.

Harvey only laughed, harsh and bitter, tone too calm as he spat,

“You’re the dirtiest of the lot. You talk the talk, maybe, but you think I don’t see what goes on? You think I don’t know about the special interrogation strategies, and the late night warnings? You think I don’t know how it is with you and Ms Falcone? Because that’s the truth of it, isn’t it, Jim? You act all high and mighty but, deep down, where it really matters, you’re just as much of a slave to your prick as the rest of us.”

Jim punched him. Went at it with everything he had, chest heaving as his pulse pounded in his ears and his mouth ran away from him, because what he had done with Sofia wasn’t up for discussion. Not now and not ever. It was personal, shameful, and if Harvey hadn’t kept on taunting him with what he could never have, maybe he wouldn’t have crumbled in the first place.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Harvey demanded, succeeding in grabbing hold of his wrists and reversing their positions. Pushed him back against the unforgiving brickwork and pinned him in place, dark eyes boring into his own as Jim panted for breath and tasted the blood on his split lip.

His body answered where his mouth was reluctant. His treacherous dick stirred and strained within the confines of his pants, Harvey’s bulk and Harvey’s body heat having the same effect it always did. Jim turned his head away in an attempt at self-preservation, nose brushing against Harvey’s arm - his hands still holding his wrists either side of his head - and the scent of him, the power in his grip, had his heart skipping a beat and a pathetic whine building in his throat.

It must have all been so very obvious, everything he had been so determined to keep hidden - the one secret he could never share with the man in front of him - because Harvey shoved his thigh between his legs, almost experimentally. Jim bit back a gasp, the pressure intoxicating, and Harvey simply pressed in more firmly. Rocked into him, slow and steady, and Jim couldn’t take it any longer.

He kissed Harvey blindly, all teeth and blood and urgency, and Harvey only kissed him back with equal ardour, the hold on his wrists gentling until it was gone entirely. Until Jim was clutching at Harvey’s back instead, pulling at his hair and grinding against his thigh, so turned on he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t talk and couldn’t help himself, and when Harvey attempted to pull away Jim grabbed desperately at his backside, forcing him to stay exactly where he was.

“I’m not doing this here,” Harvey hissed into his ear, even as they continued to rut against each other, hands everywhere, “I’m not getting down on my knees for you in some goddamn sewer of an alleyway.”

Jim did it for him. Twisted them around so that Harvey’s back was braced against the wall and dropped right there and then, the cold and the wet and the pain a distant sensation over the roaring of the blood in his ears and the white hot heat of his arousal. He tugged at Harvey’s belt buckle. Made short work of the zipper, and his underwear, and wrapped his hand around the solid heat of him, the frantic clawing want completely overwhelming.

The noise Harvey made when he licked at him made his own dick twitch, the fingers that fluttered over his scalp when he took him into his mouth made him shiver. He wanted this so badly, needed it even, and he took Harvey deeper, slick and wet and messy as his free hand stole into his own trousers.

“Jim,” Harvey groaned, a pleading broken sound that jolted through him like electricity, and Jim glanced upwards through his lashes. Saw Harvey staring right back at him, flushed and wanting, and then it was like the damn bursting, Harvey’s mouth running away with him as Jim nuzzled his cheek along the length of his dick before going back down on him.

“Your mouth,” Harvey moaned, fingers sliding into his hair, alternately petting and guiding, “oh, Jesus, fuck, that’s it. That’s so fucking hot - don’t stop. Take it all. Fuck, yes, come on, _Jim_.”

Harvey’s thighs were quaking, the stilted thrusts of his hips erratic, and Jim couldn’t draw enough air into his lungs. Couldn’t quit striking himself, spit dripping down his chin as his movements got wetter, sloppier, the muscles in his arm aching as he jerked faster. It hit him like a sucker punch, desperate sounds spilling out of him as he came over his fingers, Harvey moaning and groaning above him, hand tightening helplessly in his hair as he pulsed into Jim’s waiting mouth.

Jim rested his forehead against Harvey’s thigh. Sucked in shaky breath after shaky breath, his entire body shaking as reality began to seep back in around the edges. He was on his knees in a filthy puddle, streaked with sweat and come and his own saliva. He had just made everything a thousand times worse because there could be no coming back from this. No way of pretending this was just another expression of his platonic regard for the guy he tried to claim was like a brother.

The truth was that Harvey was everything to him, had been for a long time, and instead of fixing up the rift that threatened to come between them, he had succeeded only in ensuring that Harvey was going to be completely and utterly through with him.

Except Harvey wasn’t buckling his pants and leaving him to it. Wasn’t walking away with a snide comment about how far Gotham’s white knight had fallen. Instead Harvey’s fingers were tracing along his cheek and his jaw. His hands were helping Jim to his feet, and sorting out both their clothing. Pulling him in close and stroking down his back, soothing away the violent tremors still running through him.

“Why do you always gotta be like this?” Harvey asked him, soft and quiet against his ear.

Jim opened his mouth but nothing came to him. No excuses and no explanations. He had been spoiling for a fight and he had got it, and now he was going to have to accept the consequences. Harvey had been right, he supposed, because he wasn’t going to try and make Harvey understand why the betrayal had hurt so much. Why he couldn’t bear the fact that Harvey hadn’t trusted him, and why he couldn’t simply tell Harvey about all the times he had imagined something not a million miles away from this scenario.

He was a coward.

“I’m not perfect, Jim,” Harvey went on, and put a hand on his cheek, putting enough distance between them that they were looking at each other, “but you’re not either. We’ve both made mistakes and we’ve both said shit we don’t mean. It doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

For a moment he was too numb to take it in. Was too focused on the ache in his knees and the cold night air burning in his lungs. The threat of more rain and the state of his clothing.

Then he was clinging tight to Harvey, swallowing back waves and waves of emotion.

Harvey let him. Kissed the top of his head, and his temple, and then his cheek and the corner of his mouth. Kissed him properly, tender and sweet as the heavens opened around them, so that Jim was glad of the rain and the way it was hiding his overwrought reaction.

“Let’s get you home,” Harvey offered, thumb brushing away the moisture gathered on his cheek regardless, and scooped his forgotten hat from the floor and slung an arm around his shoulders. Pushed the hat onto Jim’s head, like he wasn’t already soaked, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck when Jim pointed out as much.

“What does this mean, Harvey?” Jim asked finally, nervous as they dripped water all over the entranceway of his apartment building.

Harvey’s hair hung in his face, wet tendrils Jim had to reach out and touch, and asked him seriously, “What do you want it to mean? You’re holding all the chips here, Jim.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I never was.”

It was as much of a confession as he could manage. As explicit as he could force himself to be, at least in that moment, but Harvey understood. Nodded at him, smiling, and wound an arm around his waist as he steered him towards the stairwell. As Jim relaxed a little into his hold, the closeness as perfect as the hot breath against his ear.

“In that case, then, it means that we had better get you out of all that wet clothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	169. Chapter 169

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim and Harvey are secretly married and have been for a while. They are so low-key it's a big shock when others, including the local press, find out. I think it could be really funny to see how people, while Gordlock are just super bemused that people didn't notice/care so much._

Married life suited him, he had always known it would, but the thing that really surprised him was how well it seemed to suit Jim too.

Because he was head over heels for Jim, that had never been in question. He had wished and wanted and daydreamed, endlessly, about how wonderful it would be to crawl into bed with Jim each night and wake up to his handsome face each morning. To snuggle in close to him in front of the television, and brush sickly sweet kisses against the back of his neck, winding his arms about him as Jim puttered about the kitchen.

Deep down though, down with all his doubts and his self-esteem issues, he had wondered how the rest of it would work in practice. He had been a bachelor for a long time, with only brief - failure ridden - interludes, and Jim was renowned for his obsessive love of both order and nagging. Jim thrived on being finicky and perfectionist, while Harvey considered it a win if he had enough clean underpants to last the week.

It wasn’t that he was content to live in a pig sty, not exactly, it was just that cleaning and tidying wasn’t a top priority. The dishes weren’t going anywhere, and the trash would get taken down to the kerb eventually. Jim bickered with him over it, of course. Huffed and sighed and acted long suffering, but it was no worse than anyone else he had lived with, and he had more motivation to actually do something about it besides.

Did enough for Jim to meet him halfway, and in place of the constant sniping and arguing he had feared, things were so easy it was kind of terrifying. Because though Jim inevitably came through the door stressed and overworked, it didn’t take long for him to let go of it. To wind down and settle in, and curl up against his side like he could imagine nothing he would be rather doing of an evening.

For Harvey’s part, it was more than he had ever dared hope for. More than he had ever dreamed of getting, because he loved knowing he could give Jim that sense of peace and security, just as much as he loved the frantic needy sounds Jim made after they exchanged looks on being asked if they were going to be at the bar after shift, and silently agreed that an early night was preferable.

“You don’t have to do everything he says,” Tuttle complained one night, already pulling his jacket on in readiness, “it’s not like you’re married to him.”

That should have been the first inkling, really, but he laughed it off as though the man was being ironic. Shrugged and joked that he was a willing slave to the ball and chain, then went home and lost himself in Jim’s beautiful blue eyes and the way Jim whispered in his ear that he needed him.

Spent long minutes simply watching him when he woke up in the morning, listening to the wind and the rain lashing against their apartment window and thanking God that they didn’t have to go out in it. Instead he let sentimentalism have free reign. Traced his fingertips over Jim’s sleeping features, and marvelled all over again at how lucky he was.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked when he blinked his way into the land of the living, voice rough with sleep, and Harvey just kissed him sweetly and confessed that he couldn’t believe Jim had bound himself to him forever and always.

“I wasn’t going to risk you getting away, was I?”

It had him grinning like an idiot. Nuzzling into Jim’s cheek and making the most of not needing to be at the precinct for once.

Jim made him get up eventually. Insisted on going out for fresh air, but softened the blow by buying dinner and smiling at him tenderly over dessert. Jim wasn’t one for public displays of affection, not beyond a slap on the back, or the occasional kiss to the cheek. Harvey didn’t mind, did his very best to respect Jim’s wishes, and that made it all the sweeter when Jim wound an arm around his waist as they walked home, and kissed him right in the middle of the street like he didn’t care who might be watching.

It turned out that it was half the damn city because the local news cameras were rolling, and neither of them had even noticed, far too bound up in each other. It didn’t say a lot for their professional credentials. Said way too much about how they felt, why they had snuck off one afternoon to go and pledge in health and in sickness, and he hadn’t even sat his ass in his desk chair the following morning before the inquisition had started.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tuttle asked him incredulously, following up with, “we might have been able to talk you out of it,” while Alvarez chose to lead with,

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I’d have bought you a soup tureen you’d never use if you’d said something,” Harper told him, just as unflappable as she always was, and Lucius felt the need to follow up his ‘Congratulations’ with ‘I mean that’.

The city’s villains were even more bemused than their colleagues, and Harvey made a point of laying a hand on Jim’s shoulder when the Penguin turned up with his entourage, because Jim wasn’t the greatest at reigning in his temper.

“I must say I’m disappointed in you, Jim,” Cobblepot said, “I thought you had better taste than this.” That last was said with a dismissive glance in his direction, and Harvey wished he was feeling more indignant outrage. That way he might not even be aware of the deep seated fear that Jim kind of agreed with him.

“I thought you’d have better things to do than worry about my personal life,” Jim countered, clipped and curt, and when Cobblepot scowled and sulked but finally left, Jim pressed a kiss to his cheek in front of everyone. Smiled at him, sheepishly, and said, “There’s no point in being coy about it now, is there?”

“Not really,” Harvey agreed, and resigned himself to a miserable day when Barbara Kean presented herself at the front desk demanding to see Jim.

Lee dropped by later, followed by Falcone Junior, and Harvey could have done without the reminders of Jim’s usual type, and all the occasions on which they had attempted to kill him. Could have really done without the expressions of disbelief, and the accusations that it was all some kind of undercover job or publicity stunt.

“It just seems a little sudden,” McKenna said, trying for damage limitation, and Harvey stared morosely over at where Jim was talking in hushed tones with some leggy brunette Harvey didn’t even recognize.

“We’ve been married six months,” he said dully, and he didn’t even have to look up to know there was shock painted across McKenna’s face.

It wasn’t as though they had deliberately kept it secret either. They just hadn’t broadcast the fact, hadn’t drawn attention to it, and he supposed he couldn’t blame people for thinking it had to be an elaborate practical joke. If didn’t have the proof of it on his ring finger he probably wouldn’t believe it either.

Except there was Jim making his way back over, the woman in tow, and then he was making introductions, giving Harvey no choice but to shake hands obediently and accept a business card with the office number of the Gotham Gazette.

“Vale’s going to put in a wedding notice for us,” Jim said after she had left, the hint of a blush in his cheeks like he was afraid Harvey would think it stupid. Like he wouldn’t shout it from the rooftops if he didn’t think Jim would hate the idea. Jim suggested too casually that they check up on a case file, and lead the way not to the archive but interrogation room three, the one where the camera was out of order.

Harvey braced himself to play at not feeling hard done by. To pretend that he was fine, that it hadn’t got to him, and to not let on that he was battling a serious bout of insecure jealousy. Instead Jim was the one seeking reassurance. Put his head on his shoulder with a shaky sigh, and clung tight as Harvey instinctively wrapped his arms about him.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” Jim asked quietly, the words muffled into his suit jacket, “I knew people would say you were crazy, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

It made his heart seize up in his chest. Had him tilting Jim’s chin up with his fingers and reaching in to kiss him, needing to show Jim that he was talking nonsense. That Jim was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Because he was the one punching above his weight.

He was the one who had hit the jackpot.

“You make me feel like the luckiest guy alive,” he told him then, not caring that he would never live it down if anyone was listening in to the conversation. “I love you so much I feel like it must be tattooed on my forehead.”

Jim rocked up onto his toes and kissed his forehead. Smiled at him like he had just delivered some great romantic sonnet, and whispered ‘me too’ against his cheek. It put a smile on his own face a mile wide. Made him feel ten feet tall, like he could do anything, and because it was either that or succumb completely to sentimentality he gestured out at the wider department and the colleagues who had failed to suspect anything.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why we never close any cases around here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	170. Baby Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can I ask for a fic where Harvey quits and leaves Gotham, and him and Jim meet years later? (angst with a happy ending). Or just something angsty that ends happily with Harvey quitting and Jim not dealing well with losing his partner and realizing how much Harvey means to him._
> 
> ...I kind of struggled with the happy ending. Cautiously optimistic, maybe?

He went to see Patel in hospital. Paced the corridor outside her room and took a long swig from his hip flask for Dutch courage. Still couldn’t force himself over the threshold, and he ended up in some dive bar instead, drinking and drinking and drinking until he couldn’t see straight.

Until he didn’t have to think about what a failure he was, or how much he hated himself. How he wished he were dead, that all of it was over, and later that night he staggered up the fire escape of his apartment building to look out across the city and curse the cowardice that kept him from jumping.

He tried to talk about it to Jim. Desperately needed to talk about it to someone. Jim was too busy, had a hot date for the evening, so Harvey pretended that he was just fine. Scored off some dodgy guy in a dodgier bar, and woke up in a puddle of his own vomit, like the pathetic excuse for a man the entire department knew he was.

It was just a matter of time, really. Just a question of who they would rope in to replace him. Drake from the 21st, perhaps, or some relative unknown from upstate, maybe.

Jim Gordon, it quickly became clear, because the click of high heels heralded the arrival of Falcone Junior, and Harvey didn’t need the reminder of the debt he still owed her father. She chose to give it to him anyway.

“I want you to make it easy for him,” Sofia said, trailing her fingertips along the edge of the bar he was sat at before rubbing them together in disgust. “It would be a real shame if I had to make his life difficult.”

By rights he ought to simply say no and ignore her. Jim was a big boy - he could take care of himself. They both knew he wouldn’t because Jim was the sun and the stars and the goddamn moon, and though he hated the things Jim was willing to, the rampant hypocrisy and the way Jim looked at him, Harvey loved him too much to be the cause of a moment of his suffering.

He’d die for Jim, almost had on numerous occasions, and the next day he stared at the contents of the box containing the entry requirements to the Bullet Hole Club for over an hour, silently praying to God for guidance.

In the end it was easy.

He couldn’t face Patel. He didn’t want to look into the eyes of men and women he had let down. Whose lives he had ruined. Jim would do a better job of it than he would. Jim was just better, period. Because Jim wanted to be Captain to make Gotham a better place. To keep its citizens safe, and to re-establish the GCPD as a trusted institution.

Harvey had only ever taken on the job to make Jim proud of him.

Jim looked at him in disgust when he found him after the ceremony. Sneered at the drink in his hand, and told him that his best just wasn’t good enough. It never had been. Never would be. Harvey had given everything he had. His health and his reputation. His self-respect and what felt like his sanity. He had thrown away his last chance at settling down and having a family, even, and the anger that rose to the fore wasn’t an act.

In that moment he hated the man in front of him more than anyone he had ever known.

More than the Goat, and more than his deadbeat of a father. More than himself, and the force of it was so shocking that it left him sick and shaking afterwards. Left him a complete and total mess, and he sobbed himself to sleep that night, the drink doing nothing to wipe his memory.

It became the norm in the weeks that followed - one long haze of drink and drugs and misery. There seemed no point in trying. There was nothing to gain by pretending. His life was done, over, and he began to hope each night as he fell asleep that he wouldn’t have to wake up again.  
“You need to pull yourself together,” Jim advised on a fleeting visit to assuage his guilty conscience, and Harvey could only look at him in disbelief. This was the man he had thrown himself in the path of a bullet for. The man he had held as he howled into his shoulder, and pledged that he would move heaven and earth for if it meant Jim had a single night where he slept more soundly.

“Is that all you’ve got to say to me?” Harvey asked finally, proud of the fact the words didn’t slur, and Jim just jutted his jaw out self-righteously and said,

“You only have yourself to blame for this. You could have stepped down any time. You should have asked for help, Harvey.”

“That’s how you sleep at night, huh? Well, I’m glad you got it off your chest. I’m glad you finally showed your true colors.”

Jim protested at that. Got frustrated and angry, and suddenly Harvey felt tiredness like he’d never known. Like a wrung out dishrag, drained of all energy, and for the first time he turned his back on Jim. Grabbed a bottle from the sideboard and retired to his bedroom, Jim’s indignant outrage following him all the way.

“I got nothing more to say to you, Jim,” he murmured, exhausted, and when he heard the sound of the door shutting behind Jim he lay there staring at the ceiling, silent tears streaking down his cheeks.

If the world made sense that would have been the end of it. He would have stopped pining for Jim. Quit thinking of him every minute of every day, painfully aware of every one of his flaws, but devotedly head over heels for him anyway. The world was messed up and he was a fuck up, and he carried right on in a cycle of claiming not to care a jot, and rushing to Jim’s assistance, panicked and desperate.

“How did we get here?” Jim asked after one such near death scenario, blood smeared on his cheek and hair falling over his forehead. “We were partners.”

It hurt so bad Harvey couldn’t breathe. Stung so awfully his eyes burned and his throat felt swollen three times its normal size.

“You did what you had to do, I guess,” he managed finally, and for once Jim didn’t even argue.

He didn’t hang around for small talk, either, and Harvey went home to find his landlord waiting for him, threatening him with eviction if he didn’t hand over some rent money. He had nothing to give the guy, nothing to offer anyone, and he must have made such a pitiful sight that he was given a week or two to try and raise something.

That wasn’t going to happen, there was no hope, because just that morning he had received word that his leave of absence was about to be made permanent. He had requested a transfer, anywhere but the same building as Captain Gordon, and instead the Department announced that they were going to be terminating his contract.

If this wasn’t rock bottom, it couldn’t be far off, and when his cell rang later that evening he grabbed for it, convinced that it was going to be Jim throwing him a lifeline.

It took him a few moments to place the woman’s voice on the other end of the line, and even then he struggled to believe it.

“Scottie?”

“I need to talk to you, Harvey. Can you meet me tomorrow?”

He agreed without hesitation. Cursed himself for a fool when she hung up because there was a whole collection of wounds that didn’t need reopening. They had been engaged to be married. Had been gearing up to spend the rest of their lives together. Then Jim had reappeared on the scene and Scottie had told him never to try and contact her again.

If his choice was Jim Gordon, it was a decision he would have to live with.

It was that last argument he was thinking about as he waited anxiously at the cafe she had suggested. He had showered and trimmed his beard. Run a comb through his hair and worn the cleanest shirt he could find. In spite of it all he looked a disgrace, eyes bloodshot and hands shaking as he took a long swig from his hip flask.

The surprising thing was that Scottie didn’t look much better. She was pale and drawn, and the hacking cough that racked her frame as she sat down appeared to completely exhaust her.

“Thank you for coming,” she said once she had caught her breath, “I didn’t think it was right to tell you what I’m about to say over the telephone.”

He waited for her to go on. Braced himself for more bad news, and still it felt like a punch to the gut when she told him simply, “I’m dying, Harvey.” Scottie held up her hand before he could speak, signalling that she wasn’t finished. “I did what I thought was right. I can’t change it now. But I don’t have long left and it’s not fair to keep if from you.”

She reached into her purse then and pulled out a photograph. Handed it over to him silently because the significance was obvious. The little girl looked no more than two years old. She had a dimpled grin and a shock of red hair. Big blue eyes and a teddy bear clutched tight to her chest.

“Barbara Ann,” Scottie said, and Harvey had to pinch at the bridge of his nose to hold back the swell of tears. “I named her for our mothers.”

It was no good, he couldn’t keep it together, and he swiped roughly at his eyes, undone by the knowledge. There was one thing he had always pledged, one promise he had made over and over again, and that was if he should ever become a father, he would do a better job of it than his old man. He would provide for them, always, and he would move heaven and earth to ensure he was a part of their lives, no matter what the situation with their mother might be.

Scottie knew that, he had told her things about his upbringing that even Jim didn’t know, and it hurt so bad that she had still chosen to keep his own daughter a secret that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He could rant and rage. He could break down and sob. He glanced up and saw the grim expression on Scottie’s face and understood that there wasn’t time for any of that.

“When can I meet her?” He asked instead. Swallowed thickly and went on, “What arrangements have you made?”

She took him across town to her own apartment. Left him standing alone in the hallway while she exchanged quiet words with the friend who was babysitting, then stood aside for them to leave with promises to call Scottie later. Then it was just the three of them, a tiny figure shrinking back behind her mother’s legs as this strange new man approached, and Harvey dropped down to sit on the living room floor.

Removed the hat from his head and asked questions about the toys strewn about the place. Kept his voice measured and his stance non-threatening, just the way they taught back in basic training, and when Barbara finally plucked up courage enough to come over and explain why one doll was better than the other, he could scarcely speak at all with the enormity of it.

“How long?” He forced himself to ask a couple of hours later, and he recognized the look in Scottie’s eye. He had seen it in his mother’s face, right before the end, and felt it himself not so very long ago. There was no fight left, no resistance, and she sounded just as tired as she looked when she confessed,

“Not long enough.”

In that instant his entire life changed. He tried to call Jim - he wanted his advice, needed his support. Jim had better things to be doing, refused to pick up at any rate, and Harvey knew then that whatever he did, he was going to have to do it alone.

It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t happen overnight. Every second of every day it was a battle. To stay off the drink and to attempt to sort out his finances. To be there for Scottie, as much as she would let him, and to start to build a relationship with Barbara. He loved her immediately, wanted the best for her above everything, and sat down with Scottie and the mountains of paperwork she had been accumulating, because her sister in Ireland had been willing to take Barbara in, if only they could jump through all the hoops it required.

“She’s my daughter,” he said, quiet but firm, “I can’t lose her again. I won’t, Scottie.”

Scottie simply looked at him for a long moment. Nodded, finally, and said,

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just - I wanted her all to myself, and I figured that you and he…”

It was the first time she had alluded to Jim since they had reconnected. The first time they had faced up to all the baggage and the history between them, and Harvey found himself stiltedly confessing some of what the last few years had been like from his perspective. Scottie laid a hand on his arm as he spoke, sympathetic even in the midst of her own suffering, and somehow that moment brought them closer together than they had ever been.

He was with her at the end. Held her hand and promised her that he’d take good care of their daughter. Walked away from everything he had ever known to board a plane to the Emerald Isle, with a job offer from Scottie’s sister and a fancy new Irish passport.

“Where is my mommy going to sit?” Barbara asked him when they filed into their assigned seats, and Harvey felt the emotion clog up tight in his throat because she just didn’t understand. It was hard enough for him to make sense of it, and though he had hoped and prayed for outside assistance, Jim had bailed on him time and again.

Had told him that he couldn’t meet, that it was simply impossible, and he had still been in his funeral suit when he spied Jim sat with Sofia at the city park.

That was when he had known he was making the right decision. The moment that proved to him that there was nothing left for him or Barbara in Gotham. He wrote Jim a letter all the same, spelling out the things he had never managed to verbalize. Explaining the whys and the hows, and ended by saying that he hoped Jim would find his own happiness one day.

He didn’t include a forwarding address.

Instead he focused on building a new life. Making new connections and watching Barbara grow into her own person. He had family of his own, dotted around the country, and it wasn’t exactly glamorous cooking up all day breakfasts and brewing tea, but at least he got to meet plenty of people. He didn’t mind the job at all, not really, and it was better than feeling like he was going to die of stress, knowing that every decision he made could potentially end in tragedy.

There were no mob bosses and no psycho serial killers. No reanimated corpses and nobody smashing his heart up into ever smaller pieces.

Except sometimes, late at night, he still went looking for news on Jim. Read the online version of the Gotham Gazette and trawled through Jim’s social media pages. It was pointless, self-destructive, but though he swore each and every time would be the last, he always gave in again eventually.

Jim was never so very far from his thoughts - never forgotten about entirely.

Jim was the Deputy Commissioner now, would doubtless reach the top of the tree before too long, and Harvey wondered if that would be enough for him. If anything ever could be. He hoped so for Jim’s sake. Watched Barbara playing happily with the contents of her toy box and wished silently that Jim could experience the same sense of fulfilment it gave him.

Because maybe life wasn’t perfect. Maybe he wasn’t rich, or powerful, or sharing his bed with somebody who loved him. But he did have somebody in his life. Somebody to pick him up when he was down, and somebody to share all those special moments with. Somebody he loved more than life itself - more than pizza, and lie-ins, and the pub in the center of town that aired baseball games in addition to rugby matches.

“Don’t be so embarrassing,” Barbara began to insist whenever he voiced the sentiment, “what if somebody else hears you?”

It only made him do it all the more, in ever more flowery and over the top language, until she was glaring daggers at him over her homework one afternoon, and a couple of the cafe regulars were smiling fondly into their teacups.

He was just getting the swing of the thing, nothing else to fill his time until they got a new customer, when he looked up and suddenly the words died on his lips.

Suddenly the room was too small and there was no air in his lungs.

“Dad?” Barbara questioned, concerned now, and then she was twisting around to look at the newcomer too.

Harvey just shook his head, struggling to take it in because it simply seemed too fantastical.

He couldn’t be looking at Jim Gordon.

Couldn’t be staring into the face of the man he would once have died for, not now. Not in Scottie’s sister’s cafe, thousands of miles away from Gotham. He wasn’t a cop anymore. Jim was a total stranger.

And yet, just for a moment he was back behind the bar at Mulligans, feeling the same desperate lurch in his gut, ignoring the fearful look on Scottie’s face in favor of the intensity in Jim’s blue gaze.

“Dad?” Barbara repeated, snapping him out of it, and Harvey felt ashamed of himself.

He was supposed to have got over Jim Gordon a lifetime ago.

“I was in the area,” Jim said, then elaborated sheepishly, “well, almost. I was in Dublin for a conference.”

Dublin was hours away, right across the other side of the country, and the look on his face must have said it all because Jim rubbed nervously at the back of his neck and tried to encourage him into conversation with,

“So this must be Barbara?”

The problem was that it worked. There was no topic of discussion he preferred, and Barbara picked up on the accent immediately. Asked Jim too eagerly if he had known her mother, and somehow Harvey found himself offering Jim dinner and the three of them sitting around eating and talking after he had shut up shop for the evening.

“Why are you really here, Jim?” Harvey asked later, when Barbara had complained but gone to bed, and Jim was sat in the living room of the home he had fought tooth and nail to keep together.

The life he had spent the last seven years building.

There was a time when he used to dream about a moment like this. Back when Barbara used to wake in the night, crying for her mommy, and he was still worrying himself sick over money and getting through the gaps between his AA meetings. He would think up silly little scenarios, like Jim turning up on his doorstep and begging for his forgiveness. Storming into the cafe in front of all the regulars who had preferred the previous guy, and confessing his undying love for him.

“I’ve been working a case,” Jim started, because that was always going to be the reality. That was the only reason Jim was ever going to put this kind of effort into making contact. Except Jim just kept talking, “and it made me think of you. I’ve thought of you a lot over the years, Harvey.”

“Yeah?” Harvey snorted. It didn’t seem particularly likely. Jim was still kind of breathtaking, still entirely too attractive, and he could see his own reflection in the window, visual confirmation that Jim was talking absolute bullcrap. “Probably why my phone never stopped ringing, eh? All those letters just piling up on my doormat.”

Jim looked down at his hands, and Harvey hated himself for the pang he felt at the sight. The instinctive urge to apologize and to make Jim feel better.

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Jim said quietly, so sincere it made Harvey’s damn teeth ache, and Harvey ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

Arguing about it wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

“Why now then?”

Jim didn’t answer for a long moment. Seemed to need the time to pull his thoughts together.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he said finally, scarcely audible for all that the words struck him like a blow.

For all that they left him breathless and off kilter.

“Can I call you when I’m back in Gotham?” Jim asked when his departure couldn’t be put off any longer. “Maybe I could visit you again. Perhaps we could catch up properly.”

There was an edge to Jim’s tone that had to be all his imagination. A look in his eye that could only be wishful thinking.

“Maybe,” Harvey conceded, and Jim smiled the smile that had always made his stomach flutter.

“I guess that will have to be enough for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a sequel [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31270620).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	171. Chapter 171

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can you please do[chapter 159](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28582884) from Harvey’s POV?_

Harvey had known today was going to be a bad day. It was the miserable gray clouds he had spied from his bedroom window, and the painful pounding in his skull that spoke of his overindulgence in the bottle the night before.

It was the way the damn car refused to start, and his cell battery died before he even reached the precinct. The bitter coffee he drained when he had been expecting sweet, and the fact it went down the wrong way and spluttered back out over the last spare shirt and tie he had in his locker.

The explosion, when it came, was really just the icing on the cake.

He and Jim had been out following up a lead, and one minute they were peering at the notices on the wall waiting for the contact, and the next Jim was yelling something unintelligible, and the fabric of the building was collapsing all around them.

Part of it whacked him across the head, the heated trickle of blood working its way down the side of his face, and he had to fight his way out of rubble and plasterboard, calling Jim’s name all the while. Jim called for him in turn, voice laced with pain and fear, and the day’s annoyance rating went from dashed inconvenient to an absolute fucking nightmare.

He crawled over to Jim, hands patting carefully down his form until he could fish Jim’s signal-free cell from his pocket and shed a little light on the matter. He almost wished he hadn’t. There was blood, lots of it, and though he pushed and pulled as gently as he could, Jim screamed all the same.

There was no way that he was going to work Jim’s leg free.

Nothing to do but cling tight to Jim’s hand and wait for rescue.

He did his best to keep Jim calm and comfortable. Staunched the bleeding as far as possible, and ran his fingers along Jim’s sides to check for broken ribs and breathing problems. Stroked the hair and the dirt from his forehead in tender movements, and promised as soothingly as he could,

“We’re gonna get out of here. You’re gonna be just fine, buddy.”

Jim let out an awful huff of a laugh at that, the sound degenerating into a frightened whimper. It clawed at Harvey’s heart, the knowledge that Jim was suffering so much unbearable. All he ever wanted out of life was for Jim to be happy. To be able to make Jim happy, and he had to shift about and do what he could for him.

Shrugged awkwardly out of his suit jacket so he could lay it over Jim in an attempt to still his shivering, and then shuffled in close so that he could manoeuvre Jim into a sitting position, Jim’s back pressed against his chest.

He wound his arms around Jim. Pushed his nose into Jim’s hair, behind his ear, and tried to blink back the sting of tears. He had dreamed of being pressed close to Jim like this for so long. Had wasted countless hours thinking up scenarios that would get him into this position.

This had never once been one of them.

Jim seemed to be fading. Let his head tip back against Harvey’s chest, lolling until his cheek was pressed against the fabric of his shirt, and Harvey swallowed thickly. His voice was strained, throat aching, but he forced himself to speak anyway.

He needed to keep Jim awake and talking.

Asked Jim questions about the cases they were working, and his life before he joined the Force. Asked serious things about poisonings and shootings, and stupid things about Jim’s childhood pet goldfish and his extracurricular activities.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a hall monitor,” Jim protested, voice weak but with a fire behind it, and Harvey couldn’t help but laugh. Couldn’t help but cling still tighter to Jim, so in love with the man before him that it was either that or burst into tears.

Jim was growing weaker, fading away with the effects of the shock and the blood loss, and the only way Harvey could hope to keep it together was to focus on anything but the reality of the situation. Jim, on the other hand, was clutching at his hand with a clammy grip and gasping out,

“You’re what I’m going to miss most. There’s nobody I would rather have had as my partner.”

“Don’t,” Harvey demanded, voice cracking, “You’re not going to die, Jim. Don’t you dare talk like that.”

The tears wouldn’t stay back this time. It hurt so bad. He had already lived through this too many times, terrified that this would be the occasion Jim wouldn’t make it. That this time there would be no way back from the mess Jim had got himself into.

“I love you,” Jim croaked, “you have to know that.”

“I love you too,” Harvey assured immediately. Squeezed tighter at Jim’s hand and struggled to draw enough breath. Fought down panic along with syrupy sweet wishes that Jim meant that sentiment the same way he did.

“No,” Jim rasped, resolute, “I love you, Harvey. I _love_ you.”

The shock of it was overwhelming. The fear the words inspired disorientating. Because he knew Jim well enough to recognize that this was a deathbed confession. This was Jim being completely and utterly honest, all of his defences stripped away, and Harvey broke down as he confessed that he had spent the last few years trying to tell Jim the same thing.

It was too late, Jim was already unconscious. A dead weight in his arms that had Harvey swiping away tears even as he focused on his training and staying calm. On listening for the sounds of movement and helping the fire department pinpoint their position.

“Don’t tell me to keep calm!” He yelled at them, frustrated and impatient, and ended up all but hyperventilating in spite of it, growing more frantic with every second Jim was laying there unresponsive.

They got them out, not that he could remember much of it afterwards. Bundled them into the back of an ambulance and whisked them off to Gotham General. Raced Jim straight into theatre, and left him to sit shellshocked and terrified in a waiting room, not knowing whether he was ever going to see Jim alive again.

His knees gave out when a nurse finally came to get him. He had to grab at the door frame, sucking in air before he could make it down the corridor to the room Jim was laying in. He looked so pale. Almost as white as the starched sheets he was settled under.

He sat for hours in the chair by Jim’s bed. Held his hand and kissed his knuckles. Talked to him, on and on, about all the things he wanted to tell him when he was awake. The things he wanted to do, and the way he wanted to hold Jim close and never let him go again. The way he was going to tell Jim he loved him every single day for the rest of their lives, and how he was going to his utmost to make the weeks he was going to have to spend off work bearable - because there was no way he was going to let Jim out of sight until his leg was healed.

He slept for a while eventually, too exhausted not to, and then he went back to his silent vigil.

Felt his heart thump hard in his chest, emotion choked up in his throat, and pushed in closer to Jim. Stroked a thumb along his cheekbone, and leaned in to press a kiss to his temple. Smiled at him through the ache in his throat and managed,

“I told you you weren’t going to die, didn’t I?”

Jim smiled at him weakly. Gazed up at him with those big blue eyes he had fallen so hard for and tugged faintly at his hand until he got the idea, moving in close enough to brush his lips carefully against Jim’s.

“I l-,” Jim started, voice all scratched up and broken, and Harvey silenced him with another gentle kiss before pulling back and beaming at him through the tears in his eyes,

“I know, you idiot. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	172. Sticks and Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I'd like to see a fic where Jim and Harvey are held captive by whoever and Jim is forced to beat Harvey for the sick entertainment of their kidnappers. If he doesn't comply they'll both be killed on the spot so Harvey tells Jim to do it. It buys enough time that they are rescued but Harvey is in a bad way and Jim can't live with what he's done. Whether there's a "happy" ending is up to you, I just need as much self-loathing Jim and loyal to a fault Harvey as I can get._

“Just do what they say, Jim.”

Harvey sounded resigned, long suffering in the way he did when he was putting a brave face on for the troops, and Jim wondered what it meant that part of him was instinctively responding to it. He wanted to believe all that it implied, he supposed.

That if he did as Harvey said - if he played the game and followed instructions - everything would be just fine.

They would both walk away from this latest mess alive.

“You should listen to your buddy,” the ringleader of the operation suggested, foul breath fanning Jim’s face as he leaned in close, “he knows the score. He understands how things work in Gotham.”

It wasn’t the first time Jim had heard that, though perhaps on previous occasions the sentiment had been easier to shrug off. He hadn’t been standing there helpless while one thug pressed a gun to Harvey’s temple, and another kept one trained on his own forehead.

“Why don’t we switch things around?” Jim suggested, busting out his best negotiating tone for the occasion. “You want to watch one of us beat the other up, what does it matter which way round we do it?”

He knew how to withstand pain, it was something he had a lot of experience with. Something he had prided himself on at certain points in his life, the ability to take a punch to the face and remain standing. A kick to the ribs and not make a sound. He would deny the bastards the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in agony, and he wouldn’t have the heavy weight on his conscience of inflicting yet more injury on the best friend he had ever known.

Because all the emotional wounds were still raw and gaping. Harvey was scarcely speaking to him, in the normal run of things, and though Jim was trying, nothing he said or did seemed to make a difference.

Nothing seemed able to bridge the growing gap between them.

The guy who had bundled them both into a van, bags over their heads, and given them an introductory kicking for good measure, tilted his head to the side as though he were considering the offer.

“Nope,” he said finally, grinning wide, “no can do. You see, Jim - I’m sure you don’t mind me calling you Jim - I’ve got scores to settle with Bullock going way back. I want to see him punished. And I want you to do the punishing.” He laughed, just as unhinged as any of the villains Jim had encountered in Gotham, before falling solemn and serious, “Of course, if you feel you’re not up to the task, there’s always Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

The guy grinned wider. “I blow both your brains out.”

“Just pick up the fricking bat,” Harvey demanded, looking up at him from his position on the ground, wrists handcuffed together and a hand twisted tight in his hair to keep his head up. “Hit me and get it over with!”

Still Jim hesitated. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Today had been about repairing the damage. He was going to ask Harvey to go for a drink with him when the case was wrapped up. There they would have talked about old times, and about the future, and he was going to gauge the situation carefully so he could ask Harvey to come back to his place and finish off the decent bottle of whiskey the Commissioner had gifted him.

They might have got pizza on the way back. Called out for Chinese, maybe. Ended up sat close on his sofa, Harvey’s body heat warding off the chill of the ever present loneliness pervading his apartment, and if things went really well - if fate was shining in his favor - perhaps Harvey would have understood what Jim had never managed to say out loud.

Perhaps there would have been drunken shoulder bumping and drunker kisses, and in the morning they would have had to be friends again because they’d be naked and wrapped around each other.

“If you get us both killed I’ll never forgive you,” Harvey warned, urgent, and Jim felt like he was watching the scene from outside himself as he wrapped his fingers around the grip of the baseball bat.

Harvey smiled at him in encouragement, a real smile through the fear and the pain of the rib that Jim suspected was already broken, and Jim wished that it were over. Wished that he could close his eyes and the whole thing would melt away. Instead he did as he was bid and sent up out of practice prayers that the GCPD would find them soon.

That something would happen, anything, because Harvey was pale and shaking. Grunting and panting harshly as Jim brought the bat down again and again on his back and sides, and broke his arm most likely, judging by the angle of it.

“You can do better than that,” their captors taunted, then had him bring the bat down with a sickening crunch against Harvey’s shin bone.

Harvey screamed, a sound that Jim knew was going to haunt his nightmares, and instead of being satisfied they had him break the fingers of Harvey’s left hand one by one, before moving on to the right. It was awful, right up there with the worst things he had ever lived through, and though Jim attempted to retreat into the space in his head where he wasn’t an integral part of what was happening, the tears streaking freely down Harvey’s face kept pulling him out of it.

“Go on,” Harvey urged when he hesitated, unable to bear being the cause of another cry of agony, and when he gave in, when he did it, he could have sworn that the emotion swimming in Harvey’s eyes was relief rather than anything Jim might have expected.

He was about to start on the ring finger when the cavalry finally put in an appearance. When weapons were dropped, and rights were read, and he threw the bat away from himself, dropping to his knees beside Harvey.

The paramedics pushed him aside. Lifted Harvey onto a stretcher and carried him out to the ambulance, while a cursory examination of his own frame revealed nothing more serious than cuts and bruises.

“Will he be okay?” He asked of Harvey, a little in shock and a lot in denial, and the medic could only meet his eyes for a moment before looking away and saying that the staff at Gotham General would be doing their best for him.

The reality of it began to sink in then, filtering past all of his defences, and Harper drove him to the hospital, choosing not to comment on the tears he had to keep dashing away with the heel of his hand.

It was touch and go, that was what the doctors told him, and he spent the night first in the waiting room, and then keeping a silent vigil at Harvey’s bedside. He couldn’t help but think of the last time he had done it, his hands still stained with Harvey’s blood, and his gut churning with a potent mix of anger and fear. Fear because Harvey had almost bled to death in his arms, and anger because if Harvey hadn’t betrayed him none of it would ever have happened.

There were always so many ifs in their line of work. Close calls, and near misses, and might have beens - good and bad. If he hadn’t gone to Falcone for help. If Harvey hadn’t let him go into Arkham alone. If he hadn’t begged Harvey to come back to the Force, and give up the life and the fiancée he had found for himself.

It was too late, there was no turning the clock back, and when Harvey did come around he was so out of it Jim wasn’t sure to what extent the other man was even aware of his presence.

He tried again later, after he had been advised to go home and get some rest, and Harvey was still so doped up that he asked him if Essen was mad he was going to be MIA for a while, right before suggesting that he ought to get going or his girlfriend would be missing him. Jim didn’t have the guts to ask which one he meant, couldn’t take the accusation in Harvey’s tone at the mention of Sofia, so he simply pledged to visit again the next day.

Except the next day the precinct was in crisis, and the top brass were demanding, and by the time he made it to the hospital Harvey was depressed and suffering, and all too aware of recent events as he said,

“There’s no need for you to be here, Jim. You did the sensible thing for once. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I’m here because I want to be,” Jim countered, hurt by Harvey’s attitude, “because I want to spend time with you.”

“Sure you do,” Harvey said, like he didn’t believe it at all, and the accompanying smile he gave him was twisted and ugly - and nothing at all like the one that should have been a pained grimace as Jim beat him into this condition.

Harvey had to blame him for it, there was no way he couldn’t, and as the days stretched into weeks Jim found excuse after excuse not to visit Harvey. He didn’t want to see the damage he had done, nor the blame he would doubtless find in his partner’s eyes.

“How’s Bullock doing?” Alvarez asked him three weeks in, conversationally, “I hear he’s back home now.”

Jim fobbed him off and changed the subject. Was too ashamed to admit that he didn’t know, that he hadn’t been to visit, and he thought of the day he signed for the Captain’s job, when he had sneered at Harvey for his cowardice. He was the coward now, as yellow bellied as they came, and he went to Harvey’s apartment after work, wincing at the sight of fading bruises and ugly stitches.

“How are you managing?” He asked, gaze falling on Harvey’s bandaged hands, and Harvey shrugged with an air of exhaustion,

“People have been generous with their time. You learn who your friends are.”

Jim heard what he was saying all too clearly, and rather than try to defend himself asked simply,

“Why did you let me do it?”

Because their captors were going to kill them both, that was the answer.

“Because they were going to kill you,” was what Harvey said, too tired and too run down to be anything but honest.

It hit Jim like a physical blow. Like a bash to the head and a sharp knife to the chest, because it was proof of something he had long suspected. Hoped for, and wished for, and ultimately ignored because it was easier to be the injured party than to acknowledge that he might be acting unfairly, pushing in close and then pulling away again.

Blowing hot and then cold and then choosing someone else’s bed to fall into, because he was too afraid of committing himself to a course of action there could be no going back from.

He ran again that night, losing himself in the thrill of uncertainty rather than face the terror of destroying a sure thing, and he kept on running, until he answered his cell one night and Sofia made a show of giggling too loudly.

Harvey’s hand was a swollen mess when he called by to try and explain himself. The smashed bottle told the story, along with the dent in the door, and Harvey only let out a shaky sigh and told him that it was his own problem to deal with. His own burden to bear.

“You didn’t get a good return, did you?” Jim managed finally, looking at the state of Harvey’s hands so he didn’t have to see the redness rimming his eyes. He wasn’t a good investment, Jim knew that. He had been nothing but a disappointment.

“We both know I’d do it all again,” Harvey said, nothing but the plain unadorned truth, and Jim had to take his leave. Had to lean against the cold brick of the building for long moments, breath misting in the night air, as he fought to keep control of himself.

Harvey would do it again, that was the problem.

They both knew that he didn’t deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	173. Chapter 173

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _People crushing on Harvey, who is totally oblivious - Jim is not. This eventually leads to Jim and Harvey getting together._

“She likes you.”

Harvey glanced up from his coffee, taking in the sway of the waitresses hips as she retreated to the kitchen, then smiled broadly at him.

“Of course she likes me. With a face like this, and the custom I bring her way, how could she not?”

“No,” Jim said, trying to break through Harvey’s bluster for once, “I mean she likes you.”

The older man seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. Scoffed at the suggestion and told Jim his detective skills needed working on. Slung an arm around his shoulders as they left, and remained completely oblivious to the dark eyes that followed him.

Jim saw them all too clearly. Watched too closely on visit after visit, wondering what it was that prevented Harvey from understanding that just because his own flirting was all done in good natured jest, it didn’t mean that everybody he encountered was flirting back out of politeness.

“You saying I lead people on?” Harvey questioned when Jim attempted to explain it one night, the two of them propping up the corner of a bar near the precinct. “Because I think you’re talking bullshit.”

He sounded genuinely offended - the accusation no doubt wrapped up in memories of his mother, Jim surmised. It was one of the things Jim liked best about him: the drive to do the right thing as he saw it. As his mother would have seen it, really, and though it didn’t always tally with Jim’s view of the situation, he could respect the feeling behind it.

It gave them something in common, something special they shared, and Jim gazed at Harvey a little too drunk and a lot too sentimental.

“I’m saying you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re more of a catch than you think you are.”

That hadn’t come out quite right, nothing he tried to say on the subject ever did, but Harvey only laughed heartily. Assured him with a clap to the back that his self-assessment was right on the money, but it was nice to know that Jim didn’t think him a total write off.

They meandered back to the topic a few drinks later, Harvey not mincing his words as he gave Jim his opinion of the type of guy who claimed to be sincere then left a lady in the lurch. The kind of guy who had left his mother high and dry, humiliated and penniless, so he could go and play happy families with a wife who had grown up in the right zip code.

Jim had heard the rant before, nodded along in the proper places, then started to get maudlin and miserable when Harvey moved on to how he would treat the person he wanted to share his life with.

“I wouldn’t mess them about,” Harvey said, over earnest with the drink, “I’d make sure they never doubted what I felt for them. I’d tell them every chance I got. That’s what you do when you find the one.”

He replayed the conversation in his head later, alone in his bed, fingers twisted tight in his blankets just like his heart was tied up in knots. The idea of it, the mere thought of it… Harvey fawning all over some stranger, telling them how much he loved them. It made him feel sick with jealousy.

Because the truth was that Jim wanted to be the object of Harvey’s affections. He wanted to the one Harvey was intent on swearing his undying devotion to, day after day, and maybe with Harvey he would even manage to say it in return, instead of the words simply burning on his tongue, held back by his stupid fear that they were only destined to be used against him.

Perhaps they would have been forever trapped by the status quo, Harvey too blind and he too reticent, but Harvey was in greater demand than even he had imagined. The private eye business was going well, Gotham full of people who wanted revenge or to track down somebody who had simply disappeared, and when Jim met Harvey at their customary diner for lunch a few weeks later it was to find a complete stranger in tow.

“This is Rawlins,” Harvey introduced, one hand on the newcomer’s shoulder, while the guy held out a hand and clarified with,

“Michael.”

Jim offered a polite smile through his disappointment. He didn’t get to spend enough time with Harvey, certainly not where he had the older man to himself, and it didn’t really matter to him how competent Rawlins was at sniffing out fraudsters or cheating husbands. He had been looking forward to basking in Harvey’s undivided attention.

The problem was that it wasn’t a one off encounter. Instead, Rawlins began to become part of the furniture. When Jim went to the bar after work, Rawlins was there, and when he called in at Harvey’s office wanting extra insight on a case he was working, Rawlins was always hovering, waiting to chip in his two cents worth.

Worse, when he ended up on Harvey’s doorstep after a hell of a day culminating in yet another hospital visit, it was Rawlins who pulled the door open, Harvey’s voice filtering through from the kitchen.

“Jim!” Harvey exclaimed when he clapped eyes on him and guided him over to the sofa, shifting aside the debris of pizza and beer, the game blaring out from the television.

Time was it had been their ritual, thighs pressed together on that couch as they bemoaned the tragic state of the city’s teams, and it hurt way worse than any of his cuts and bruises, knowing that Rawlins truly had supplanted him. Rawlins seemed to know it too. Smiled smugly at him when he lied that he had only ever intended this to be a fleeting visit, and smirked triumphantly a few days later when he dropped by to ask Harvey if he wanted to go for a drink, only to be told in response that he was gearing up for a long and boring stakeout.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jim offered, trying and failing not to sound pathetically eager, “It would be like reliving old times, wouldn’t it?”

“Three’s a crowd,” Rawlins said, with just enough joviality to ensure Harvey didn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary, “Besides, I don’t think it’s a fitting case for the great Jim Gordon.”

Jim glared at the sarcastic delivery. At everything it implied, because he wasn’t too good for the drudgery of day to day surveillance work and information collating. He had never even claimed to be. Harvey only nodded in agreement as he fixed Jim a coffee and handed it over.

“You’d be bored to tears. You never could sit still on an obbo.”

“I quite like it, myself,” Rawlins confessed, “really gives people a chance to get to know each other, don’t you think?”

It was that, more than anything, which convinced Jim that it wasn’t all a figment of his own imagination. A product of his own ugly jealousy.

Rawlins was after the exact same thing he wanted.

He wasn’t going to stand for it, that was what Jim decided as he sat at his desk the following morning, mind going over and over all the scenarios he had spent the night before imagining. The forced intimacy of the thing, and the way he and Harvey had first gotten over their initial antipathy during long hours sat together in the front seats of Harvey’s Diplomat. It had worn away the rough edges, ground down their resistance, and with hindsight it had been when he had started falling, those close confined nights getting to know the man beneath the brashness and the bluster.

In retaliation Jim dropped by the office more often. Told Harvey he needed to discuss confidential files over lunch, to keep Rawlins out of the picture, and got in his suggestions for evening diversions in advance. Ended up having to work late anyway, bound up in the latest crisis, and got to the bar just in time to see Harvey half draped over Rawlins’ shoulders, the other man fixing him with a too knowing look as he said that he’d see Harvey got home safe and sound.

“I’ll put him to bed, don’t you worry,” Rawlins assured, so that Jim scowled and seethed and spent the night tossing and turning, taunting himself with the thought that Rawlins was intent on sticking around afterwards - and that Harvey wouldn’t be averse to the idea.

He tried to find a way to bring up the topic, subtly, and when that got him nowhere he outright asked Harvey, taking advantage of one blissfully Rawlins free evening.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Harvey told him brusquely, softening the blow with, “I know it’s kind of difficult for you.”

“I’m telling you,” Jim insisted, “the guy couldn’t be any more obvious.”

Rawlins couldn’t, really. He looked at Harvey like he was the answer to all his prayers. Stuck close to his side every chance he got, and trailed around after him like a lovesick puppy. Did all the things Jim himself was prone to, and he supposed Harvey had never once noticed any of that either.

“I think I’d know if my partner was sweet on me,” Harvey told him, matter of fact, and Jim hit his limit.

“He’s not your partner,” Jim hissed, his grip on his own temper slipping rapidly through his fingers, “I don’t know how you can call him that.”

That was his role, his title, and Rawlins might be succeeding at taking absolutely everything from him, but he wasn’t going to stand by and give up without a fight.

“I’m not a cop no more,” Harvey said, watching him carefully, “I’ve got no hold over you.”

If possible, that only hurt worse than the original insult. So Harvey had left the force - so it had been all his fault. It didn’t mean that he ever wanted to hear it.

That he ever wanted to face up to the reality of what it meant for their relationship, or at least what was left of it.

Harvey’s hand found his shoulder, a solid comforting weight that made emotion clog in Jim’s throat and sting behind his eyelids. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was fate or some other power saving Harvey from the misery he would inevitably inflict upon him. He wouldn’t mean to - he never did. It just happened. Always.

“What’s the real problem, Jim?” Harvey asked then, close and quiet in his ear, and Jim shivered all over with pent up wanting. With seeing everything he most desired dangled on a fish hook, and knowing that if he reached out it would simply be wrenched away again.

“I don’t feel so well,” he said, by way of distraction, and it was no lie. He felt like he had just taken a punch to the gut.

Harvey fussed over him the way he had used to, the way that had been the norm not such a very long time ago, and Jim couldn’t find the willpower to say no to Harvey’s offer to see him home. Couldn’t say goodnight at the entrance to his apartment building, and couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t pathetically grateful to have another human presence in his cold and lonely apartment.

“You want to tell me what that was all about now?” Harvey asked when Jim was sure the other man had forgotten all about it, and it was so disconcerting he was opening his mouth and answering before he had chance to think better of it.

“Do you ever miss the way things used to be? When it was just you and me against the world.”

Harvey shook his head, amused, “And your girl giving you grief, and the press, the department and the Commissioner breathing down my neck. It was real cosy.”

The smile Jim was struggling for faltered before it reached his lips. That was the way things had really been, he guessed. It just looked a whole lot different in his memory. Looked the way he wanted things to be, rather than the way they were, and it took him a moment to realise that it was really the heat of Harvey’s hand soaking through his pants leg and not simply the force of his imagination.

He looked down at the hand on his knee, reached out for it instinctively, and when Harvey’s gaze met his own in question Jim couldn’t look away. Couldn’t hide anything, couldn’t play the part, and he saw the dawning understanding in Harvey’s eyes. Braced himself for Harvey’s reaction, for the horrific potential of a mention of Rawlins, and then Harvey’s hold on his hand was tightening.

“What are you trying to tell me here? I need you to say it, Jim.”

Harvey sounded kind of lost, voice scratched up and disbelieving, and Jim had to push the words from his own mouth, afraid even as excitement began to swell within him.

“I want it to be the two of us against the world. I want - I just want you, Harvey.”

This was it, the moment where everything would come together or it would all come tumbling down, and the relief was so great when Harvey pressed in close and kissed him that he wound his fingers tight in the back of Harvey’s shirt and kissed him back urgently.

He felt drunk on it, swept away by it, and when Harvey’s hand stole beneath the fabric of his own shirt the frantic sound that left his mouth ought to have been embarrassing. Jim didn’t care though, simply wanted more, and he pulled Harvey in closer, desperate to feel Harvey’s bare skin beneath his fingers.

Desperate for anything Harvey was willing to give him, and it didn’t take much before he was whining and panting against Harvey’s lips, hands clawing at Harvey’s hips as his own bucked up frantically into the grinding pressure.

He was so turned on, so worked up, and it was Harvey’s turn to moan when he tore at the fastenings of his pants and pushed them down as best he could with Harvey still blanketed atop him. He pulled at Harvey’s clothing too. Squirmed and writhed and cried out when Harvey worked a calloused hand around the both of them, the friction so good he was still shaking with tremors in the aftermath, watching open mouthed as Harvey spilled hot and wet over his own fingers.

Harvey kissed him clumsily. Swiped a hand clean on his own sweat sodden shirt and then traced fingertips over Jim’s cheekbone. Gazed dopily at him in the same way Jim imagined he was looking up at Harvey, and smiled at him stupidly after nuzzling along his jawbone.

“I’m going to have to give Rawlins a raise,” he said then, seemingly out of nowhere, and carried right on beaming at Jim as he explained, “he said you were getting green with jealousy and I told him he was talking hogwash.”

“You mean -” Jim started, because that sounded awfully like he had just been played for a fool by a guy who hadn’t even made it through the Academy.

“Were you jealous?” Harvey asked, soft and breathy like he still couldn’t believe Jim’s sincerity, and Jim figured there would be time enough for judging Rawlins’ true motives once he told anyone who would listen Harvey was throwing his lot in with him now. Instead he simply kissed Harvey again, careful and tender, and admitted with a smile that had Harvey positively glowing,

“I was sick with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	174. Chapter 174

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Soulmate AU where what you write on your skin shows up on your soulmate's skin._

Jim’s soul mark, when it appeared, was on his right thigh. A perfect spot for intimate communication, or so all the mushy magazine articles he had ever read on the subject had said.

“Don’t think that just because it’s hidden, nobody will ever find out about it,” had been the words of his high school gym teacher, a tyrant of an educator who fixed them all with his beady eye and told warning tales of students who had got carried away to their detriment.

Stories about respectable young ladies turfed out of the family home, and promising young men condemned to a life of ridicule when a sporting injury required a trip to the ER and the entire department saw the kind of filth they had been encouraging.

Jim thought about that last one as he plucked up the courage to write back, and wondered why he couldn’t have been the one in the partnership who got to start the conversation. Roger had been, of course, telling anyone would listen about how his arm chafed, like the blood beneath the skin was fizzing and popping, and invited the stranger home for tea to find out she was an heiress and her father owned half of Chicago.

That was a slight exaggeration, maybe, but she was still loaded and although she was dumb enough to think Roger a catch, Jim’s own heart sped up every time they were alone together, cheeks flooding with heat because of the effect she had on him.

“They say you have traits in common,” Roger told him cruelly when Jim’s 18th birthday came and went without any message, “so your match is probably locked up in some asylum. They don’t let them have pens in there, you know. Health and safety.”

Jim glared at his brother and told himself that he didn’t care anyway. Fate was outdated, that was what the documentaries and the chat shows said. It trapped people in miserable marriages and ruined their lives, like the woman whose mark appeared on her forehead, and her mystery match took endless pleasure in humiliating the both of them.

He kept telling himself it too, at 19 and 20, and even at 21, when he left home to go and join the army. He had all but given up on ever seeing a mark, truth be told, right up until the evening he was getting ready to go to bed and his thigh wouldn’t quit tingling. It was kind of like pins and needles, not quite like anything he had ever known, and when he stripped down to his boxers and undershirt ready to get under the covers, he couldn’t help but peer closely at the skin - just in case it was the mark coming through.

There was nothing there, nothing at all, and he was so disappointed he almost didn’t bother checking again in the morning. Except by then there was something to see, a scruffy scrawling script that read simply,

‘I’m drunk enough for this to seem a good idea.’

It wasn’t exactly the stuff of romance movies, not even the bittersweet kind, but Jim wrote back regardless. Traced his finger along the words that proved there was somebody out there for him - somebody who had finally wanted to make contact with him - and wrote carefully,

‘What do you regret more, the hangover or this message?’

He was impatient with anticipation all day. Couldn’t wait for duty to be over so he could go and check on progress, and found himself rubbing his fingers over the leg of his pants absentmindedly, daydreaming about the type of person nature had matched with him.

A bubbly blonde with a pretty smile, perhaps, or an accomplished brunette who would inspire him to self betterment. An outgoing girl with a wicked sense of humor, or maybe even a cautious guy, who would weigh him up and decide that he had been worth taking a risk for.

When he finally made it back to camp there was no message. He tried to be patient. Did his best to accept that they probably didn’t want to appear too eager. Didn’t know how best to word the missive, or had simply been too busy to spare a moment.

They could be a busy doctor, for all he knew. A fire fighter on call, or a cop working around the clock on a tricky case. They would be in touch when they had a second.

Two weeks later the message had first faded and then disappeared completely, and Jim was left struggling with black depression because somehow it hurt worse to be rejected than to be ignored completely. Before he had made up possible excuses to console himself. His match was ill, perhaps, or else had died tragically young. They bucked the known trend and were based in some far flung place he would never visit, somewhere without any understanding of the soul bond.

Maybe they were just one of the growing band of New Wavers who believed in a life undictated to by fate, who refused to make contact on principle, and after another week Jim gave in and asked them if that were the case, shivering as the pen moved against the skin of his thigh.

‘You’re better off forgetting I exist. Trust me.’

That was the response he received, and if there was anything Jim was known for, it was his unrelenting stubbornness.

‘Don’t I get a say in it?’ He wrote back, ‘For all you know, I thrive on making bad decisions.’

When that garnered a reply, the curiosity obvious, Jim grinned stupidly to himself and penned a smiley face on his leg, and told his reluctant match that he was on deployment with the army.

After that there was a message every night, sometimes more than one, and Jim realized that he was falling hard when even his CO commented on the gormless smile spread across his face. He just couldn’t help himself, just didn’t want to, because he still had no idea what the stranger looked like, or any of the things the other guys said were important.

He just knew that they were meant for each other, that they would balance out each other’s temperaments, and that they shared the same values.

‘Have you been drinking?’ was what he got when he tried to say as much, ‘You’re getting soppy and sentimental.’

It was true, that last bit, because they were given new orders to patrol more dangerous territory, and there was the very real threat that he might not live to see the following Monday morning.

‘I’m glad you took a chance on me,’ he confessed, finding it easier to be honest in these strange little notes than it would be verbally, ‘if I don’t make it back Stateside I want you to know that. I thought there must be something wrong with me. I was afraid it was just that nobody could want me.’

In the event the guy he was riding with lost his life. The guy behind him lost his leg. He was laid up in a hospital bed for three days, flitting in and out of consciousness, and when he came to he was handed a piece of paper - a transcribed copy of what it said on his leg in case it faded before he got chance to read it.

It was a veritable essay, at least in comparison to their usual communications, and Jim felt his heart clench up in his chest at the way some stranger thousands of miles away called him an idiot and berated his intelligence. Confessed to their own fears, and their own foibles, and briefly described the job that had gone wrong and left their partner in a wheelchair.

‘You had better make it back here so I can tell you this in person,’ they wrote finally, ‘because if you die I’ll have to kill you.’

Jim laughed a little, the pain of the movement not enough to extinguish the bright joy of the implication and, because his hand was still bound and immobile, he asked one of the nurses to print out where and when he would be arriving back on US soil.

They might not be there, that was what Jim told himself. They probably wouldn’t, all things considered, because police officers lead hectic lives, and it wouldn’t exactly be an ideal first meeting, him still bruised and bloody.

He hoped more than he would ever admit, all the same, and when he finally stepped down from the plane his stomach turned somersaults at the sight of broad shoulders and shaggy red hair.

“You must be Harvey,” he managed, voice not quite even, and Harvey simply flung his arms around him. Pulled him in, forceful but careful, and Jim marvelled at how right it felt as he relaxed into Harvey’s hold, conceding the truth of all the dumb novels he had read that described that first meeting as like finding the other half of yourself.

It wasn’t all plain sailing. They argued some and bickered plenty. Had to learn how to compromise, and how to make up when neither of them could manage it. Fell into sync regardless, bound together so tight they couldn’t imagine being without one another, and on his first night away at police academy Jim inked three little words onto his skin and hoped against hope that he hadn’t misread the situation.

‘Not half as much as I love you,’ was what he found underneath it in the morning, and Jim beamed all through the meagre breakfast and the subsequent assault course.

He did so enjoy being set a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	175. Chapter 175

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _smutty gordlock prompt - orgasm denial with Jim becoming increasingly desperate and turned on :)_

It never took much to get Jim going. A glancing touch here and a lingering look there. The press of a hand to the small of his back and the tease of breath against his neck, and Jim was all but begging for his attention.

Was shoving him up against the wall the moment they made it through the door of his apartment and kissing him demandingly. Pushing his fingers into his hair, and his tongue into his mouth, moaning appreciatively when Harvey reversed their positions and shoved a thigh between Jim’s legs.

It was so hot, such a ridiculous turn on, because Jim ground into his leg with a fevered air of desperation, and trembled in his arms when Harvey dropped his head to suck kisses into the skin of Jim’s neck. Harvey loved the way it turned Jim into a wreck, the way he clung and clutched and squirmed closer still, wanting more.

Needing more, even, and Jim reached for him blindly, the touch of his hand sending sparks of arousal through him. Making him groan in turn, part of him still not quite able to believe that it was Jim he was sharing this with. That Jim had chosen him, wanted to be with him, and he had to kiss Jim all over again, even as Jim directed him over to the sofa and stripped them out of their clothing.

Jim dropped to his knees when they got there. Looked up at him with those big blue eyes and pretty flushed cheeks, and set about popping the button on his slacks and pulling down the zipper, so full of promise that Harvey’s fingers tightened in the sofa cushions.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Harvey asked, unable to keep his damn mouth shut, and Jim made a pitiful little sound that made his dick twitch, Jim’s gaze following the movement hungrily. “Oh, God, can you see what you do to me?”

Jim could, there was no doubt of that. It felt like he had been waiting weeks to feel the heat of Jim’s mouth, like he was going to die if Jim didn’t touch him, and when Jim peered up at him through his lashes and licked a broad stripe over the head of his dick, it was all Harvey could do to retain some control of the situation. To not buck up into Jim’s sinfully beautiful mouth, frantic, and come off like a bottle rocket.

It was difficult though, so very difficult, because Jim’s technique was so wet and so loud, and every time he looked at what Jim was doing it was a whole new battle of willpower.

He could hear the clink of Jim’s belt buckle, the hiss of satisfaction as Jim succeeded in wrapping a hand around himself, and that was something else entirely - the proof that Jim was getting off on what he was doing. The knowledge that Jim was so desperate he couldn’t keep his hands off himself. He did his best to warn Jim. Ran a shaking hand through Jim’s hair and told him that it was his fault for being so fucking gorgeous.

Jim only redoubled his efforts. Inched down and down until Harvey’s thighs were quaking. Until his heart was hammering, every muscle straining, then Jim hummed around him - destroyed him - and Harvey had to give it up, groaning and praising as Jim kept at it until his vision was swimming.

“That was so good,” Jim panted when he finally came up for air, hand moving faster and faster even as Harvey hauled him up and into his lap, “I’m so close, Harvey.”

He really was, started shuddering with the added stimulation of Harvey’s mouth on the soft flesh of his throat, and then -

Then Jim’s cell was ringing, insistent, and Jim clung to him with extra fervour for a few moments before wrenching himself away to answer it. Harvey watched him through heavy lidded eyes, his own pulse still thrumming with excitement, gaze lingering on the blotchy flush covering Jim’s face and chest, and the hard jut of his dick as he tried to sound professional.

“Duty calls?” Harvey offered, when Jim clicked the handset shut, and Jim just ran a frustrated hand through his hair and said, voice raspy, that it was urgent and that he had to go right now. Looked at him like a starving man salivating over a steak, all the same, and groaned low in his throat when Harvey helped him button up his overcoat and kissed him goodbye.

“I want you so badly,” Jim whispered, so earnest it sent a fresh wave of heat crashing over him, and all Harvey could do was kiss him again and nip at his bottom lip. A promise that he’d see Jim right when the latest emergency was over.

That he’d reward Jim so well he’d be sobbing with it.

In the present Jim made a desperate sound as he pulled away, and gave him one last look before disappearing to go and keep the city in order.

Harvey swung by the precinct later, showered and changed and wanting to know if he could be of assistance. Jim fixed him with a longing look when he said it, so obvious it made Harvey wish the Captain’s office was soundproof, then seemed to pull himself together and claimed that everything was under control.

“I’m not going to finish here for hours,” Jim sighed, motioning at the inevitable paperwork, “and then I won’t get from here until late tomorrow.”

His initial impulse was to put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Work his fingers in a little, maybe, and rid Jim of some of the tension that had him arching his neck in a futile attempt at pain relief. But when he stepped around the desk to do it, leaned in closer to put the plan into motion, the helpless intake of air he heard made him rethink it. Jim’s breathing went shallow, expectant, and instead Harvey just taunted him with hot breath against the side of his neck and whispered into his ear.

“I’ll just have to wait until then, won’t I? I hope you weren’t thinking of getting started without me.”

His meaning was blatant, the effect it had on Jim almost equally so, and Harvey let his lips brush against the tip of Jim’s ear as he pulled away, just to see the wide eyed look of shock on the other man’s face.

“I could probably find a moment -” Jim started, like he couldn’t help himself, and Harvey just grinned at him and shook his head.

“Good things come to those who wait. You know that.”

Jim did, even if he didn’t like it. Even if he was struggling to sit still when they met up for lunch the following day, flush creeping down his neck as Harvey did his best to drive him to distraction. He showered Jim with incidental touches, fleeting moments of almost nothingness, and held his gaze as he attacked the dessert he ordered for that very reason, knowing Jim well enough to understand the kind of thing that got him hot under the collar.

“Sometimes I think you like being cruel to me,” Jim told him a touch unsteadily when they stepped out onto the sidewalk, and Harvey made a show of fixing Jim’s tie, brushing fingers over his shirt front.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jim just glared at him.

He got the same look again later when Jim was busy yanking his own tie free from his collar, and Harvey asked as innocently as he could manage if Jim didn’t want to go out and get something to eat with him. If he wouldn’t be bored, settling in with him for the night.

“I’m through waiting,” Jim told him, commanding, and Harvey only smiled sweetly because Jim didn’t have the first idea.

Because Jim was always so easily worked up. Made the most stunning sounds when he was in the throes of passion, and rocked into his movements, so very desperate for more. Harvey just wanted to push that a little further. Wanted to hear Jim beg - to see Jim come apart. To try and make Jim feel the kind of overwhelming rush he got every time Jim touched him.

So he let Jim manoeuvre him into the bedroom, and then down onto the bedcovers. Obediently followed Jim’s lead and slowly stripped him out of his clothing, pausing to brush adoring kisses onto each newly bared patch of golden skin, loving the hitch in Jim’s breathing and the smell of the soap he must have used in the precinct showers mingling with the natural scent he associated him with.

“Please don’t tease me,” Jim breathed, hopeful, when he trailed his fingers along the outline of Jim’s erection through his boxer briefs, and Harvey studied his face carefully as he asked him if he really meant that. He wouldn’t do anything Jim really didn’t want, would never do anything Jim specifically asked him not to, but Jim just flushed up hotter and glanced away, embarrassed. Confessed a little stiltedly that maybe he kind of liked it, and Harvey had to press a hand to his own arousal, just to stave off any premature reactions.

“Good,” he told Jim, fingers busy with his own belt buckle, “because I don’t remember telling you you could touch yourself.”

Jim moaned in response but pulled his hand away. Tangled it tight in the bedclothes as though he didn’t quite trust it not to wander otherwise, and Harvey set about working him past any lingering inhibitions. Kissed him and kissed him and then suckled at a nipple until Jim’s fingers were wound tight in his hair. Shifted down lower and sucked a hickey into the perfect flesh of Jim’s thigh, then lavished attention on his balls until Jim was begging for him to let him come.

“I’ll get you there,” Harvey promised, linking a hand with one of Jim’s in equal parts restraint and reassurance, then began slowly working him open with tongue and fingers, revelling in every frantic plea that fell from Jim’s bite swollen lips. Jim’s free hand caressed the side of his face, gentle over the curve of his ear, and then it was fisted back in the blanket, Jim’s head tipped back as he panted and cursed, rocking back minutely into the stimulation.

“You look so good like this,” Harvey told him when he sank two fingers inside him, Jim whimpering at the sensation. “Maybe I should keep you like this always, so close to the edge but never letting you fall over it. Just keep you so desperate you’ll do anything. What do you think, Jim?”

Jim looked drunk on it all, eyes dark and mouth hanging open, and he had to repeat the question before Jim could manage an answer.

“I need you inside me,” was the most coherent line Jim seemed capable of, and Harvey was only human. Was throbbing in the confines of his pants, aching with how much he wanted the vision in front of him, and he tore at his clothing without finesses, crawling back up the bed so he could kiss Jim deeply.

He swore when Jim reached out for him, fingers spreading pre come down the length of his shaft in a firm grip that threatened to have his eyes rolling back in his head. He had been planning to drag it out longer. Had assumed he would be able to stave off the inevitable. But Jim was so warm and so inviting, and when Jim arched his neck in encouragement Harvey knew it was going to happen, because the way Jim squirmed and writhed and cried out at having the wet heat of Harvey’s mouth on his neck was too much by far.

Jim clawed at Harvey’s back and spread his legs in invitation. Tried to pull him closer even as Harvey struggled with the condom, and sobbed out a litany of ‘fuck’ and ‘yes’ and ‘like that’ as Harvey finally sank into him. As he began to move, the tight heat threatening to deprive him of his sanity, hair falling like a curtain between them as Jim directed the pace and the depth of his movements.

It wasn’t enough, couldn’t be judging by the way Jim kept begging for more, and Harvey shuddered all over at the sound Jim made when he pulled out completely. It was bereft, so fucking hot he wished he had recorded it, and he yanked Jim to the edge of the bed by his thighs, holding up his legs so he could plunge in deeper. So he could give Jim what he wanted. So he could watch the pleasure play across Jim’s face as he pleaded with him not to stop.

He was panting furiously with the effort. Dripping sweat and gasping for breath, and when his rhythm faltered Jim was the one to take control and twist over. To push up onto hands and knees, moving backwards into every thrust like his life depended on it. Like he was so close he couldn’t stop himself, and Harvey was half certain he was seeing stars, the heat and the visual and the frantic sounds Jim was making combining to have him wrapping a hand around Jim’s neglected dick, and begging him to come for him.

Babbling all kinds of nonsense. Filth about how good Jim felt and looked and tasted, and sentimental mush about how much he loved him. How perfect he was, and how he needed him to quit holding back, right now.

For once, Jim did as he was told. Jerked and moaned and trembled, and clenched up so tight Harvey only managed a handful of thrusts before following his example, legs going limp as spaghetti as he shook through his own climax. As he collapsed beside Jim, heavily, and fought for breath even as reached out blindly for one of Jim’s hands to anchor him to reality.

Jim shifted close enough to kiss him. To curl into his side and fling an arm across his middle, possessive in a way that made Harvey’s heart ache with happiness.

“Next time I’ll tease you for hours,” Jim threatened, voice scratched up and muffled into the skin of Harvey’s chest, “then we’ll see how you like it.”

“That had better be a promise,” Harvey countered, liking the idea just fine even if he couldn’t get his eyes open, and Jim huffed an amused little sound and clung a touch tighter. Pressed a kiss into the nearest patch of skin, silent confirmation of everything they had confessed to each other, and Harvey squeezed at the hand in his own to let Jim know that he felt it too.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jim said, conceding, and Harvey smiled up at the ceiling. He was sure Jim would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	176. Chapter 176

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about a fic that’s set after “stop hitting yourself” where Harvey and Jim are on bad terms/don’t talk for a little while, then Jim is injured and taken to the hospital and Harvey is his emergency contact. Of course he goes and there’s angst and feelings and deep shit and finally some fluff at the end?_
> 
> TW for depression, suicidal thoughts, etc.

The view from the window was familiar. Too familiar. It was almost the exact same one he grew up with, staring out day after day at the grime and the dirt and the lines of graying laundry. The crime, and the poverty, and the violence. The prospect of more of the same, stretching endlessly on into the distance, until he died of an overdose or got caught in the crossfire.

That was how things worked in The Narrows.

He had thought, for a time, that he had broken free of his destiny. He clawed his way out of the slums and through the academy. Made it to Captain of one of the city’s major precincts. Had friends, and a purpose, and could stand at his mother’s graveside and tell her he had made something of himself.

Except he hadn’t, not really. The job came to him by default, a poisoned chalice that nobody else wanted, and his so called friends all melted away almost before the ink was dry on the paper. It had all been a lie, a total farce, and Jim didn’t bother calling him to check if he was all right. He didn’t care when his leave turned permanent, and he didn’t give a damn when Harvey’s landlord decided enough was enough and kicked him out on his ear.

The place had been a dive as it was - the cheapest thing he could find outside of the slum district. That meant the only way was down. Down with the rats and rubbish, and then back up flight after flight of stairs, to a busted up mess of a bed and a bottle of whatever was on offer.

When he was a kid he used to look at the old fella who lived at the end of their corridor with a mixture of pity and revulsion. He was lost to the drink, completely dependent, and Harvey remembered praying to God that he wouldn’t end up like him - shambling, and shaking, and sobbing in the stairwell for a woman who chose somebody else to spend the rest of her life with.

The only difference between them was that it was a man, in his case, because in every other respect he had turned into his worst fear. Kids sneered at him now, to plaster over their uncomfortable pity, and Harvey took to accepting any request that was likely to pay in liquid escapism. He called by the precinct in the hope of pressing somebody for information. A little job that would get him through a long lonely evening, nothing too outrageous, and when he got there he glanced through the blinds at the Captain’s window to see Jim wrapped around Falcone’s daughter.

He should have known what the score was. Should have seen it from the very moment Jim boarded the plane from Gotham to Miami. But he hadn’t wanted to see, hadn’t wanted to believe that Jim was that much of a hypocrite, and it hurt worse than Pyg’s knife at his throat, watching Jim kiss Sofia.

After the pain came the anger. The seething burning outrage that he had given Jim everything. That he had accepted Jim’s criticisms, had sat all night contemplating the gun in his hands, and all the while Jim was fucking a veritable symbol of corruption and mob control.

If he was lackadaisical cynic, Jim was a goddamned hypocrite.

The sting of it wouldn’t go away, becoming instead a marrow deep ache that no amount of drink could get rid of. It didn’t matter what he did or where he went. How much he drank, or smoked, or tore through the files he had spent his entire working life hoarding, because he wasn’t a cop anymore, and it had never been much help to them in any case.

There were his John and Jane Does, and the murder victims he hadn’t delivered justice for. The faded official reports and the grainy newspaper clippings. The mortuary photographs and there, bundled in with it all, reams of Jim’s handwritten notes, as if possessing something of Jim’s would bind them closer together.

He tried ripping them to pieces. Couldn’t get through the wedge of papers in his hands and broke down sobbing instead. Swallowed down a mixture of whiskey and pain pills, and ended up hunched over the bathroom sink, blood everywhere.

It was stupid, really. The blade of the knife was too dull, and he supposed that he didn’t truly want to die. If he did he would have opted for something instant. Something there could be no hope of surviving. That was what one of his neighbors told him at any rate, without any invitation, because the cuts became infected and he was in such a bad way that there was no hiding it.

“You should see the Doc,” the old busybody advised, like he was a silly child, and he held out until he couldn’t stand it.

Until he realized that he had no pride left anyway.

Lee patched him up in silence. Raised a sardonic eyebrow when he failed to bite back a hiss of pain, and waited until she had a needle stuck in him before starting,

“As far as I can see, you’re better off out of it. You told Jim you never wanted the job in the first place.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Harvey offered, unable to let go off the horror of searching for Jim’s coffin, and in return she bound his wrists far tighter than he deemed necessary, just to watch him wince with each and every movement.

“Does Jim know?” Lee asked him when he went back for her to check up on him, and he shrugged too casually and said that he wasn’t a mind reader. He had no idea what Jim knew. Where he was or what he was doing.

Lee smiled at him, the smile he had always hated because he knew how Jim loved it, and said simply,

“You were never any good at lying to me.”

He rolled that conversation around in his mind. Remembered another that had taken place years before - Lee stressed out and pale with morning sickness, demanding to know what there was between them. Why he was always so very desperate to ensure Jim’s well being. He had told her then that it was laughable, ridiculous, and then gone home to bury his nose in the collar of a jacket Jim had left there, ashamed of himself for being so unspeakably pathetic.

That jacket was still hanging in his closet, along with a couple of Jim’s shirts and one of his pullovers, and Harvey stared at them for a long time one evening before bundling them all into a bag and using them as an excuse to knock at the door of Jim’s apartment. There was no answer, no sounds from within either, so Harvey left the bag on Jim’s doorstep and spent the rest of the night drinking his rent money.

In spite of it all, he thought that Jim might call him. He hoped that Jim might seek him out in person. He dreamed every night of Jim pressing in close and begging for his forgiveness, and woke in the mornings to a sick sensation in his stomach, devastated by the knowledge that the only place that was ever going to happen was in his own imagination.

So when the call did come he answered it too eagerly. Listened to the voice on the other end of the line with a growing sense of panic, and rushed over to Gotham General for all that he had claimed to the strangers he had rambled to in the dive bars that Jim Gordon was already dead to him.

Now the prospect was actually in front of him, the potential that Jim might be gone before he could get there, he would give anything to take those words back again.

Would gladly trade places in a heartbeat, if it meant that Jim was fit and safe and whole, and he was the one in the back of an ambulance.

He sat for hours at Jim’s bedside. Held his hand and stroked his forehead. Spoke in halting raspy whispers about what an idiot Jim was and how stupid he had been. How the department couldn’t take another change in personnel, not just now, and how he didn’t understand how Jim could be so damn inconsiderate.

What was he supposed to do if Jim died?

How was he supposed to carry on breathing?

He had to swipe the tears from his cheeks when Jim finally came around. Did his best to play it cool and nonchalant, and pretended that it didn’t hurt like something physical, gazing into Jim’s beautiful blue eyes and knowing that Jim wished it were somebody else he had woken up to.

Except Jim reached out for him when he made to leave. Choked out his name, doped up and desperate, and Harvey sank back into the same uncomfortable position, his heart aching as he watched Jim fall asleep again.

He loved the man too much, didn’t know how to give him up, and over the next few days he all but lived at the hospital, putting on his best poker face every time the nurses came round to change Jim’s dressings.

“Does it really look that bad?” Jim asked, proving once more that his best wasn’t good enough, and Harvey had to look away because he couldn’t keep eye contact with Jim and lie to him.

He called in a favor from the fire department that afternoon, so he could walk through the blackened shell of Jim’s apartment and see if there was anything worth salvaging. Stuck his nose into all Jim’s rather unoriginal hidey holes, and fished out the battered old tin he knew meant the world to Jim. He left it in Jim’s locker, while he was being tested on elsewhere, and his cell phone jolted him awake at two in the morning, Jim’s voice demanding to know why he was doing this.

“I don’t deserve it,” Jim said, scratched up and emotional, “I don’t need your pity.”

“Is that what you think this is? It’s me who ought to be pitied, Jim. It always has been.”

Harvey tossed and turned all night after that, restless and miserable, and in the morning Jim looked exhausted too, eyes rimmed red as though he had been crying.

“Do you want me to ask the doctors about some pain relief?” Harvey offered, helpless in the face of Jim’s suffering, but Jim just swallowed thickly and said,

“It was you I thought of, when I was sure I was going to die. Not Lee, not Sofia. It was you I wanted, Harvey.”

Harvey stared at him in disbelief. Felt each word like a physical blow, and reached for Jim with a hand which trembled. It wasn’t the confession he most wanted, but it was still more than he had ever dared dream of. More than he could bear, almost, and he touched Jim’s hand as gently as he could, mindful of the burns and the bandages.

Jim stroked the fingertips of his other hand up over his wrist in turn. Caught the edges of the still vivid scar and said quietly, “I know what you did and why. I’m sorry.”

A nurse bustled in before Harvey could answer, all false cheer and determination, and that was the end of the conversation. Forever, or so Harvey assumed, until Jim explained to him that he needed to get out of hospital, and to do that he needed a place to stay and somebody to help him for a week or two. Invited himself for a stay in The Narrows, just like that, and Harvey couldn’t stop staring at the sight of Jim sat in front of the window with the view of the laundry and the garbage cans, unable to get over the surreality of the situation.

“They say it won’t be so obvious once it’s fully healed,” Jim said, misunderstanding his focus, and Harvey was shaking his head before he could stop himself.

“You look perfect,” he said - and he meant it. The angry red skin that crept above Jim’s collar line and along one side of his face was proof that he was a survivor. The bandages wound around his arms signified that he was tougher than the city’s criminal element gave him credit for. Harvey forced a smile to his face, and an attempt at joviality out of his mouth, “I’m sure that’s what your girlfriend will say, at any rate.”

They hadn’t talked of Sofia. He because the idea alone was hideous and Jim, he assumed, because he was having a belated bash at being considerate. She still loomed large over everything though, the same way she did over the city itself, like a blanket of smog seeping into every nook and cranny.

“I broke things off,” Jim said, that blue gaze boring into his own. “You were right, about how I got the job. But not why I took it. I don’t want to be anyone’s pawn. I want someone who understands what’s important to me.”

Jim’s hand came to rest on the bag he had brought from the hospital. On the shape of his keepsake tin within. Harvey swallowed through the sudden ache in his throat, the swell of emotion almost overwhelming. He could be that for Jim. He wanted so desperately for Jim to be that for him in return.

“And what about when I fuck up?” Harvey managed eventually, wanting so badly to believe but remembering the agony of watching Jim walk out on him at the hospital. Witnessing him sign the acceptance papers and tell him that he was a failure. “When I can’t live up to expectations, and some new chick turns up with a tight skirt and a sob story?”

That was a touch harsh, probably, but he had been pushed to his limit and he had had little enough time for the Falcone family to start with.

“That’s when you remind me of what I’m going to say right now,” Jim said, eyes wet and tone anxious, “I might not deserve your forgiveness but I know I have it. I’m not going to throw that away. I never want to make you regret it.”

He could almost feel Jim’s gaze on his wrists. The weight of their shared stubbornness and stupidity. All his own aborted tempts to confess how he felt, and Jim’s to tell him that he already knew.

“I love you,” Harvey said, redundantly. “I’ve tried not to but I can’t help it.”

“I love you too,” Jim confessed, voice reduced to nothing but a scratched up whisper, even as Harvey moved across the room as though drawn by a magnet. Like a moth to the flame, likely to get burned but powerless to resist, and carefully touched his fingers to Jim’s cheek.

Waited until Jim made the first move, until Jim was leaning in closer, then brushed their lips together.

“It’s not all going to be fixed overnight,” Harvey warned, for all the words were soft and tender, “I can’t promise you miracles.”

“I’m not asking for any,” Jim told him solemnly, the fingers of his better hand tangling with his own to seal the pledge, “all I’m asking for is for you to take a chance on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	177. Chapter 177

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shameless smut request. I don't care why, I don't care how. But Jim in a certain uniform and lace..._
> 
> This is entirely meowitskatmofo's fault. xD

It wasn’t the kind of thing Harvey made a habit of buying, that was for sure. But inquiries had taken him to the cramped little boutique, and he was nothing if not a sucker for lace and silk and frilly little flouncy bits.

He blamed it on the repressed Catholic upbringing - it was the perfect scapegoat for just about anything.

The upshot was that he lingered a little longer than he probably should have. Peered at the displays a little too closely, and couldn’t help but be captivated by a pair of panties in the exact same shade of blue as Jim’s eyes. He ought to know - he spent enough time mooning over them.

So he handed the cash over, ignored the dubious look on the shop assistant’s face, and shoved the things deep into the pocket of his trench coat because he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with them. He knew what he wanted to do with them, that wasn’t the problem. He didn’t think Jim was the kind of guy to play ball though. No matter how fantastic Harvey knew Jim would look with the lacy waistband skirting his hip bones.

Instead they remained in his pocket, under crumpled receipts and scrunched up candy wrappers, until he forgot all about their existence. Forgot that there was any reason why he might not want Jim rifling through his coat pockets, and when Jim started nagging him to find the scrawled phone number he had noted down while out and about asking questions, Harvey scarcely took his attention off the game.

He told Jim he had free reign to look for it himself, got pulled back into the action seconds later, and couldn’t make sense of the way Jim pretended to already be asleep when he climbed into bed that night, nor why Jim was cold and standoffish when he met him for lunch at a diner not far from the precinct.

“What’s the matter, Jim?” Harvey asked him quietly before Jim took his leave to go back to work. “You know you can tell me anything.”

He put a hand on Jim’s arm, motivated by concern and sincerity and the need to always to be near him, but Jim just eyed it up like it was diseased and said he had a busy case load to be getting on with.

Harvey couldn’t puzzle it out, though he dedicated most of the afternoon to the problem, and the evening afterwards. Jim didn’t come home until late, eyes a little bleary like he had been drinking, and Harvey tried playing dirty by pressing in close to Jim and letting his fingers wander. Brushed a kiss to the ridge of Jim’s ear and whispered that he could tell that Jim was stressed, and that he only wanted to make him feel better.

Jim pulled away and told him that he wasn’t in the mood. That not all problems could be solved in the bedroom, and maybe Harvey should try thinking with his brain instead of his dick for a change.

He spent the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep without Jim curled in close to him, and at half three he finally gave it up as a bad job and went to find Jim having an equally sleepless night on the sofa. He got Jim to shift his legs for a moment, just long enough for him to sit, then had him stretch them back over him.

“You’re going to have to tell me what it is I’ve done wrong. I’m sure I’m going to be sorry for it.”

Jim scoffed at that. Sat up and made sure to kick him a little in the process. “You can’t just laugh this off,” Jim told him, real anger in his tone, “I won’t let you.”

He must have looked as clueless as he felt. As completely and utterly out of the loop because Jim only seemed to get angrier still. Scrubbed a hand across his face, then raked it through his hair, before meeting his eye and accusing him of the most laughably ridiculous scenario.

“But I found - “ Jim couldn’t say it in answer to his denials, cheeks flushed with outrage and embarrassment, “They were in your coat pocket!”

Distantly, Harvey figured he ought to be angry. Riled up and put out that Jim would automatically think the worst of him. He was more focused on reaching out for Jim’s hand though. On stroking his thumb over soft skin and gazing into Jim’s big blue eyes as he asked gently,

“Do you really think I would go looking elsewhere? Have I ever given you reason to think I’d do that to you?”

Jim went tense and silent, all the answer either of them needed, and Harvey found himself confessing exactly why and how that slip of lace had come to be in his possession. Jim looked at him like he had lost his mind. Stared wide-eyed and stuttered out that he couldn’t be serious.

“Deadly,” Harvey assured, pulse quickening as Jim let himself be tugged down to sit beside him. “You look good in anything. Nothing. I’m not fussy. Come to bed and I’ll prove it to you.”

He did, a couple of times, until they were both exhausted. Until Jim cuddled into his side and started snoring, and he drifted off to happy dreams of his own. They talked about it more later that week, Jim adorably flushed and flustered, and Harvey unable to keep the dumb grin off his face as he described the many and varied types of outfit he would love to see Jim wearing.

“You have serious issues,” Jim told him, a smile curling across his face all the same, “your mind is like a sewer.”

Harvey shrugged. Pressed a kiss to Jim’s cheek, helpless to stop himself, and suggested that if Jim was still intent on making things up to him he now had a dozen or more ideas to be going on with. Jim laughed and shook his head. Kissed him back, anyway, and distracted him from thoughts of lace, and dressing up, and even his belated dinner by straddling his lap and robbing him of the ability to do anything but grind up against Jim and be kissed senseless.

“You never gave me any reason to doubt you,” Jim told him afterwards, words skittering against the bare skin of Harvey’s chest, “but I keep giving you reasons to make you want to.”

It twisted his heart up in knots. Had him petting at Jim’s arm and his hair, and promising Jim breathlessly that all he wanted - all he had ever wanted - was to be able to hold Jim like this.

“I don’t even have words for what I feel for you,” Harvey admitted, kissing him all over again, “I love you so much sometimes I can’t bear it.”

It was sentimental mush of the worst kind, the kind Jim so effortlessly inspired in him, and Jim just encouraged it all the more, like he had a fetish of his own he needed satisfying.

“I like it when you can’t keep your mouth shut,” Jim confessed, a touch awkward, a few days later, “I like hearing how much you want me.”

Jim wasn’t kidding either. Couldn’t be because he got home one night the following week to hear Jim’s voice telling him that he was in the bedroom, and then that he had better not laugh at him. Harvey frowned at that, thoughts racing with a thousand different scenarios - not one of them at all good. Then he pushed the door open and for a second all thought deserted him. His brain kind of overloaded and had to kickstart itself all over again, completely overwhelmed by the vision in front of him.

Because Jim had really gone above and beyond the call of duty. Had acquired, God only knew from where, a scandalously tight fitting cheerleader uniform. The skirt was so short he could tell that Jim wasn’t wearing his usual underwear. Perhaps wasn’t wearing any at all, he thought at first, until Jim forced himself to meet his eye - his gaze dark and his cheeks heated - and suddenly Harvey knew exactly what he was wearing under that skirt.

“You said-” Jim started, trailing off helplessly, and Harvey had no intention of giving Jim chance to regret putting so much effort in.

“I haven’t got any money stashed away, you know,” he said, tugging at the knot of his tie and crossing the room in a few urgent steps, “so there’s no point in trying to give me a heart attack.”

“The aim was to give you something else entirely,” Jim offered, visibly relaxing even as his gaze swept over the front of his slacks, “and then maybe have you give it to me in gratitude.”

Harvey was torn between grinning and panting. Laughing with childish glee, and dropping to his knees, desperate to taste Jim through the flimsy material. He settled for kissing Jim demandingly. Letting his hands roam all over Jim’s perfect body - under the uniform top to his chest, and along the hem of the skirt, fingers teasing at the sensitive flesh of Jim’s inner thighs.

“You look so good in this,” he told Jim, voice already roughened with lust, “you have no idea how often I am going to be beating off to this memory.” Jim moaned, appreciative of his words and his touches, and Harvey gave himself over to the frantic pulsing of the blood in his veins, determined to show Jim just how affected he truly was.

He pushed Jim back on the bed. Crawled up to join him, Jim’s tongue slick in his mouth as he slowly slid a hand up Jim’s leg and brushed fingertips against the lace edge of his panties. Jim made a mournful little sound, obviously aching for more, and Harvey felt light headed with the extra rush of blood it sent to his dick. Felt completely overwhelmed by the fact Jim had done this for him - something he knew Jim wouldn’t have found easy - and he couldn’t stop the words falling from his lips.

Told Jim that he looked amazing. That he was sexy and gorgeous and beautiful, and that he had him so fucking hard he was half certain he was about to split his zipper.

“Oh God,” he groaned, helpless, when Jim’s response was to start groping at him through his trousers, and then it was a flurry of movement, Jim doing his best to strip him out of his clothing as he worked at raising a monster of a hickey just above Jim’s collar bone. Jim loved it, was so clearly getting off on it, and Harvey didn’t have the self-control to worry about Jim’s shirt collar chafing, not when Jim’s fingers were tangled tight in his hair to hold his head in place.

When Jim was writhing and begging, and when Jim finally took hold of his wrist and pushed his hand under his skirt with a desperate plea to touch him.

He could feel how much Jim wanted this - how much Jim wanted him - and any hope Harvey had of taking things slow and steady evaporated in that moment. Instead he pushed his cheek against Jim’s straining erection. Shivered at the feel of the lace, at the sight of it barely concealing anything, and then shivered all over again at the sound Jim made, when he started to suck the head of Jim’s dick through his underwear.

Jim couldn’t keep quiet at all. Couldn’t seem to keep still either, and Harvey had to taste him properly. Had to swallow him down deep, just to feel Jim’s grip on his hair tighten, and his hips start pushing up in spite of himself.

“I want a good view of this,” Harvey choked out when they were kissing again, hot and wet and urgent, hands running all over Jim’s uniform, “I want you on top. I want to see your face when you come all over me.”

Jim didn’t argue. Appeared more than happy to go along with the suggestion, and rode his fingers so eagerly Harvey was afraid he was going to come off before Jim was anywhere near ready. Because he loved how vocal Jim could get. Adored the way Jim was willing to let himself go and get carried away, secure in the knowledge that Harvey wasn’t going to use it against him.

That it turned him on so much he had to screw his eyes tight shut as he fumbled with the condom, the sight of Jim’s kiss swollen lips and sweat damp hair more than he could handle.

“Take it slow,” he croaked when Jim positioned himself. Groaned out something incoherent when Jim began inching downwards, hands finding JIm’s hips and holding on for dear life. Because Jim had never been any good at following orders. Did what he wanted, when he wanted, and started jerking himself hard and fast under the pleats of the skirt - the same rhythm with which he began fucking himself on his dick, mouth hanging open as he worked to find the perfect angle.

Harvey had to help him. Had to rock up into Jim’s motions, and slide a hand under Jim’s top to toy with one of his nipples. Jim whimpered at the extra stimulation. Cried out when he shifted a little, enough to drive him still deeper, and then they were both gasping and feverish, staring bewildered at each other as Jim sobbed and shook and shuddered, the force of his climax apparently taking him completely by surprise.

It was so achingly hot, so unbearably perfect, and Jim kissed him breathlessly. Made him pledge, promise, that he didn’t want anyone else, that he was never going to go searching behind his back, and then kissed him again, fingers tugging so deliciously at his hair that Harvey couldn’t hold off any longer.

They didn’t move for a long time afterwards, happy to be wrapped around each other trading languid kisses.

“You have to tell me where you got this from,” Harvey said eventually, fingers toying with the hem of Jim’s mess of a skirt, and Jim just gave him kind of a bashful smile and said,

“Maybe I didn’t need to get it from anywhere. Maybe there are things you don’t know about me.”

Harvey beamed at him in return, delighted to see Jim playing at mysterious, and trailed fingers along the side of Jim’s neck knowing exactly what it would do to him. Jim clung tighter, sure enough, and Harvey thanked his lucky stars as he smiled up at the ceiling.

“In that case, I’d better start working on ways of getting you to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	178. Chapter 178

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I'd love something where Jim bumps to an old friend or someone from his past, and introduces them to his husband (basically future fic where gordlock are married, with outsider pov?)_
> 
> I went with Jim's mother. TW for some bleak childhood experiences.

They had never been close, not the way mother and son ought to be.

There would be support now. Therapists and pills and understanding. Then there was only Peter telling her that she should be grateful. Thankful that she need not go out to work, and appreciative of the home he had provided for her.

The hired help who saw to its upkeep and the hair appointments he scheduled to keep up appearances.

She was losing her mind she thought sometimes, sitting in their spotless lounge with perfect nails and nothing to do.

A full face of make up and nobody to talk to.

“Think of the children,” her own mother advised, as emotionally aloof as she had always been, and one night she stood over the crib staring into blue eyes the exact same shade as Peter’s.

Wondering if anyone would dare investigate a tragic cot death in the family of a district attorney.

It was his fault, that was the truth of it, because one child she could support. Two had her locked in forever. Had her trapped in a world of vapid smiles and powerful tranquillizers, watching her husband shake on deals he couldn’t hope to survive reneging on.

Peter didn’t, of course, and she felt nothing when they took her to identify what was left of him.

When they lead her afterwards to Jim’s bedside, and he looked up at her with Peter’s eyes.

She sent him away to school the first chance she got. Claimed it was to help him deal with the trauma of the crash, and only later really considered how awful it must have been to lose one parent and be abandoned by the other.

All of that came later - too late - because by the time she realized what she had to lose she had already lost it. Jim had never said as much. Had never ranted or raved, or slammed the door shut after a teenage argument. He simply refused to engage.

Spoke only when spoken to, and had to force grimaces of smiles that never quite reached his eyes.

“You do know that I love you?” She queried once, not long after Jim announced that he intended to join the army, and all he could do was nod politely and say that it was good of her to say so.

They wrote letters, stilted and impersonal, and though he visited she could tell it was because he believed that he ought to. Jim was a great one for that - doing what ought to be done. What his father would have done, he told her once, gaze lingering on a framed photograph of Peter she kept on display out of a similar sense of duty.

That was the real problem, she supposed. They shared far too much in common.

Jim was too proud and too stubborn. Struggled to make connections with people, and fought against the strength of his own emotions, terrified that they might leave him vulnerable. That the rejection was inevitable, anyway, confirmed again and again by disastrously failed relationships.

“What did I do wrong?” Jim demanded in the aftermath of one such ill-fated union, drunk and tearful on the end of a bad line, “Why was I the one punished?”

He could be talking about the verdict reached by the courts - the miscarriage of justice that had seen him almost beaten to death in Blackgate. He wasn’t though, and she knew it. She understood exactly what he wanted to know, and also that she could never explain it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she managed, finally, because admitting blame was easier than apologizing.

Jim hung up, leaving nothing but dead silence, and when he called at Thanksgiving the same as usual neither of them alluded to the conversation.

He sent a card at Christmas and she left him a perfunctory message wishing him a happy birthday. They exchanged awkward small talk during a brief stop over in Gotham city, and when he looked at her with the yearning hope of the boy she had turned her back on she held a hand out like they were concluding one of Peter’s business deals.

She couldn’t give him what he wanted - not then, and not now either. She wasn’t cut out for hugs and tears, and he hadn’t the first idea of how to go about asking for them. Not from her, and perhaps not from anyone else either.

There were no new engagement announcements at any rate, and no new faces brought along to weddings and funerals. No sign of Jim at all, eventually, and rather than reach out they pulled further away - two strangers bound together by blood.

The encounter, when it did come, was by chance alone.

The introductions, when they were made, tore open wounds she had believed long since healed.

“I was going to write,” Jim lied, fear in those too familiar blue eyes but defiance in the tilt of his jaw.

“You thought I would disapprove,” she said simply, watching the way his shoulders tensed and the way a hand settled on the small of his back in response, reassuring. The way Jim relaxed into the touch, ever so slightly, and the way her son’s husband looked at him, like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

Jim’s face softened in turn when their gaze met, briefly, a smile flitting across his features of the kind she had never seen him bestow on anyone.

“I’m happy for you. Truly.”

She touched his arm, a familiarity she had no right to, in lieu of saying sorry. Swallowed down the choking swell of emotion, regrets of what might have been, and then Jim’s hand covered her own, just for a moment, and she was watching him disappear into the crowd, breathing easier than she had in years.

“Thank you,” Jim had whispered, eyes over bright, and they had both known what it was he was trying to say.

_I want to forgive you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	179. Chapter 179

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked on Tumblr to write Jim's POV of [chapter 143](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28035486) \- Harvey secretly being a writer Jim is a big fan of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also kind of a companion to the last chapter ([178](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29569314)) because I've been reading lots on BSS [[Boarding School Syndrome](https://www.ibblaw.co.uk/insights/blog/boarding-school-syndrome-symptoms-and-long-term-psychological-effects)] this week. It's obviously a very British thing but Jim just seems something of a prime candidate for strategic survival personality!

Jim cried the first night - desperate wrenching sobs he tried to stifle into his pillow. The other boys heard, just the same, and before he ever set foot in the classroom he had already been branded a crybaby.

Hated the place, passionately, and wanted nothing more than to go home. To Mother and to Roger.

To his Father.

It wasn’t possible though, none of it, because his dad was dead. He had been there, he had seen it happen, and because of that Mother had sold the house and sent him away in punishment. Never came to visit and rarely wrote him letters, so that the Sunday afternoons the other boys spent with their families, Jim sat alone in the school library and wished himself anywhere but Hartfield Academy.

He asked not to go back, that first year. Clung to his Mother’s legs in the unfamiliar surroundings of their new sitting room and promised that he would be a good boy, and that he wouldn’t argue with Roger. That she would scarcely know he was there at all, really.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she told him in turn, fingers rubbing at her temple, and he knew then that the cause was hopeless because all he had succeeded in doing was giving her a headache.

He never made the mistake of asking again.

Instead he did what was expected of him. What his Father would have wanted for him. He won awards and got made a prefect. Studied, and trained, and didn’t cry when his Mother telephoned to say that she knew he would prefer to stay at school over spring break, and that she and Roger were going to visit his grandmother.

The old lady died that winter, without him ever having had chance to say goodbye, and Jim holed himself up in the spartan bedroom he rarely saw, reading and re-reading his favorite stories. His very favorite, the one he sometimes felt he could recite word for word, was missing when he came upstairs after dinner, and when he was left with no choice but to ask for help finding it Roger smiled snidely at him and said that nobody liked a tell tale.

That he was too old to act like such a baby, anyway, and Jim stared in horror at the fire in the grate, clinging to the words a ghostly reflection had told the book’s protagonist.

It wasn’t his fault that his father died. He would never have left if he had been given a choice in the matter.

Jim spoke to the librarian, back at school, in the hope of finding another copy. Wrote to the publishers, and to the book stores, but had no luck anywhere. It felt like losing his father all over again, losing the very last thing he had ever given him, and to make up for it he read every other story he could find by the same author.

Amassed quite a collection of them, in his bedside locker, and daydreamed silly scenarios in which his father would simply reappear one day to take him away, like Joseph Markham’s in the latest addition to his collection. Because it wasn’t that he ever learned to like school, not really. He just got a whole lot better at pretending.

Disassociating.

Compartmentalizing.

That was what they told him in the army, when he was forced to go along to counselling. They still signed him off as fit to return to active duty, all the same, and it was no different to being at school, surrounded by guys who didn’t like him on first sight and didn’t care to revise their opinion.

It was no more than he deserved, that was what he knew deep down. What he dwelt on whenever he lacked a task to fill his every waking moment, and though he knew it was childish he took to re-reading some of those same stories that had once consoled him, and tried again to write a letter to Brigid Goodwin.

He wanted her to know what they had meant to him. Wanted somebody to know him for the boy he still was deep inside, not the cadet who could always be relied upon to have done his homework, nor the soldier who did what he was told to do. The brittle hollow shell of a man who couldn’t open up, and couldn’t make connections, and got told over the telephone by the woman he loved that she was sick of waiting for him to actually say the words.

The letter to Brigid came back to him, marked ‘not known at this address’, but a chance enquiry elsewhere came up trumps and he took his spoils to a secluded corner, not wanting the others to see how excited he was at the prospect of reading some sentimental love story.

He hadn’t known Goodwin had written books for adults - had never even considered it - and instead of being put off by the cheesy cover or the terrible title, he consumed the thing as quickly as he could, then started again at the beginning. It spoke to him in ways he couldn’t explain, made his limbs restless and his heart pound harder, because as he turned the pages he understood intrinsically that it was setting out the details of what he wanted more than anything.

Somebody who loved him for the man he was, not the man he wished he could be. Somebody who would love him always, even when he didn’t deserve it, because they knew that he was trying desperately.

Mary Walsh was all of those things and more, to the object of her affections, and Jim read particular passages over and over again, bewitched by descriptions of a fiery Irish redhead who wasn’t afraid to tell the man she loved what an idiot he was being. To push past all his defences and his barriers, and to prove to him that it wasn’t a weakness to admit to needing someone.

It was just about the bravest thing anyone could do.

He was thinking about that sentiment when he first met Barbara, home on leave and uncomfortably aware of how out of place he was at his brother Roger’s wedding. They weren’t close, they were clearly never going to be, and he had to swallow past a clogging thickness in his throat when his Mother gave a speech about what a great support Roger had been, and how Roger had grown into a man any mother could be proud of.

The implication, of course, was that he hadn’t. He wasn’t saving the weak and the vulnerable from miscarriages of justice. He was blowing them to pieces. Helping to prolong an unjust war, or so the letter read which Roger had written to the city newspaper, and when Barbara slid into the seat opposite him and asked him why he was looking so miserable, he forced a smile to his face and said he was already feeling better for the company.

She was an old friend of Thelma’s, the owner of some swanky art gallery, and Jim pulled on knowledge from all those lonely Sunday afternoons spent in self-improvement. Did his best to be charming, to be normal, and when Barbara asked if she could write to him when he was overseas he was so happy that he didn’t even have to fake a smile.

Barbara was everything he ought to want. She was well educated and successful, and so very very beautiful. She didn’t laugh at him when he told her he wanted to join the police force, and when he asked her to marry him she clapped her hands together and told him that she was thinking of a spring wedding. Began organizing, and arranging, and did his best to ignore the blind terror roiling in his gut at the thought of really making that kind of commitment.

Threw himself into the job instead, and to taking out his frustrations on his new partner. The man needed to get a grip and pull himself together. Needed to start taking responsibility for his actions, and Jim listened to a drunken tale of self-pity and then poured all Harvey’s whiskey down the kitchen sink, and cut up all his cigarettes.

“You’ll thank me for it, in the long run,” he told the man, self-righteous and on the moral high ground, but it surprised him how deeply he actually cared, and how proud he felt whenever Harvey accepted a beer but turned down the chaser.

“You’re a good friend, Jim,” Harvey told him one night, dropping him off in front of Barbara’s penthouse, and he replayed the words over and over as Barbara talked about wedding arrangements, trying to remember the last time anyone who wasn’t a murderous psychopath had wanted to be friends with him.

Things with Barbara fell apart not long afterwards, and it was a relief, in a way, though he only succeeded in going straight from one relationship into another, and taking all the same problems with him. Barbara had rarely pushed him for more. Had her own circle, and her own secrets, and was just as reluctant as he was to ever talk about parents or childhood. Lee wanted him to open up. To talk and to heal, and when he couldn’t she saw it as a personal failure, even as he blamed himself for his inadequacies.

For dragging her into his mess of a life, and ruining her chances of being happy. He thought of nothing else in Blackgate, though he clung desperately to some semblance of routine. Attempted, frantically, to fill the never ending days, and finally broke down and sobbed into his pillow, the same way he had at nine years old, grieving and frightened and homesick. He couldn’t pull himself together on the outside either, didn’t know how to deal with any of it, and instead of abandoning him to his weakness Harvey refused to take no for an answer.

Kept on returning to his dive of an apartment, day after day, and only pulled him in close when he dissolved into shameful helpless tears, stroking strong hands down his back and telling him that everything was going to be okay, and that he wasn’t facing it on his own anymore.

Jim didn’t dare believe it, cursed himself for every secret he divulged to Harvey, then told himself that he had been right all along when Harvey turned his back on him and told him he had made his own bed, and now he had better lie in it.

Except when it came down to it, when the going really got tough, it was Harvey who swallowed down his pride and forgave him. Harvey who promised that it didn’t matter, that he had never truly meant it, and Jim dug his beaten up copy of Love on the Frontline out of storage and read it just as devotedly as he ever had, all the while thinking that Harvey was the closest he had come to finding his own Mary Walsh.

Harvey understood, Harvey saw all the component parts of him, and when he was left for dead as a result of his own impetuousness, it was Harvey who sacrificed his evening to sit with him at the hospital.

He teased him about the book he had found on his nightstand, so that Jim flushed with embarrassment, but it was good natured and curious rather than cruel and humiliating, and Jim found himself rambling on about why he loved it, spurred along by the painkillers. Harvey didn’t use the knowledge against him, didn’t make fun of him for clinging so pathetically to a facet of his childhood, and when he handed over a proof copy of the book Roger had burned all those years ago, Jim could do nothing for long moments but blink back tears.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” he admitted finally, his heart feeling too big for his chest, and Harvey only took a swig from his bottle and said casually,

“It’s just a book, Jim.”

Jim shook his head. “It was the last thing my dad ever gave me. The day before he died, we were at a neighbor’s yard sale. He said we could pick anything we wanted, Roger and I, and - and -” He trailed off, struggling to speak, and Harvey just moved to sit next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Told him that he had always known Jim was a sentimental sap, under that gruff exterior, and Jim accepted the praise gladly, happier than he could say to be the focus of Harvey’s attention.

He fell asleep curled into Harvey’s side, content in a way he wasn’t quite convinced he could ever remember.

Because maybe he wasn’t ever going to have it for real - the kind of relationship where he wasn’t simply waiting for it to fall apart and hurt worse than just remaining alone - but maybe he could have the next best thing. He could have the friendship part of it, the truly intimate part, and started telling Harvey things he had never told anyone.

Began opening up in ways he had never thought he could, and when Harvey got between him and the latest villain intent on killing him, for once Jim didn’t try to pretend that he wasn’t affected. He clutched tight at Harvey’s hand, demanded too many details of the doctor, and reassured Harvey not to worry, and that he would go and pick him up some clean clothes and his phone charger.

It felt strange being at Harvey’s apartment without him, familiar yet not, and Jim lingered a little as he readied an overnight bag, and then went outright snooping through Harvey’s bedroom. Sifted curiously through the dusty cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of the room, and had to sink heavily to sit on the edge of Harvey’s bed, overwhelmed at the implications of what he was looking at.

He sat there for over an hour, reading through rejection letters and acknowledgement slips. Magazine clippings of short stories and serials, and a stack of easy readers that would make up a full series if it wasn’t for one glaring absence. There was a typewritten manuscript even, with Harvey’s handwriting scrawled all over the margins, and as Jim flicked through it he recognized passages he had read countless times at home and out on deployment.

It hit him all in a rush, left him fidgeting and breathless, and the first thing out of his mouth at the hospital was whether or not the papers in his hands were the real deal. If Harvey really could be not just the person who had saved him from the brink of self-destruction, but the person who had got him through school and the army also. The one person in all the world he had always known would understand him, honestly and truly, and when Harvey started attempting to explain Jim had to look away to be able to force the words out of his mouth.

Because he had spent years in love with a character in a stupid book. Years convinced that Brigid Goodwin had based them entirely upon herself, and all that time he had been obsessing over a guy he would go on to fall in love with anyway. A guy who had originally intended the story to be a romance between two men, and who was looking at him now like his world would end if Jim didn’t forgive him for the subterfuge.

“I read this one so many times it felt like I knew you. Like I could just tell Mary Walsh was Brigid Goodman, because you put too much of yourself in there. You made me fall in love with a character in a stupid book and all the time it was you, Harvey. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No,” Harvey answered, truthfully, and Jim had to reach out and grip at his hand, needing the contact as an anchor.

“Mary was loyal, and stubborn, and forgave things she knew she shouldn’t. If she had been on duty earlier she’d have shoved me out of the way and taken a hit from a car because she’d rather get killed than force her idiot partner to stop ignoring the elephant in the room. She’s you, Harvey, and you’re her, and you didn’t even try to disguise it. Mick Walsh, he even looks like you.”

For a moment they simply stared at each other, his heart pounding fearfully in his ears, and Harvey looking completely bewildered. Jim tightened his hold on Harvey’s hand. Thought of his mother meeting his eye awkwardly, as though she wanted to say something, and then walking away without a word, abandoning him to a lifetime of not trusting anyone enough to depend on them.

To make himself vulnerable, or leave himself open to rejection.

He had to do it now. If he couldn’t do it for Harvey, he would never do it for anyone. Leaned in close, tense and terrified, and pressed the briefest of chaste kisses to Harvey’s mouth. Harvey tried to follow him when he pulled away. Gazed up at him like he was everything, like he was exactly what he wanted, and Jim shook with the intensity of the moment when they kissed for a second time.

Lost himself to it as the kiss deepened and evolved, and felt light headed when they finally pulled apart, his entire body aching with how good it felt.

“Now you know the secret, you're going to be stuck with me forever,” Harvey joked, thumb stroking tenderly at the back of his hand.

“Do you really mean that?” Jim asked, helpless in the face of an idea he had long cherished. 

Harvey got it, just the same as always. Understood how important it was to him. Croaked out confessions about how he was sorry for not being truthful with him, and told him in a choked up whisper that it didn't matter if he never managed to say it aloud, but that he wanted Jim to know that he had loved him for a long time already, and that he couldn't envisage that ever changing. 

Jim kissed him in response. Swiped away tears that clung to his cheeks and silently pledged that he would make sure Harvey never regretted it. 

“Do you ever wish you'd stuck with the writing?” Jim asked before the nurses kicked him out for the night, and Harvey's answer warmed him through from the inside every time he thought about it.

“No, because then I might never have met you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	180. Chapter 180

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty little ficlet - 'No Happy Endings'.

“I loved you, Jim. I’d have done anything for you.”

There was no response, but then Harvey hadn’t been expecting one. Jim had never been much of a talker, not unless there was some grandstanding speech to be made.

Not unless he was smashed off his pretty face, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as he leaned against Harvey’s shoulder.

Harvey took a long swig from the whiskey bottle now, because those big blue eyes were staring right at him. Fixated on him, the way Harvey had spent so long wanting, and still they didn’t see him.

Didn’t see anything, truly, and Harvey dropped heavily to his knees.

Stroked the soft strands of hair back from Jim’s forehead with gloved fingers, and pressed a clumsy kiss to the cooling skin of his cheek.

“I’d have died for you. I think maybe I already did. That’s how it feels sometimes.”

Jim stared silently on. Ignored the way he was pouring his heart out to him, just the exact same way he always had, and Harvey blinked back the tears threatening to ruin the moment. This was supposed to be about triumph.

Celebration.

He took another pull from the bottle, and then another. Drained the thing completely and set it down on Jim’s spotless coffee table.

“I warned you not to go making deals with the devil, didn’t I? You don’t get anything for free, Jim. Not in this city.”

That said he hauled himself to his feet. Placed his hat upon his head and returned his gun to its holster. Picked up the empty bottle and swept one last longing gaze over Jim’s corpse, then walked away without looking backwards.

He had done his duty and he was now a free man.

Perhaps one day he might even be glad of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	181. Chapter 181

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can I ask for Harvey leaving Gotham for a while after 4x11 and Jim pining/moping, with a happy ending? :D_

“Why did you do it?” Jim asked, hating himself for the audible emotion in his voice, “You never needed to take the deception that far.”

Sofia smiled at him in a mockery of the smiles she had given him as they lay together in the aftermath. Left aside the guileless charm to reveal the cunning, and swept a disgusted gaze over him.

“You know why,” she told him simply, “even you can’t be that stupid.”

He could and he was, apparently, and she took pity on his ignorance. Stepped in closer to whisper in his ear, so that his skin craved and crawled, and shook his world to its foundations.

“Divide and conquer, Jim. What good would you be to me if your first loyalty was to someone who’d do anything for you? How much more difficult would you have been to manipulate if you were already letting him stroke your ego?”

“Watch your tongue,” Jim growled, angry at her tone and angrier still at the flush that flooded across his cheeks, “it was never like that between us.”

“I know,” Sofia said, busying herself with her gloves and a wistful look of triumph, “that was why I acted so quickly.”

Jim refused to believe it. Denied the possibility in its entirety, scoffed at the very idea, then sat at his desk long into the night staring into a tumbler of whiskey. Thought of that first time, out in Miami, and how he had spoken to this beautiful stranger about the partner he had waiting for him back home. How they had sipped at cocktails, sand between their toes, and Sofia had listened intently to his conversation, and asked him just enough to keep him talking.

To boast about how he had turned Harvey’s life around. How he had been Harvey’s reason for staying off the worst of the drink and out of the clutches of the brothel madams. How Harvey had risked life and limb for him, over and over again, and how he could never quit worrying about him, demonstrated by the way he called him a second time, wanting to know what time he was due back, and whether or not he would be able to get to court and give evidence.

He had regretted it all afterwards. Had sunk into the pillows of his hotel room, head still spinning and nose still full of Sofia’s perfume, and questioned why he had let himself get so carried away in the first place.

Dismissed it as a meaningless slip, and failed to recognize his own words being used against him when Sofia petted at his chest back in Gotham and told him that the GCPD needed someone at the helm who could be trusted not to be drunk on duty. Someone who would put the job first, not their need for friendship, and how it would be a kindness, really, to relieve somebody like Harvey of all that responsibility.

Harvey would be better off without that burden on his shoulders, with nothing to worry about, and in the present Jim was physically sick with the realization that when he had nodded along to Sofia’s crooning he had been effectively signing Harvey’s death warrant.

It was Sofia’s machinations that had forced Harvey into accepting the Penguin’s money, he found out later. Sofia’s insidious influence that had debts called in and rents increased, and Sofia who picked out the names for the Pyg, telling him the method of dispatch was all his providing he made it painful.

“I don’t know where he’s gone,” Harvey’s landlord told Jim when he finally swallowed his pride and went looking for him, “If you do tell him I’ve not forgotten the rent he owes me.”

The usual suspects were no help either, informing him coolly that Harvey had thought himself too good to drink with the likes of them since being made Captain. That he had no time for the girls who had always counted on his custom since he went and made the mistake of falling for someone who was never going to look twice in his direction.

“Is that what he said?” Jim questioned, his gut churning with the implication, and the woman he was talking to only shrugged dismissively.

“He didn’t need to.”

Jim wandered the bitter cold streets until his feet went numb that night, attempting to make sense of the fear that had knotted up tight in his chest. The insistent impression that he had let the best thing to ever happen to him slip between his fingers.

Because maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the first time he had ever considered the prospect of their being something more between them. There had been too many drunken evenings which ended with him pressed against Harvey’s side, laughing at his partner’s stupid jokes or weeping shamefully into his shoulder. Gazing into trusting green eyes and wondering - ever so fleetingly - how it would be if they quit looking elsewhere for companionship.

Too many hungover mornings with him waking tangled up on Harvey’s sofa, accepting breakfast and mugs of coffee fixed just the way he liked it.

Sober moments he filed away without thinking about it, noting the pull of Harvey’s shirt across his shoulders, and the patch of tender skin revealed when he loosened his collar.

“Have you heard from Bullock at all?” Harper ventured a few weeks in, when she caught him brushing his fingertips over the surface of Harvey’s badge instead of filling out his paperwork. Jim shook his head, too choked up to trust his voice not to fail him, and the look of sympathy she gave him said everything.

Broke down his teetering defences and, later, under the cover of catching up on some case or other, he asked her awkwardly if Harvey had ever taken her into his confidence. If he had said something, anything, and Harper fell silent for a long moment before explaining cautiously that it really wasn’t her place to go telling tales. That perhaps he oughtn’t to go looking, not when he had been the one to choose another, and Jim thanked her even as he cringed with embarrassment.

Even as he replayed a thousand moments he ought to have dealt with differently.

If he could turn back time he would have told Sofia thanks but no thanks. He wouldn’t have gone to Miami to start with. He would have tugged the hip flask from Harvey’s shaking fingers after his own nightmare at Arkham, and demanded that Harvey never leave him alone again in anything.

He kept at his enquiries, paid over and above the going rate for information, and felt his heart skip a beat when the call actually connected and Harvey’s voice sounded on the other end of the line.

“Who is this?” Harvey asked, torn between confused and irritated, and Jim could do nothing but cling to the handset until Harvey hung up on him. The second call ended in much the same fashion, as did the third. The fourth time he dialled he was curled up in bed, aching and lonely, and this time when Harvey answered Jim croaked out his name, followed by,

“I’m sorry.”

The silence stretched. Had him looking at the screen of his cell phone to check that the call was still connected.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” Harvey said finally, tired like Jim had never heard him.

“I just want you to know that I mean it,” Jim whispered, “for everything.”

Harvey hung up on him.

It became a routine, all the same, Jim calling him in the dead of night, and Harvey answering. They talked, slow and stilted at first, and then honest and open. Confessed truths and spilled secrets, the darkness making it feel a little unreal somehow. Like it was some strange half dream, where he could be something other than a hypocrite and Harvey didn’t hate him.

“I don’t hate you,” Harvey said when Jim admitted as much, “I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You should,” Jim insisted, because he had spent over an hour that night shivering at the designated drop off point. Had sold himself all over again lest Sofia tell the world what kind of man he really was.

Rather than be outed as a bigger fraud than those he had replaced ever were.

Harvey simply sighed deeply. “You’re the one who has to live with yourself.”

The words stuck with him all night and all morning. Reverberated around his skull, on and on and on, and when Sofia’s heels clacked along the polished floor to his office Jim straightened his shoulders and looked in the eye as he said,

“I won’t do it.”

“Jim,” Sofia cooed, flashing him another of her sickly sweet smiles, “we both know that you will. I want this job done, and you don’t want them,” she gestured behind her, out at the men and the women who had put their faith in him, “to know how you got this position.”

“I won’t do it,” Jim repeated, determined in spite of the fear prickling along his skin.

He had been a coward long enough.

If he didn’t take a stand, if he didn’t do it now, there would be no point to any of the suffering he had inflicted.

It didn’t make it any easier. The disappointment etched on the faces of those who had looked up to him, and the disgust of those who were quick enough to put two and two together. To realize how far back the deception went, and the implications for officers who had lost their lives or their livelihoods.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he was told weeks later, even as the news came in that he wasn’t going to lose his Captaincy, and Jim drank too much that night, unwanted tears burning behind his eyelids as he leaned against the wall of his apartment building’s elevator, wishing he had anywhere to go but his own miserable apartment.

Except as he made his way down the hallway he realized with a start that someone was waiting for him. That somebody was loitering outside his door, so that he reached instinctively for his handgun, adrenaline starting to pump through him.

Then - then he recognized the figure and his heart started pounding harder still. It felt like he couldn’t draw enough breath, like his legs were about to give out on him, and then he was standing in front of the one person in the world he had most wanted to see.

“You came back,” he said redundantly, helplessly, and Harvey stood his ground. Held his gaze, unflinching, and said quietly,

“If you can own up to the entire Department I can quit lying to myself.”

“You’re the one who has to live with yourself,” Jim parroted, the words still fresh in his mind, and Harvey reached out and touched his hand, the sensation lighting up his entire nervous system.

“Sometimes I think I’d rather live with you,” Harvey said, trying for light hearted but succeeding only with earnest and heartfelt, “if you’d have me.”

Jim thrust his keys into Harvey’s hand. Managed an ineloquent ‘they’re yours’ and let Harvey get the door open. Guide him through it and then gently back him up against it. Kiss him, cautious and careful, and then pull back to look at him like he was the answer to all of life’s questions.

“Will you stay?” Jim queried, fingers tangled tight in the fabric of Harvey’s jacket, and Harvey just kissed him again, more urgent this time.

It was all the answer he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	182. Chapter 182

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Something hurt-comfort ish where Harvey is injured or sick in some way and Jim bathes him and washes his hair? If at all possible with both of them realising/admitting how they feel about each other?_

“I don’t need your help.”

Jim didn’t think Harvey had ever lied quite so blatantly to him before, because the night air was so bitter cold, and because Harvey was struggling just to get to his feet, let alone get himself home and patched up. They had done a real number on him, whoever Harvey had been meeting in that dank little alleyway, and Jim wasn’t blind to the way Harvey hissed and clutched at his side, nor the blood drying at his temples.

“So I’m supposed to just leave you here, am I? I’m supposed to just walk on by and let you freeze to death?”

“Sounds like your MO,” Harvey griped, all the hurt of the last few months clear in his voice, and Jim refused to let on how much it stung.

He had been stupid. Stubborn. He had spent night after lonely night thinking about where it had all gone wrong, and why he had taken to hanging around Harvey’s favorite haunts, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. To talk it through and to make things better. To feel Harvey’s arm around his shoulders, solid and comforting, and to press closer into the heat of Harvey’s body, the way he ought to have done years ago.

The way he had been pretending not to want since almost the first week he had known the man.

“You ought to see a doctor. I could take you to hospital.”

Harvey shook his head with an ugly laugh. Staggered out towards the main sidewalk, careless of the ice and the slush, and Jim watched for a moment before coming to a decision.

He caught up and slid an arm around Harvey’s waist. Kept at it until Harvey gave in and let him support his weight. Clung tighter than was strictly necessary, gloved fingers curling into the leather of Harvey’s overcoat. It reminded him of nights when things were different. When Harvey was simply drunk and uncoordinated, gazing up at him like he was the answer to all of his prayers.

Like he had found an idol to worship, and Jim ruthlessly pushed away thoughts of Harvey sinking to his knees. Now wasn’t the time or the place to start fantasizing. Not out on the darkened city streets, and not in the stairwell of Harvey’s run down apartment building.

“Haven’t you got better places to be?” Harvey asked, pointedly, as he grappled with his keys, and Jim only followed him through the door and looked around a space which had once been as familiar as his own bedroom.

If not more so.

“I gave the butler the night off so you’ll have to fix your own tipple. Frightfully sorry.”

Harvey gestured expansively in the direction of the cheap vodka bottles littering the sideboard, sarcasm dripping, and collapsed down onto the couch with a grimace. Looked so utterly miserable that Jim did just as he was directed, sloshing drink into two cleaner looking glasses and handing one over.

Settled beside his best friend - perhaps his only friend - and knocked back the drink in one to give him the courage to speak his mind.

“I’ve said I’m sorry. I can’t turn the clock back. I wish I could.”

He expected some pithy comeback. Else an angry outburst, designed to cut him down to size. Instead Harvey turned the glass around in his hand, uncharacteristically silent. Winced suddenly, trying and failing to bite back a hiss of pain, and Jim might be no good with words - with giving Harvey the apologies he deserved - but he knew how to nurse someone through the aftermath of a beating.

He had been on the receiving end of enough of them.

“Let me see,” he murmured, insistent for all that the words were quiet, and Harvey’s gaze caught his own for a long moment. He was suspicious, rightfully so. Afraid, even, based on the tremors beneath Jim’s palms when he made to push the coat from Harvey’s shoulders. Then he nodded, just slightly, and Jim eased the thing off and out of the way before pulling Harvey’s tie free from his shirt collar.

He tackled the shirt buttons next, slow but steady, and Harvey sucked in a shuddering breath but let him push it aside, and then pull the soft fabric of his undershirt up to reveal the rapidly forming bruising.

“Harvey,” Jim whispered without meaning to, the sound wrenched out of him, even as he brushed careful fingertips over the imprint of some thug’s steel toecap.

He wished it were his ribs that were bruised and aching. His hair clumped together with blood, and his knuckles which were raw and swollen. It wasn’t though, and Jim brushed his fingers over the same spot again, helpless in view of the way Harvey shivered, coming to a decision there and then about what it was he truly wanted from life.

“I’ll be fine,” Harvey said, his own voice strained and breathless, and Jim felt a strange kind of calm settle over him.

There was no turning back now.

“I’m not going to leave you like this. There’s no point in arguing with me.”

He tugged Harvey to his feet. Lead him through to the bathroom and turned on the water. Pushed Harvey’s shirt down his arms, fingers trailing along pale skin, and carefully helped him remove the undershirt.

Kissed his bared shoulder, soft and chaste, just to ensure that they were on the same wavelength, and swallowed thickly as Harvey unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers.

“What are we doing here, Jim?” Harvey asked, even as Jim dragged his gaze from where big hands were pushing aside underwear, so that his pulse raced and his heart pounded.

“You’re taking a bath,” he answered, stating the obvious, and guided him into the tub of hot water. “You’ve got blood in your hair.”

Harvey’s hair had always fascinated him. Enticed him, really, his fingers itching to be allowed to comb through it. To pet, and stroke, and rub circles into his scalp, and the breathy noise Harvey made when he finally did just that was so perfect Jim could scarcely draw enough breath into his lungs.

He took his time in washing it - lathering up the soap, thrilling at the sensation, and then massaging the excess into Harvey’s shoulders. Washing his arms and his sides, though Harvey protested that he was perfectly capable, and pressing a series of clumsy kisses into the bumps of Harvey’s spine, so pathetically desperate for the intimacy.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey asked, shaking with something that couldn’t be cold, “What is your girlfriend going to say about it?”

Jim pulled back at that. Pushed his sodden shirt cuffs further up his arms, and looked into Harvey’s face, ashamed that Harvey thought it a necessary question.

“There isn’t anybody else. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m right where I want to be, Harvey.”

Harvey kissed him then, for the first time. Dripped water all over the floor as he caressed his jaw, and groaned sinfully low when he broke away to start rinsing his hair out. Reached for him once he was done, and nuzzled into his cheek, teasing, as Jim’s fingers tangled tight in his hair.

Gasped, helpless, when a shift forwards had his sides radiating agony, and Jim got him up and out and sitting out in the front room, obedient as Jim passed a comb through his hair.

“You don’t have to be so cautious,” Harvey said, emboldened by the fact he was facing forward, “you’re not going to break me.”

Jim didn’t voice his objections. Didn’t point out how close he had already come to it, choosing instead to bury his nose into the back of Harvey’s t-shirt. To wind his arms around him, a touch possessive, and felt the tension leach out of his own frame when Harvey seemed content to let him.

Found his hand, over his heart, and silently laced their fingers together.

Squeezed tightly and repeated his words from earlier, “I don’t need your help, Jim.”

Jim squeezed back and let his eyes fall shut, inhaling great lungfuls of the scent he had missed so badly. Whispered the truth into the solidity of Harvey’s back and took comfort in the way Harvey only stroked his thumb over the skin of his hand in acknowledgement.

“I need yours though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	183. Chapter 183

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _If he’s being honest with himself, Jim has always had a Thing about Harvey’s hair. He just didn’t realize how much until Harvey gets it cut. Maybe Harvey acquires some kind of head wound (in the line of duty, of course) and has to get a bit shaved off for stitches, then has the rest cut to make it look less noticeable? IDK, however you want to make it work._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [the adorable pic](https://deathbyotpin123.tumblr.com/post/168658675346/i-was-going-to-sleep-but-then-i-read-183-by) @deathbyotpin123 drew after reading this one! :3

If he were being honest with himself - and it wasn’t something Jim was known for making a habit of - Harvey’s hair had been the first thing that had attracted his attention. It had been too long even then, nothing at all like the regulation haircuts Jim had been accustomed to at cadet school, and the army, and police academy.

It had told him all he needed to know about the man, Jim had decided, because Harvey was unkempt and slovenly, and Jim was certain his work ethic and detective skills were going to be just as sloppy.

They had nothing in common, were never going to be anything other than unwilling work colleagues, and when Jim finally snapped and told Harvey that he ought to tidy himself up and go and get his hair cut, it was because he was beginning to see that there was more to his partner than the face he chose to show to the world. Because he had already scratched beneath the surface, had seen and heard Dix’s verdict, and because he was petting fingers through Barbara’s fine blonde hair when he found himself wondering whether Harvey’s would feel similar.

The thought frightened him, worried him, and then Barbara was gone and he was pressed drunkenly against Harvey’s side, gazing stupidly at the curling ends of his hair and silently debating the likelihood of Harvey punching him square in the face if he dared to reach out and touch.

Harvey was a ladies’ man. Went home with any woman who would have him, and paid for it when none proved forthcoming. Wasn’t going to be interested in scratching an itch, and would run a mile from the fluttering Jim felt in his gut every time the older man praised him.

At least, that was what Jim told himself, right up until Harvey started talking about marriage and forever, and he had his head turned by a woman who believed him something he could never be.

“Love hurts, Jim,” Harvey told him in the aftermath, when he was still struggling with nightmares of Blackgate, and Lee had announced that she intended to marry Mario, “People wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t proved every day of the week, you know.”

Jim quirked a smile into his drink and didn’t ask the questions burning on the tip of his tongue. Didn’t pry into the intricacies of Harvey’s break up with Scottie, and didn’t ask why the blonde from Internal Affairs was seemingly the only action Harvey had been party to in months now. He might hear something he didn’t want to.

Something he couldn’t help but attempt to act on.

Because Jim wasn’t good at self-awareness. He didn’t like facing up to his failures, and he hated that the face which stared back at him from the mirror saw through his lies and his half truths to the man he was underneath. The coward who couldn’t take that final step and admit that everything he had ever wanted was bound up in a heavy drinking, wisecracking, perfect mess of a man.

Instead of reaching out, he pulled away. Rather than explain he fell back on silence.

Almost ruined the best chance he had at ever being truly happy, and clung so tight to Harvey when he forgave him that it was a wonder either of them could breathe for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harvey promised him, soothing, and Jim finally - finally - tangled his fingers in Harvey’s thick red hair and kissed him until Harvey wound a hand into his own hair in turn, the sensation so sweet Jim had to gasp and pant and whimper out embarrassing little sounds of encouragement.

Because Harvey didn’t judge him for it. Seemed more than happy for him to be as loud and effusive as he wanted to be, and only smirked at him knowingly when Jim had him settle against him on bitter cold evenings, the better to mess with Harvey’s hair until he couldn’t take it any longer and twisted around to kiss him.

“You have a thing for my hair,” Harvey told him one night, Jim protesting even as fingers soothed circles into Harvey’s scalp, “you’d be tying little ribbons in it if you thought you could get away with it.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jim told him bluntly, “if you want me to leave it alone just say so.”

He moved to pull his hands away. Found the action stilled by Harvey gently holding his wrist in place.

“Now I never said I didn’t like it, did I? If you get all hot and bothered at the feel of my luscious locks, who am I to deny you it?”

Jim pursed his lips but said nothing. Tugged a little harder at the strands between his fingers than he otherwise might have, and pretended not to be more than a touch hot under the collar, at the excited sound Harvey made in response to his ministrations.

The truth was that Harvey had a point, perhaps. Was a better detective than Jim had been willing to give him credit for, all those years ago, and Jim took solace in the fact that it didn’t matter how fixated he was on Harvey’s hair, so long as Harvey was happy for him to pet and paw incessantly at it.

To bury his nose in it and breathe in his scent, and shiver helplessly with want when Harvey had to scrape it back for one reason or another.

That was how he found it when he got to the hospital, out of breath and stomach churning with fear, his heart spasming tight in his chest to see Harvey pale and weak against the pillows, hair pulled up and out of the way of a strip of shaved head and angry looking stitches.

“I lost a fight with the sidewalk,” Harvey told him, as jovial as he could be in the circumstances, “then I took a beating from a stairwell for good measure.”

The city was in the grip of another cold spell, the streets icy and treacherous, and Jim launched into a lecture about how it was no surprise Harvey was going to slip and fall, if he was going to do idiotic things like wear unsuitable shoes and get into foot chases without calling for back up.

“I learned from the best,” Harvey quipped, reaching a hand out for him, and Jim gripped it tight with the lingering effects of outright terror, attempting to dispel it by swiping harshly at the dried blood on Harvey’s jawline, and warning him not to be so stupid in future.

Harvey simply let him do it. Smiled broadly, helped along by the painkillers, and told him that he loved it when he got sweet and sentimental.

“I love you,” Jim whispered before he left, though he had never grown especially accomplished at saying it, and tossed and turned all night in a restless doze, unable to relax without Harvey’s solid form beside him. All he could do was think about how much he missed Harvey. How desperately he did love him, truly, and all the idiosyncrasies he had once sworn were going to drive him to murder.

The bad jokes and the poor grammar. The rumpled wardrobe and the untamed hair.

Except when Harvey swung by the precinct the next day, newly discharged from the hospital, Jim froze mid stride at the sight of him. Gaped open-mouthed, dumbstruck, and heard his own voice venturing,

“What have you done to yourself?”

Harvey looked confused at first. Frowned, lost, and then looked torn between bursting into laughter and asking for his reassurance that there was more to his affections than the fact he had hitherto refused to get his hair cut.

“I thought you’d be pleased, being an ex-army man and all that. Short back and sides is all the rage, that’s what they tell me.”

His own face must have been a picture. Crushed with disappointment and appalled at his own selfishness. Indignant at the way laughter won out for Harvey, and overwhelmed at the hand Harvey put on his shoulder, thumb straying to the skin of his neck as he beamed at him in victory.

“You do have a thing for my hair,” he crowed, pleased, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek when they reached his office, out of view of prying eyes. “I had to do something and it’s all right, you know. It’ll grow back.”

Jim rolled his eyes but made a point of kissing Harvey back. Brushed his fingertips through the buzzed strands at the nape of Harvey’s neck and watched with interest as a hint of color rose in Harvey’s cheeks.

It would grow back and, until then, Jim figured he would just have to make the most of the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	184. Merman AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _A young merman, Seamus (nicknamed Jim), finds the wreckage of a pirate ship, the sole survivor sitting in a rowboat nearby. He draws in the sailor, a grizzled pirate by the name of Bullock, with a siren song. After leading him to his underwater grotto, Jim can't help but notice how strikingly handsome this human is. Against his better judgement, he spares the man, listening to his stories of adventure and slowly letting the pirate take hold of his affections, of his heart._
> 
> I kind of veered and made it more generic fisherman/merman AU because I grew up on terrible Victorian folklore. Here is my homage, complete with the essential elements of epic vagueness, blatant jingoism, and over-sentimentalism...

It was during the spring of 189- that I, still convalescing from the effects of the malady that had seen me confined to the sickbed much of the previous winter, consented to undertake a grand tour of sorts along the outermost limits of the British Isles. This arrangement was very much a compromise as my travelling companion, a fine chap I had known since my school days, was an adventurer at heart whereas I, even in the most perfect health, preferred the comforts and convenience of gas light and penny post.

The details of the trip thus settled between us, we embarked on what would prove to be a journey like no other. For notwithstanding the roar of the steam engine, nor the availability of the provincial newspapers, it soon became clear that the happenings of London, or Manchester, or Edinburgh, were as foreign to the people we encountered as those of deepest darkest Borneo are to my own neighbours.

Perhaps more so.

It occurred to me then, a belief I have since had only reason to strengthen, that the missionaries toiling in those far flung distant parts would be better employed taking the inhabitants of the outposts and villages we encountered to task over their blasphemous disregard for all but superstition.

Initially regarded with the deepest of suspicion, by degrees - and willingness to part with the contents of our purses - my companion and I proved ourselves worthy audiences of such strange little tales as any man has ever heard. Fairies, imps, sprites; all are alive and well in the more inaccessible regions of our own fair isles. Creatures your own children dismiss upon setting foot from the nursery, here were revered as the gilt covered idols of the East.

“It is no laughing matter,” we were admonished while visiting a tiny fishing settlement, the outrage coming not from a simpleton but a respected elder. His weathered visage spoke of long years hard at work in the sun and salt water, yet the undercurrent of fear in his voice was audible when he talked of the deathly pallor of the Merrow, people who dwelt in the depths of the sea.

This particular brand of mer-person was already familiar to us from our nights spent at taverns further down the coast, and when our host paled at the memory of some aged tale, gaze growing damp and distant, we exchanged an incredulous look at the image he presented.

“I suppose not,” I ventured finally, unnerved by the un-English display of emotion, “in --- we were told that the Merrow are distinguished by the most hideous of visages. I shouldn’t like to stumble across one!”

I expected this to raise a chuckle or, at the very least, to prompt a return to less fantastical topics of conversation. My hopes in this direction were dashed immediately, the maudlin silence replaced by angry rebuttal. The residents of --- knew nothing, hadn’t the first inkling, and as proof our host embarked on a story so unbelievable, yet so strangely compelling, that to this day it sends a shiver down the length of my spine to think of it.

This is my attempt to commit that fisherman’s account to the written word, just as it was told to me that long ago evening in Co. ---, the rain lashing against the windows of the ill lit tavern and the wind howling out a siren song in accompaniment.

* * *

There isn’t a soul making their livings along the shore of Co. --- who hasn’t heard of the Merrow. They are as familiar a concept to a child of those parts as the Catechism to be recited at Sunday School, or the best way to bank an ailing fire. In short, the Merrow are a part of life, to be feared and honoured in equal measure.

For, just as the sea they call their home can provide in one instant and destroy in the next, the Merrow are of mercurial temperament. One night they may lead a vessel in trouble to safety, earnest in their wish to offer assistance, while the next they will coax a hearty crew of men to ruin on the jagged rocks of the west side, for no other reason than the thrill of excitement it gives them to watch the lifeblood ebb from a body.

The Merrow bleed green, that is the widely accepted truth in the region, and their death white skin takes on a greenish cast in the light of the sun. Their hair, too, though fair and plentiful, has a greenish hue if one knows to look for it, and it is the habit of the malefolk in particular to file their teeth to sharpened points and smear green paste across the throat in an approximation of a fish’s gills.

At least that was what Harvey had been told, as a babe in arms and at his mother’s knee, seemingly in assurance that he would never fall foul of the Merrow’s trickery, because they liked nothing better than to toy with a man’s heart until he sickened and faded. Spun a web of lies, as pretty as their waist length tresses, and enticed them out to their deaths with voices as clear as a bell, maddening and soothing in turn, until their poor addled victim threw himself to the waters to put an end to it.

When he first saw the watery figures, then, he was beyond certain that it wasn’t the Merrow he was spying. The girl fit the oft heard descriptions, true enough, with her pink cap and flowing locks, and her laugh that rang out light and free across the bay. The boy, though, was entirely too pretty. Big blue eyes and golden skin, and when he laughed in turn his teeth were straight and white, and his voice as beautiful as an angel’s.

His mother clipped him across the back of the head when he said as much, and warned him not to go around telling tall tales.

“It’s true,” he protested, stubborn and hot headed, and it was only years later he thought to consider why she had been so adamant that he not tell anyone who would listen tales of boys he couldn’t look away from. She had seen it in him from the first, had only wanted the best for him regardless, and when they lay her in her grave he wept like a babe, because she was the only one he could ever have hoped to confess any of it to.

The fleeting glimpses he cherished, and the offerings he sometimes left as the tide came in, certain in a way he couldn’t hope to explain that they would reach their intended target. Once he found a bracelet, fashioned of shells and the coarse strands from a fraying fishing net in its place, and though it had probably washed up from another settlement, was probably the work of some bored children, he wore it anyway, tying it fast beneath the sleeves of his shirt.

He wore it even as he left the foolishness of childhood behind, the myths and the stories, and the belief that one day he might escape the drudgery of the life he had been born to. Instead he calloused his hands on the nets, and resigned himself to the monotony, broken only by occasional forrays to market or half hearted attempts at courting.

“You’ve your health and she’s a dowry,” one of the older men who worked the boats told him, teeth clamped tight around his pipe, “tis better to live with what can be, than to throw it all away on dreams of what cannot.”

Harvey took it to heart. Did his best to love her, truly, and tried still harder to feel happiness when she said yes and slid his ring onto her finger. It had been his mother’s, a memento of another marriage neither party had wanted, and he did shed tears for the unfairness of it all when the ring was handed back to him.

As he stood at another graveside, a widower in place of a father, and he drank that night until he didn’t have to feel anything. Until he could scarce think even, and he staggered down to the spots he had haunted as a boy, leaving the ring in the shallow basin of the rock pool he had once thought of as his own. He awoke at the edge of the beach, head so bad he wished he hadn’t, and it wasn’t until late that evening that he noticed for the first time a new bead affixed to the tangled web he still wore bound around his wrist.

It had always been there, he reasoned. He was losing his mind, he feared.

He didn’t care either way, he decided, and he started drinking so heavily he really couldn’t care about anything.

He had been drinking the night they hit trouble, though not so much that he didn’t know what he was doing. Not so much that he didn’t experience a few moments of sheer terror, the realisation that there could only be one outcome sweeping over him. Because they fought and they prayed. Resigned themselves, finally, to the inevitable, and waited for the good Lord to call them to him.

Except when Harvey succeeded in cracking an eye open there were no pearly gates, and no flickering fires either. There was just water, water all around, and when he started thrashing and kicking, desperate to break the surface, strong arms held him still so that he struggled all the harder. His eyes stung and his lungs burned. The panic was all encompassing, the lack of air dancing black spots across his vision, and then there was a hand holding his head in place and the press of ice cold lips against his own, forcing in air until he calmed enough to be tugged along by the hand that had wrapped around his own.

The reward for his trust came with an upwards rush, his head suddenly above water, gasping frantically for oxygen. As his awareness slowly focused he gathered that he was in a cave, glow-worms twinkling across the ceiling like stars in the night sky. It was beautiful, magical, and suddenly the fear was back full force because those icy fingers were creeping along the side of his face, turning his head until he was staring at features he knew simply could not exist.

“You are hurt?” The Merrow said anyway, uncertain like it wasn’t accustomed to having to form such sounds. “I will fix.”

Harvey jerked away on instinct. Heard half forgotten tales about the Merrow feasting on little children and tearing big strong men limb from limb. Of blood smeared smiles, and numbing touches that left their prey unable to escape their advances. The Merrow frowned at him, pained rather than angry, and rather than try to change his mind moved to point out a dry alcove holding some kind of nest, full of pilfered wool and torn clothing.

“Rest here,” it said, tone as pleading as it was demanding, and though Harvey swore it was the last thing he was going to do, when the Merrow disappeared back beneath the surface and he was left alone in the eerie cold, he hauled himself from the water with clumsy movements and collapsed down onto the soft pile.

He would start plotting escape when he wasn’t quite so exhausted.

When his frame wasn’t consumed by the fire of fever, his brow damp with cold sweat and his limbs helpless against the ceaseless shivering. His leg was infected, the bone of his shin protruding through the skin, and on land he had no doubt he would have been held down as the entire thing was amputated. Here, fading in and out of consciousness, something hot and slick was wound tight around it, and shallow bowls of foul tasting liquid were held to his lips and forced down his throat, so that his face was left wet with shameful tears.

He usually passed out afterwards, thankful for the temporary ignorance, so it was some days before he realised that he wasn’t always left alone inbetween each administration. Instead careful fingers stroked the hair back from his forehead and the tears from his cheeks, and when Harvey reached for them, determined, the Merrow let him trace his own ungainly fingers over elegant joints and the thin webbing between them. Over the metal band adorning its little finger, and it wasn’t until Harvey lifted the hand to his face that he was certain, the light dim but still bright enough to make out the familiar knotwork of his mother’s wedding ring.

“You left it for me,” the Merrow said, stubborn like a child hiding its anxiety, and Harvey had no excuse but the lingering fever in his system. No justification beyond the simple fact that he wanted to. He pressed his lips to cool knuckles, all the same, and whispered in confirmation,

“That I did.”

He had no real awareness of time in the cave, no real idea how long it had been since the rest of his crew had fallen victim to the fickle nature of the sea. He began to regain his strength, all the same, and to look forward to the return of the Merrow from wherever it went when it wasn’t tending to him.

It brought him fresh water and food, bara lawr and watery broth reminiscent of his dead wife’s cooking, and sang him strange songs in a language he could never hope to emulate. Bathed him, and tended his wounds, and combed his hair through with a fine ivory comb that looked as though it had been salvaged from some shipwreck or other.

Mostly it wanted to talk, curious and eager like he was some great fountain of wisdom, and with each visit it grew more confident with the words it was using, and the complexity of the concepts it was trying to convey to him. Insisted, eventually, that he start thinking of him as ‘he’ not ‘it’, and that he call him by his name. Harvey attempted to, truly, though the noise the Merrow made was impossible, and the best he could manage was ‘Jim’ as a distant approximation.

Jim smiled at him anyway, apparently pleased with the effort, and the next day Jim brought another Merrow with him, a fair woman strikingly similar to the girl Harvey had seen him laugh with amongst the rock pools all those years ago.

She looked his leg over, tone suggesting she was chastising Jim with the familiarity of a sister, and when she took her leave Jim admitted sheepishly that he was breaking more rules than he cared to think about by keeping him there. That the moon and the current had already decreed that anybody lost to the sea that night was to be left alone, and that if it was to be discovered he was speaking to him in the common tongue he was liable to have his own cut out in punishment.

“It can’t be wrong though,” Jim told him, all fiery passion and reckless indignation, “for you already belong to me.”

Harvey made to protest, to argue that he certainly did not, but Jim traced his fingertips over the bracelet at his wrist. Lingered on the finely turned bead that really had been a new addition and, when Harvey only watched to see what would happen next, set about mapping out the rest of him, tender and careful until he was breathless and squirming.

“You can’t touch there,” he managed, gathering his willpower when Jim’s fingers wandered up the length of his thigh, and Jim nodded silently and left him entirely alone again.

Returned with gifts of polished shells and golden coins. Fragments of glass worn smooth by the tides, and a delicate porcelain cup of the kind that would grace a lordling’s breakfast table.

“You are not my prisoner,” Jim told him, blue eyes looking huger than ever in the light from a lantern he had secured from somewhere, “when your leg is healed I will take you back to the surface.”

“Why not take me now?” He pushed, thinking wistfully of the sun, and the breeze, and the feel of level ground beneath his feet. Jim’s face darkened, something twisting up his pretty features, and the unease knotted in his stomach even as Jim’s expression smoothed into blankness.

“If that is what you wish.”

Harvey thought of his empty cottage. The crib that would never hold a babe, and the nets he would never escape from.

“I’m in no rush, Jim.”

The fever left him completely, and the cracked ribs fused together. The cuts healed and the bruises faded, and Jim spent ever more time with him, curled close against his side as he listened to Harvey’s tales of the life people lead on the surface. As Jim told him in turn of his life beneath the water. Of the rules and the ritual, and his mother’s hopes that he would curb his wandering spirit and apply himself to the good of the clan like his father before him.

He arrived to one visit bedecked in shells and jade and pearls, draped over his shoulder like a regimental sash and wound through his dark blond hair like a prince’s coronet. Jim smiled sadly at the allusion, then kissed him for the first time, hands tangled tight in his hair as Harvey lost track of time and thought, nothing but the feel of Jim’s mouth on his own registering.

“If I could return with you, I would,” Jim told him, so sincere Harvey could scarce breathe for it, “if I could belong to you as you belong to me, as I wish to be, I would never be parted from you.”

There were a thousand questions on his tongue, half a dozen that spilled from his lips without further thought, but they fell on deaf ears, Jim disappearing into the icy water. He was gone a long time. Longer than he ever had before, Harvey felt sure of it, and when his stomach began to whine with hunger it was the woman who came to him, her own hair glittering with jewels and trinkets as she removed the lid from a dish of something which smelled good even if it looked terrible.

“Where is he?” he tried, slow and clear, and when that didn’t work he tried again with the words Jim had been happy to waste his time attempting to teach him. “Where is Jim?”

She startled at that, disbelief painted across her delicate features, and he startled himself when she reached out and touched the bracelet at his wrist, only to shake her head mournfully. Mimicked untying the knots and removing the thing, only to tie it around the wrist of some imaginary other. The meaning was obvious enough, hurt well enough, and Harvey restlessly explored the cave when she left, though he had already scoured every inch of it.

Had already been through Jim’s entire collection of random objects, and given up in disgust on the puzzles. Finally he fell into a fractured sleep, dreaming of hearing Jim call out to him in the distance, though no matter how far he ran, the sound never grew any closer.

The girl came again for the next visit, and for the one after that. Brought him his mother’s wedding band on the third, head tilting to the side, considering, as he failed to hold back bitter tears. As he openly admitted for the first time what he had truly known for a long time.

He loved Jim.

He had loved him since the very first moment he saw him, most likely, too young to understand why his heart had faltered in his chest at the sight of such beauty. Too naive to understand what it would mean for his future. Jim had cursed him, that was the stark reality, and still he tied the ring into the bracelet he couldn’t part with, wondering what was worse - to die a slow, lingering death, lovesick and forgotten by the world above, or to have died with the wreck and never have known the touch of Jim’s hand nor the simple joy of being close to him.

The next time she came he handed the ring back to her. Closed her fingers around it and sounded out Jim’s name, hoping that she understood. She nodded, at any rate, and he lay awake for a long time staring up at the glow-worm constellations painted across the ceiling.

He awoke with a start, who knew how long later, and when he sat up it was to find a figure watching over him.

“It is done,” Jim said, tone desolate, “when the sun sets I will take you to the surface.”

“You’re not wearing it,” was what he said in response, having reached for Jim’s hand and linked their fingers together. Jim squeezed at his hand. Turned to kiss him, slick and desperate, and pushed him down into his bed of offcast clothing and shredded blankets. Drove him half wild with his touch, and carefully guided his fingertips to the skin of his hip, where it began to morph into scales.

Jim gasped when he touched it. Whimpered when he ran his fingernails along it, the touch so light it was almost teasing, and when he ran the full width of his calloused palm over the area Jim bit at his lip, frantic with the pleasure of it. Jim’s own fingers explored the heated crease of his thigh. Curled around him, tentative touches giving way to a confidence that had Harvey experimenting, mouthing wetly at Jim’s skin and leaving his mark upon the pale column of his throat.

Charting his torso with kisses, and licking a broad swipe over the stretch of sensitive skin that had such an effect on Jim. Sucked at it, the same way he had at Jim’s throat, and ached in sympathy when Jim arched his neck back and writhed under his ministrations. Splashed water and hissed in his strange tongue, and finally sobbed and shuddered, cheeks flushed with exertion and eyes wide and wanting as he wrung a similar reaction from Harvey, limbs shaking with the force of it.

They clung to each other in the aftermath, Jim’s head against his chest as he listened to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“If things were different I would never let you go,” Jim said eventually, breaking the silence, and sat up enough to look at him. To pull the circlet of shells and silver from his head, nimble fingers working at something until he held the ring triumphantly in between thumb and forefinger. He held eye contact as he pushed it back onto his own finger for safekeeping, and reached for Harvey’s hand, wrapping the circlet around his wrist alongside the crude workmanship of the bracelet he had left for him so long ago.

“I didn’t think it was a promise you were free to make,” Harvey said, a trifle harsh to cover how much it hurt, but Jim just fastened it firmly, gaze still fixed upon his own.

“My hand might not be mine to give, but you have my heart. Always.”

“You expect me to be content with that?” Harvey demanded. “To know that you are here, unhappy, and I am there, lonely and miserable. Or was that your intention, all along? To reel me in until there is nought for me to do but throw myself from the cliffs and pray that in death I find release from this suffering?”

“Don’t!” Jim snapped, angry and fearful. “If you would - if you could wait. The time will come when I am free to choose for myself.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Harvey told him, sealing the pact with a kiss. “I’ll wait until you come for me.”

* * *

You might imagine my shock at hearing such a story related, so openly too, and my companion appeared similarly affected, for all the tact he employed on asking if that were truly the end of the story. It had been our experience, both before and since, that local folklore existed to impart some message or other. Some cautionary tale for rambunctious children or dissatisfied housewives, and it seemed most unlikely that this strange narrative should have no ramifications beyond a period of heart sickness.

“He’s still waiting,” our host said, sounding tired as he drained the drink in front of him, “so how it ends is something I can’t tell you.”

I thought of his answer as I lay awake that night, the mattress comfortable enough but the storm raging beyond the window violent enough to be unsettling. When sleep did claim me, it was fitful, with disconnected scenes of wind and water, and a sole figure sitting on the rock formation on the far edge of the beach, watching and forever waiting.

The morning brought clear blue skies and a sense of foolishness to the ideas that had held me in their grip during the darkness hours. My companion was in better spirits too, buoyed by tea and toast and bacon, and at the appointed hour we set out arm in arm to take up our erstwhile host’s invitation to look over his collection of papers on the history of the area.

What we found instead was an empty dwelling. The cottage was neat enough, for a bachelor, and the remains of the previous day’s dinner was yet standing beside the sink, waiting to be attended to. We made a search of the rooms, concerned at the lack of answer and the fact the door had been left ajar, but there was no sign of anyone having had made it home the night before. We raised the alarm and informed the local constabulary. Answered questions while seated at the scrubbed kitchen table, and took note of the fine porcelain teacup sitting on the dresser, incongruous among the sturdy blue and white transfer ware.

I was informed later, on good authority, that on the mantle in the bedroom was a piece of cloudy glass, worn smooth by the sea, and a collection of pretty seashells. A golden coin was found in the dresser, dating back to the reign of Elizabeth, and when the police circulated a list of distinguishing features in the hope of identifying any washed up body, they wrote of a jagged deep scar on the shin, as though something large had pierced through the skin.

No body was ever found, in spite of such thorough efforts, and I should have been content to label the occurrence an unfortunate accident were it not for one further strange happenstance no few months later. Our tour was drawing to an end by this point, my companion eager for some new adventure, and my cousin keen for my assistance in a business venture.

“How queer!” My companion exclaimed as we packed up our luggage for the last time, and for my inspection held up a rather battered little shell bracelet, the kind to be found at any seaside resort, but for its age and clumsy workmanship. “It’s just like the one I saw our story teller wearing, the night - well, the night we spent in Co. ----.”

Neither of us needed to say a word to know what the other was thinking, and I do not flatter myself by stating that I was not alone in leaving a lantern burning that night.

“You might as well have this,” my companion said the following day, fixing the bracelet in place under my starched white cuff before we took our leave of each other at the station. He smiled at me when it was done, a certain fondness to the expression, and extracted a promise that I would think of these happy days whenever I looked upon it.

He knew me to be a man of my word, I dare say, and even now I keep the thing on full display on my writing desk. It’s a symbol of times gone by - and of happier futures still to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	185. Chapter 185

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to write something based on [THIS](http://gordlock-fanart.tumblr.com/post/168338835284/i-am-honestly-worried-that-harvey-is-so-depressed) pic by gordlock_fanart because it broke my heart into a million tiny pieces. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for depression and attempted suicide.

“Face like an angel, attitude that makes you want to put a bullet in it.”

That was Danziger’s verdict when he asked for the lowdown on the guy they were planning to force on him. The rookie who had been fast tracked straight into one of the toughest jobs in the city, a role it had taken him the best part of fifteen years to call his own.

Gordon was special though, that much was obvious. Somebody somewhere had been pulling strings for him, no doubt about it, and Essen warned him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t knuckle down and accept the decision, he wouldn’t have a job left to complain about.

“You’re this close,” she said, measuring out a hair’s breadth between thumb and forefinger, “to throwing away your entire career.”

He thought about that over a whiskey or five. About how proud he had been the first time he had pulled on the uniform, and how he had fussed over it in front of the mirror, dreaming of financial security and a house in suburbs with a couple of kids running riot.

That hadn’t happened - was never going to happen - and he drank so much that he woke up on a complete stranger’s bathroom floor, clothes rumpled and stinking to high heaven. He didn’t bother going home to change. Didn’t bother with a shower at the precinct either, preferring to empty his hip flask into the sludge the rec room called coffee and begin the countdown until the shift was over.

Then he looked up and almost choked on the stuff. Felt his heart falter in his chest, harsh and painful, and then he was dragging the mask back in place and pulling himself together.

Jim Gordon was no angel.

He was a big headed know it all. An insufferable interloper, wet behind the ears but convinced that he already had all the answers. A reckless idiot with a chip on his shoulder and a raging hero complex.

“You’re a cynic,” Jim told him simply, in turn, and Harvey refused to let on that he found Jim anything other than an irritation.

Because Jim might be foolish, but he was also brave. Had the strength of his conviction and the balls to act upon it. He did what he thought was the right thing, always, and every time Harvey so much as glanced at the man he had no choice but to acknowledge that Jim was so beautiful it took his breath away.

Fish knew it, had always been able to see straight through him, and Harvey had to tighten his hold on the glass in his hand when she leaned in close and crooned into his ear,

“If you want me to find you a pretty boy, you only have to say so. You know how I hate to see you miserable.”

It was tempting, sinfully so, because Jim had begun to occupy almost his every waking moment. At night he dreamed of him - his big blue eyes and his long elegant fingers. The flush that burned up to the tips of his ears when he was outraged or embarrassed, and the downcast sweep of his lashes when Harvey was harsh and blunt to hide the truth of what Jim did to him.

“You should have taken me up on the offer,” Fish said later, when he had chosen which side to be on, “you have to know that you’re never going to get the real thing, not from a man like him.”

He knew. Felt crushed and helpless every time he thought of it, yet followed Jim regardless, powerless to keep the adoration off his face. He was a fool for Jim, the whole damn city could see it, and when push came to shove he even set up base in the Captain’s office, in the hope of making Jim proud of him. Of making Jim really look in his direction and rethink those initial judgements.

Jim told him that he was a good friend. A good partner. Sobbed into his shoulder in the aftermath of Blackgate, and slurred one night that he was glad things hadn’t worked out between him and Scottie.

He was too good for her.

It was that memory he clung to when things started to go sour between them. Jim cared, even if he didn’t always show it. Jim valued him, always turned to him, and if Jim wasn’t prepared to return the favor and be the rock he so desperately needed, Harvey couldn’t blame him. Not really. Jim had so many burdens on his shoulders already, and if it felt like he was buckling under the pressure, drowning in a sea of debt and responsibility, it was his own fault for getting into the mess in the first place.

His own fault for grabbing at the first lifeline held out to him, and his own fault that Jim walked away, the pain of it more wrenching than the Pyg’s blade could ever have been.

He cried that night, helpless and desolate like he hadn’t since his Mother’s funeral, and even when the nurses came in to change the dressings at his throat all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut while tears streaked down the sides of his face and into the starched white of the hospital pillow.

“Should you be back yet?” Harper asked him when he returned to the precinct, a sentiment echoed by half the Department.

“I’m fine,” he told her, swallowing back a couple of pain pills, and thought about how battling through would be what Jim would do. He would soldier on and keep going. He would stand by his troops, do right by them, and it was only later, as Patel was stretchered off with one of his own bullets in her, that Harvey realized that there was no point in trying to emulate his one time partner.

He wasn’t Jim. He was never going to be.

Was never even going to be a man Jim respected, not for his devotion to duty and not for anything else either.

Jim proved it by signing the Captaincy papers right in front of him. With his own pen, no less, and that night Harvey fell back on bad habits and did his utmost to drink himself into oblivion. Drank and drank, and refused to think about the way his heart had threatened to float right out of his chest all those months ago, when Jim told him he was so proud of him for sticking with the program.

Because he had never succeeded in kicking the drink, not really, and if he had spent the last few months more or less sober, that was only because he hadn’t had the time to get in some really serious drinking. That was all changed now, there wasn’t a whole lot else to do on enforced leave, except one by one sell off every belonging that had ever meant anything to him.

He didn’t need Jim’s help in life, and he didn’t need it to settle his debts after he was gone either.

“You don’t need to do this,” Jim told him when he handed back his badge and his handgun, “you’re a good cop, Harvey.”

The statement was so laughable he wanted to cry. So painful all he could do was force a grimace of a smile.

“Just not good enough to be Captain, eh?”

Jim had nothing to say to that and Harvey didn’t hang around to see the righteous tilt of his jaw replace the momentary look of guilt on his face. Neither made him feel any better. He didn’t want Jim to feel guilty and he didn’t want his apologies. He wanted Jim to have simply been there for him in the first place. To offer to take on the stress of the job before it killed him, rather than rip his heart out and stamp on it because some daughter of a mob boss was willing to let him fuck her if he did her bidding.

That was what it boiled down to, really, and it hurt like nothing he had ever known. Because he had stood aside for Barbara, and for Lee, and for Vale. He had accepted that Jim wouldn’t - couldn’t - return his feelings for him, and pledged not to ruin Jim’s chances of being happy with somebody he could love in earnest. But Jim wasn’t going to be playing happy families with Sofia.

Didn’t want anything from Sofia he couldn’t get from almost any woman he cared to bat his eyelashes at, and it tore him up inside to know that Jim would throw away his integrity on a fully fledged gangster but wouldn’t lower himself to ask why he hadn’t been able to say no to the Penguin’s money.

It was the hypocrisy of the thing. The betrayal and the finality. It was his own fault all over again for placing Jim on a pedestal he was only ever going to fall from, and for still wanting to kneel at Jim’s feet, because it made sense that a sinner should wish to worship a fallen angel.

“I did what I had to do,” was what Jim said the next time their paths crossed, just as stubborn as he had ever been. “It was the best thing for the Department.”

Jim had the support of the boots on the ground, there was no arguing about that. Jim didn’t have to walk a tightrope to keep their allegiance, nor bend over backwards to try and secure a few words of favorable publicity. Jim was better suited for the job, was better off without him, and Harvey tipped his hat before he turned his back on the place for good.

“I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

Because he was, even as he hated Jim for it. Even as he passed out every night wishing he wouldn’t wake up again. He stopped by the liquor store on the way back to his apartment and swallowed down a couple extra pain pills. Hesitated for a long moment before stumbling over the threshold of the first church he came across and thought about the picture postcard of the Archangel Gabriel his Mother had pinned above his bed as a child, watching over him with big blue eyes so like Jim’s it felt like he had spent his entire life gazing into them.

Like he couldn’t live seeing them dulled by disappointment, nor swimming with pity for a loser who had wanted to give him everything.

It had been a long time since he had been to church, and longer still since he had made confession. It was fate, then, that he was being given the opportunity.

Perhaps divine intervention.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, when it came his turn, then scrubbed a hand across his face and choked out, “That’s a lie. I know exactly where to start.”

Jim - that was where it started, and where it ended, and he admitted brokenly that he loved him. That he would do anything for him. That he had already killed for him, time and again, and perhaps it was the lack of context, or perhaps it was something else entirely. He was refused absolution, either way, and the way forward was suddenly so clear he didn’t know why he had ever feared it.

He had nothing left to give, the place all but empty and his career over. His health ruined and his spirit in tatters. Nobody to care he was gone, and nobody who would want his sentimental collection of photographs and his Mother’s locket.

There was nothing to but drink the pain away. Drink and drink and, when that didn’t work, to make preparations for a decision he had so far succeeded in talking himself out of. It was time now, he thought.

The last thing he had control of.

His hands shook as he placed the noose around his neck. The tears fell as he ached for the upcoming oblivion, even as he prayed for last minute salvation. It hurt less than he had expected, less than earlier experiences when he had been thrashing and fighting, and as the blackness began to creep across his consciousness he thought of Jim.

He hoped that one day somebody would make him happy in the way all his own efforts had failed to.

He hoped that Jim would think about him, just occasionally, and that he would forgive him for not living up to his expectations.

He blinked his eyes open, unable to quite make sense of what was happening as he gasped painful breaths trembling hands clung to him, to see an angel standing over him, all blue eyes and hair haloed in the light that almost blinded him.

“You can’t leave me,” the vision begged, “I won’t let you leave me.”

Harvey couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything but grieve for what might once have been, and collapse into the embrace of a figment of his imagination.

Except when he came around for the second time, more aware of the line between dream and reality, Jim was still there. Jim was clutching him close, cradling his head to his chest and sobbing into his hair. Was in such a mess Harvey could feel the way each sob wracked his frame, and when he brought a clumsy hand up to Jim’s arm, there was no denying the frantic kisses Jim pressed to his cheeks and his forehead, nor the way he said his name, like he didn’t know any other way to convey the strength of what he was feeling.

“Thought you were an angel,” he rasped out, his own voice scarcely recognizable, and Jim only sobbed harder. Kissed his cheek again, all tears and desperation, and told him that he was no angel. That he wasn’t even that great a man, and that Harvey surely knew that better than anyone.

Harvey just slid a heavy arm around Jim. Slumped helplessly against him, too exhausted to argue. Too weak to put any distance between them.

“You’re here now,” he whispered, like it made up for everything, and shut his eyes against the surge of relief when Jim only hugged him tighter and pledged roughly that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jim might not be an angel, it was true, but in that moment it still felt like all his prayers had been answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	186. Chapter 186

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock being each other's secret santa? Because I reread your[Christmas fluff fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26919318) the other day._

The name printed on the slip of paper he was given was no great surprise. He had been drawing Harvey’s name from the precinct Secret Santa ever since he arrived. Had long suspected that there was some kind of foul play going on, especially when Harvey invariably drew his name in return.

Nobody else wanted to be associated with him, he supposed, not at the beginning, and after that it had just become something of a tradition.

Like being forced to donate money for the privilege of sitting through the tedium of the GCPD Choir, and the pathetic looking sprig of mistletoe hung over the doorway of the rec room.

“Harvey’s no longer an officer,” Jim pointed out, all the same, and did his best to ignore the painful twist in his gut at the acknowledgement. Harvey was supposed to be the one stable point in his world. The sole thing he was able to rely on. Now Harvey wasn’t answering his calls. Had even been picked up by uniform for acting drunk and disorderly. “Maybe you should update the ballot.”

“I know how to organize a gift exchange,” Alvarez told him, just as sullenly insubordinate as usual. “Because of the way it was done,” and the accusation in his tone was blatant, “we didn’t get chance to give Bullock a proper send off. The least we can do is get him something decent by way of a leaving present.”

“We?” Jim questioned and was told that the whip round had already taken place. That he was the obvious choice to actually choose and buy the thing, given how close they were - Jim didn’t miss the stress on that last - and how he had claimed on multiple occasions to know Harvey better than anyone.

The context of that had been entirely different, a stand up shouting match with Alvarez over whether or not Harvey would authorize immediate action, but Jim swallowed back the argument and strove to be magnanimous. The better man. He did know Harvey well, perhaps not as well as he truly wanted but more intimately than any of their other colleagues, and Harvey did deserve some recognition for all the hard work he had put in.

For not ratting out how Jim had found himself in the Captain’s chair to all and sundry, and for saving his life the last time they had ended up in the same place together, though he would have been more than justified in focusing on saving his own skin and leaving Jim alone to face the music.

The problem was that finding the perfect gift - the gift that was going to make up for all the ways he had hurt Harvey, while simultaneously convincing the other man to forgive him - was a lot easier said than done. Because that first year he had stuck to the guidelines. Spent $5 on gum and pens to replace the stash Harvey was always depleting, and felt like a total chump when Harvey handed him a long out of print coffee table book on the history of Gotham.

The one that Jim’s father had contributed to.

He pledged to make up for it the next year. Planned to get his partner something that would really reflect the growing strength of the bond between them. Then his entire world fell apart, what with Lee, and the baby, and Blackgate, and he spent Christmas sobbing into Harvey’s shoulder, with nothing to give and crumpled wrapping paper surrounding a framed scan photograph.

“It’s all right to grieve, Jim,” Harvey told him, fingers petting through his hair, and looking back Jim wished more than anything that he had simply clung tight to Harvey’s embrace instead of pulling away and pulling himself together like a Gordon. Instead of claiming that he was okay, that he was going to be just fine, and going back to his empty apartment, to stare at the walls and pretend that he didn’t care how desperately alone he felt.

Last year they had both worked Christmas day, ploughing through a mountain of paperwork and exchanging stories of childhood festivities. Harvey looking angelic in his vestements, distracting attention while his partner in crime tied the curate’s shoelaces together, and him cringing in the midst of broken pieces of his Mother’s favorite vase, Roger for once unable to deny that he had been using him as target practice.

“I’m starting to see why you never go home for the holidays,” Harvey commented, deceptively casual, and Jim gave him a smile that faltered, thinking of the life he had always imagined for himself. A good career and the respect of the community. A loving wife and happy children who couldn’t wait to hear the sound of his key in the door at the end of the working day.

“I’m not really cut out for good cheer,” Jim said, voice a little rough with choked back emotion, and when the day was done he handed Harvey an expensive bottle of whiskey. Got a tie in exchange, all soft silk and a blue that must have been chosen to match his eyes, and Harvey awkwardly clearing his throat as he shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out a key to his apartment.

“You’re not alone, yeah?” Harvey said as he pressed it into Jim’s palm, cheeks flushed as he avoided eye contact, “Any time you need to talk - you need anything. You’re just. You’re always welcome, Jim. You gotta know that.”

In the present, Jim traced his fingers over the familiar outline of the key as he traipsed around the malls and the outdoor Christmas market. As he peered at the labels on liquor bottles before dismissing the idea completely. The last thing Harvey needed, by anyone’s reckoning, was still more alcohol in his system. He looked at watches, and wallets, and countless other items which felt impersonal or insubstantial.

They weren’t good enough, didn’t convey the message he wanted to deliver, and before he knew what was happening it was Christmas Eve and he still hadn’t bought Harvey anything.

Panic began to set in then because this wasn’t only his gift to consider. This was meant to be from all of them, from officers who felt guilty for shifting allegiance, and Jim stood staring at a Christmas shop front for a long time, wondering why the one quality he most valued in Harvey was the same one Harvey invariably failed to inspire in others.

Harvey was loyal, fiercely so, and in return his relationships ended in tatters. His colleagues blamed him for making a decision any one of them might have made, and his best friend turned judge, jury, and executioner, instead of simply asking what could be so bad that he had no choice but to turn to the Penguin.

It was that last which broke him, that had him dashing away treacherous tears from his cheeks, because he had lost track of the number of times he had accepted help from Cobblepot. Had gone grovelling to him, even, and fallen hook, line and sinker for every promise which dropped from Sofia’s pretty lips. He had been an idiot. A foolish, self-absorbed idiot, and instead of swallowing his pride he had stood by and watched as Harvey gave his best shot at self-destruction.

He didn’t waste any more time after that. Battled through the crowds of last minute shoppers, and sagged in relief when the guy behind the counter took his money and handed over what he wanted. From there he stopped off at the grocery store. Had no choice but to settle for what he could get, and hoped that Harvey’s palate hadn’t grown fussier since the last time they had eaten together.

It was late by the time he was finished. So late that he hesitated at the threshold, nerves staying his hand when what was needed was action. What he needed to do was obvious, really always had been, and he squared his shoulders against the likelihood of a negative reaction and fished Harvey’s key from his pocket.

Fit it into the lock and turned it, still half afraid that Harvey might have had it changed in case of just such a scenario, and opened the door to find Harvey slumped on his sofa, bottle in one hand as he stared unseeingly at the television.

He had feared a punch to the face. Expected being told to get out and not bother returning.

Hoped for confessions and smiles, and it was the latter thought he clung to as he launched into the task of explaining himself.

“I figured fresh start, fresh hat,” he said stupidly as held out the hat he had bought with the money had been given, and didn’t say that he had chosen an almost identical replacement because he didn’t want Harvey to start over completely. Didn’t want to be without him, couldn’t bear the prospect of it, and the silence stretched for a long tense moment until Harvey took it from him and said,

“And I was kind of counting on a new supply of Doublemint.”

Jim didn’t try to hide the smile it inspired, the acknowledgement of their shared history, and when Harvey looked away, the awkwardness returning tenfold, Jim couldn’t help but reach for one of the older man’s hands and hold it between his own.

“I’m sorry, Harvey. I should have been saying that months ago.”

“It’s done,” Harvey told him, pulling his hand free and shrugging a little. “You did what you thought you had to do.”

“Yeah, I did,” Jim agreed, heart hammering for fight or flight, “I did what I wanted to be best for both of us.”

Harvey turned back to face him at that, expression incredulous. Twisting in anger, one hand raking through tangled hair as the other pointed dead at him.

“Don’t you dare, Jim. I’ll take a lot for you - God knows how much I’ve taken for you - but don’t come here and tell me you did it for my sake. You knew what it would do to me. You knew what your opinion meant to me.”

Jim swallowed thickly because he did know. He hadn’t always wanted to admit to it, maybe, but guys like Harvey didn’t hold guys like him while they sobbed like babies. Not if it didn’t mean anything to them. Not if they didn’t feel something that could survive even his unrepentant idiocy.

“I wanted it to be because it would mean I didn’t need to look any deeper. I wouldn’t need to question why it hurt to watch you push and push yourself. Why I was so afraid to use the key you gave me.”

“What the hell are you saying to me, Jim?”

The words were harsh, threatening, but it was fuelled by fear rather than anger, and Jim held the key out to him. Straightened his back and did something he should have done a long time ago.

“If you don’t want me here, take it. If this is it, if I’ve ruined everything, then take it back. But,” he sucked in a deep breath, bolstered his courage, “if there’s any chance, any chance at all, believe me when I say that there’s nowhere in the world I would rather be right now. I’ll do what you want, I’ll take it at your pace, but I won’t walk away. I swear, I won’t turn my back on you.”

His heart thumped and his stomach churned. His hands shook, just slightly, and Harvey stared at him in disbelief for so long that Jim was sure he had misjudged horribly. He had assumed too much, done too little too late, and he was making to lay the key on the coffee table when Harvey finally moved into action.

When Harvey curled his fingers back around the key, and asked him roughly what was in the rest of the bags Jim had brought with him. Listened as Jim outlined his half baked plan to cook Christmas dinner, to spend the day with the one person he truly wanted to share it with, and finally attempted to plaster over the emotion of the moment by joking that it wasn’t much of a present, having Jim’s cooking inflicted on his person.

“That’s not the present,” Jim responded, automatic, and then doubted his ability to go through with it. Struggled to breathe with the enormity of what he was about to do, and the awareness of how much it was going to hurt if Harvey refused to accept it. Still he clenched sweat slick fingers around another piece of metal, then offered it up for Harvey’s inspection.

“That’s,” Harvey started then trailed off. Cleared his throat and studied his face intently, searching for what exactly, Jim couldn’t have said. “You can’t just give me this and expect everything to be all right again. You can’t just turn up here and expect us to be the best of friends again.”

“I want us to be more than friends,” Jim said, unable to stand the ambiguity a moment longer. “I want you, Harvey.”

“You -”

If he had come this far he could go still further. He could finish what he had started.

“I love you.”

“What am I supposed to say to that, Jim?” Harvey asked, gaze wet and posture defeated. He sounded exhausted, pushed past endurance, and Jim had to step closer. Had to put a tentative hand on Harvey’s arm, soaking up his body heat through the fabric of his rumpled shirt. Had to press in still closer, close enough to smell Harvey’s aftershave and the lingering fug of cigarette smoke. To brush his lips against Harvey’s cheek, and shiver with the onslaught of emotion.

“Tell me you’ll let me prove it,” Jim answered, overwhelmed, and shook for real when Harvey pulled him into his embrace, fingers clutching at his suit jacket.

“You really want to stay?” Harvey said eventually, whispering like he was afraid anything louder would see the whole scene crumble away to bleak reality, and Jim only clung tighter, shifting until their mouths finally found each other, pouring out the truth in action where he was struggling with words.

He wanted it more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	187. Chapter 187

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock + Jim realizing he's been pining? :)_

There was no single event Jim could point to. No lightbulb moment shedding light on the twisted corners of his deepest darkest fantasies. Instead it happened slowly, inexorably, until one lunchtime he was sat across from Harvey in some greasy diner down on the edge of the dock district, wondering what Harvey would do if he screwed up the courage, right there and then, and told the other man that he was in love with him.

It wasn’t the first time he had thought it either, far from it, although in that instant it felt as though it was the first time he was properly registering it.

Because he had been the one to give in for once. He had been the one who grew sick of stressful days and lonely evenings, and went knocking at the door of Harvey’s apartment to ask that he rethink his decision to leave the Department behind him. Laid out sensible arguments about pay, and conditions, and benefits, and finally swallowed around the emotion clogging up his throat and said that he was sorry, really sorry, and that he would do the job so much more effectively if he had his partner looking out for him.

“I can’t go back there,” Harvey had said then, watching his reactions closely. “I gave it everything I had, Jim. I gotta try living for me again.”

He had nodded, desperately blinking back the sting of tears, and Harvey had touched a hand to his arm as he made for the door, moved perhaps by the sight of the fearful hope plastered across his face and elaborated,

“I’m applying for a private investigator’s licence. So I’m still gonna see you around the place.”

Jim had clung to that prediction. Went out of his way to ensure that their paths would cross, and chose to turn a blind eye to the cold case files he knew Alvarez was giving Harvey access to. Harvey was a good detective, a good guy, and if it improved both Harvey’s opinion of him and the precinct’s clear up rates into the bargain, well. Jim had spent the last few months as Captain learning when it made sense to compromise.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, huh?” Harvey commented when they met at some dingy dive bar to discuss the details of some long abandoned investigation. “You go in thinking you’re going to change the world. Six months later it’s all you can do to find time to change your damn clothing.”

“I should have been a better friend,” Jim said. Blurted, really, and Harvey shook his head a little and drained the drink in front of him.

“It’s too late for should haves.”

Jim only motioned to the bar tender for another round and said stubbornly,

“It’s never too late to try and make amends, Harvey.”

He called in at Harvey’s leaking basement of an office. Took in the filing cabinets crammed along the walls, and the envelope of surveillance photographs on the desk in front of him.

“Insurance fraud,” Harvey explained with a sigh, motioning at the pictures, “beggars can’t be choosers.”

It turned out that the work of a PI was monotonous drudgery, nothing like the glamorous life portrayed in the movies, and Jim couldn’t help but note that the slower pace seemed to be doing Harvey an awful lot of good. The dark smudges under his eyes were all but gone, and there was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been put there by whiskey.

Jim began to make a habit of dropping by. Tried not to take it to heart, the way Harvey kept refusing his offer to go for a drink afterwards, and it was only when Harvey took pity on his downcast expression and told him he was holding out for his three month sobriety chip that Jim realized just how miserable the whole ‘thanks but no thanks’ routine had been making him.

“Come to dinner with me then,” he insisted. “Or we can shoot some pool, catch a movie. Whatever you want to do.”

“You that hard up for a date?” Harvey joked, though not unkindly, and Jim couldn’t explain why the back of his neck burned at the suggestion.

Couldn’t understand why he was so nervous, why he had changed into a fresh shirt before heading to the restaurant, and then Harvey gave him a smile as he walked through the entranceway and the sudden surge of want that pooled low in his stomach effectively cleared up the mystery.

He didn’t want to believe it, not at first. Told himself he was mistaking friendship for something still more intimate, then woke in the early hours of the morning, hard and panting, the dream memory of Harvey’s hands upon him enough to make him shiver. Enough to have him finishing the job, harsh breaths smothered into his pillow, and then to lay awake until he had to get up for work, attempting to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

Genuinely considered doing nothing, ignoring the feelings entirely, and then Harvey was asked on a date by some woman who had hired him to track down her long lost brother and the jealousy overwhelmed him to such an extent that he felt physically sick with it. He asked too many questions when they met up for lunch. Stabbed viciously at his food, appetite gone, and snapped at everyone back at the precinct, mind preoccupied with what Harvey was going to do when he met up with her again that evening.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” was all Harvey said on the subject, winking at him so that his blood boiled, and simply laughed when Jim countered,

“I don’t see any gentlemen.”

He fumed all weekend. Slammed and banged, and scrubbed his kitchenette until it shone, desperate to find any outlet for his frustration. Finally he could take it no longer and loitered on Harvey’s doorstep, waiting for him to get back from his AA meeting.

“What’s happened?” Harvey asked when he saw him, shoulders tensing like he was bracing for news about Barnes, or Crane, or some other escaped psychopath.

“I’m just taking you up on your offer.”

Harvey had said he was welcome any time. Had said he would give him a key to the place if he wanted it, once upon a time, and Harvey watched him closely even as he let him in and apologized for the choice of coffee or soda.

“I thought you might have had other plans,” Jim said, trying and failing for casual, “I wasn’t sure if Natalie was still in town.”

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Harvey told him and Jim was so relieved at the use of the past tense that he couldn’t help but beam stupidly, and end up staying the night on the sofa, pledging all kinds of idiocy into the silence. He was going to fight for Harvey.

He was going to win, there was no other option.

Because Gotham was just as crazy as ever. Work was a whirlwind, non-stop stress and pressure on his shoulders, and he took to boycotting his own bed in favor of curling up with Harvey’s ratty spare blanket, lulled to sleep by the sound of Harvey’s snoring filtering in from the bedroom. Harvey was supportive of what he was doing in all the ways he had failed to be when the shoe was on the other foot. Listened when he wanted to vent, and challenged his decisions without losing his temper.

Jim wished that they were still working together, knew that it wasn’t possible, and did his best to settle for meeting Harvey for lunch and using him as a sounding board for the latest seemingly impossible case he was working.

In turn Harvey bounced potential ideas off him. Told bad jokes and stole food from his plate, and looked so good Jim struggled not to give it all away and reach out for him. Not to embarrass himself over hash browns and strong coffee, and not to glare daggers at the diner waitresses who dared to flirt with the man he was in love with.

“You all right there, buddy?” Harvey asked him in the present, frowning at him in concern across the diner table, so that Jim could only nod and swallow thickly.

He loved Harvey.

Now, somehow, he just needed to convince Harvey that that wasn’t a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	188. Chapter 188

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Could we get a smutty sequel to[Chapter 181](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29677110)? Something like them finally in a somewhat stable ish relationship and them navigating sex for the first time :D_

Jim was no blushing virgin. It had been a while, perhaps, since he had last been with a guy, but he knew how it all worked. What he liked, and what he loved, and just how good it was going to feel for the both of them.

What he wasn’t good at - never had been and apparently never would be - was talking about it. It just kind of happened, usually, escalating from one thing to another, and if it didn’t then it was probably a sure sign that they weren’t interested in seeing him again.

So that first night he panicked, stuttering out a dismal ‘it’s late, I thought’, even as he stood there breathless and aching, incredulous at the sight of Harvey pulling his coat about him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” was all Harvey said, calm and easy, and then kissed him goodnight so thoroughly it made his head spin.

Harvey was true to his word. Turned up not long after he got home from work, then took him out to dinner like it wasn’t already beyond certain that Jim would give him anything he wanted. It was kind of nice though, for all his initial surprise, and as he relaxed into the cushions of the booth Jim reflected on the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he had been on a date with anyone.

Lee, perhaps, right back at the very beginning, and for once the memory didn’t sting so much, not when Harvey was cracking bad jokes and flashing him earnest little smiles that made his stomach flutter. That made his pulse quicken and his body ache for attention, so that when Harvey put a hand on his back as they left the joint, the simple touch sent a shiver through him.

“I’ve got some decent whiskey at my place,” he said by way of blatant invitation, but Harvey only kissed him and claimed that he had other things he had to be doing.

Jim nodded stupidly. Walked home in a daze and then paced about his apartment, frustrated and perhaps just a touch rejected, a feeling that grew as the days passed. Because alone in the darkness it was too easy to come up with reasons why Harvey might not want to be truly alone with him.

He had hurt Harvey, he knew. He had hurt him badly. Maybe this was his punishment. Harvey knew how he felt and what he wanted, and now he was intent on using it to make him suffer. Or maybe Harvey did love him. Maybe he just didn’t find him attractive. Didn’t want to have to explain that the reality of getting close to him failed to live up to the expectation.

‘I wish you were here,’ he typed out finally, told himself he wouldn’t check his phone until the morning, then made a desperate grab for the thing at the sound of buzzing, heart hammering in his chest like he had been running a marathon.

‘Shouldn’t you be sleeping?’

It answered nothing, only made things more confusing, and Jim buried his face in his pillow and dreamed up increasingly pathetic scenarios, like Harvey turning up on his doorstep and simply holding him close until Jim fell asleep atop of him.

“I wasn’t kidding when I offered you these,” Jim tried the next evening, sleep deprivation and general desperation conspiring for a change in tactics. “You don’t need to stay here if you don’t want to.”

He was stood in Harvey’s miserable motel room, holding up the spare set of keys that had come with his apartment. It was too soon, probably. Madness, according to all the advice columns he had ever glanced at. He didn’t care, that was the stark truth of the matter, because he had almost lost Harvey for good, and if Harvey was going to be the kind of room mate who left dirty dishes in the sink and the cap off the toothpaste, he would just have to find a way to deal with it.

“I want you to stay with me,” Jim forced out when the silence stretched, “I just. I want to be with you, Harvey.”

It was the best he could do, as open as he could manage, and the relief he felt when Harvey finally agreed was tempered only by the way Harvey laid out a blanket on his sofa and told him that he’d see him in the morning.

Jim let it go that night. Didn’t push and didn’t argue, then lay awake staring up at the ceiling, attempting to make sense of what it was that made Harvey so reluctant to touch him.

Because they had kissed when they brought Harvey’s rather meagre belongings up from the trunk of the car. They had ground against each other on that sofa, his teeth nipping at Harvey’s lip, and Harvey’s hands all over him, clutching him closer. He had clutched back, beyond frantic, and shuddered helplessly when the friction brought him to completion, sharing slow kisses with Harvey as both their breathing returned to normal.

Then they had showered, separately, and by the time he was towelling off his hair, Harvey was curling into the sofa cushions and telling him that he hoped he slept well.

Over the following few days, Jim tried to be seductive. Guided Harvey’s hand to his eager erection as they made out on the couch, swallowed down the startled sound Harvey made, and finally sank to his knees between Harvey’s legs, certain that if it just happened this once then it would happen again and again, building on the precedent. Harvey groaned his name at any rate. Gazed at him like he was something rare and special, and petted gentle fingers through his hair even as his cheeks blazed with color, and his hips bucked up into Jim’s touch at his belt buckle.

The whole situation was too intense, too overwhelming, and Jim was sure that it would have ended up entirely satisfying if Alvarez hadn’t chosen that moment to bang at his door and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was needed at the precinct.

If he hadn’t the status quo might have lasted a lot longer. It might have taken weeks, months even, before he resolved to properly confront the issue. As it was he spent the afternoon hog tied and at gun point, fighting down the terror that after everything, after all the misery and the loneliness and the soul searching, he was never going to know what it meant to really be with Harvey.

To get past his hang ups and his insecurities, and to know what was going on in his partner’s mind when he looked at him. To remove all of the barriers between them, and to wake up in Harvey’s arms, not under the same roof but still at arm’s distance.

“You know you’re not authorized to be here,” Jim said when Harvey ignored every word in the handbook to get to him, and when the older man checked him over, the slightest tremor in his fingers as he stroked them over the latest cut to his brow, he couldn’t help but add softly, “I’m really glad you are though.”

Couldn’t help but melt into his embrace, and only hold out until the third time Harper told him she had everything under control and that he really ought to go and get some rest that evening.

Harvey took that last too much to heart. Asked him if he wanted a sandwich or something, and suggested that he go to bed. On his own. It was more than Jim could take, not when he was so close to what he really wanted.

“Is it me?” Jim managed, the embarrassment flaming across his face as he forced himself to keep talking, “Do you just not want to?”

“You think I don’t want to,” Harvey echoed back to him, trailing off, and Jim had to look away because he was no good at this kind of thing. Felt far barer and more vulnerable than he ever could naked, and he was still working on glancing back up again when Harvey simply closed the space between them. Touched his jaw, tenderly, so that he had little choice but to make eye contact.

Kissed him, the brush of lips giving way to the slick of his tongue, and Jim curled his fingers in his hair, kissing back with an urgency that was borderline desperate.

“I want you so bad,” Harvey told him when he finally broke away from his mouth, only to focus on the flesh of his throat instead, “I’ve wanted you for so long. Jesus, Jim, can’t you feel what you do to me?”

He could, pressed up against his hip, and and Jim pulled his head up for another kiss, even as he started yanking at buttons and fastenings. He was struggling to get the shirt buttons undone, was tempted to simply tug hard and be done with it, but Harvey pushed him back just enough by the shoulders to do it himself, taking in his flushed face and the slightly glazed look in his eyes.

“You really do want this,” Harvey murmured, more to himself than with expectation, but Jim took it as a cue to start on his own buttons in case Harvey change his mind again.

They ended up on the bed, his own clothing strewn over the floor, but Harvey still fully dressed though the unbuttoned shirt was hanging loose from his shoulders. Jim reached for it, a little embarrassed and a lot frustrated to be the only one naked, but Harvey just pinned his arm back down gently and then looked at him. Swept his gaze over him, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and Jim felt it like something physical. Shivered all over, helpless, when Harvey pressed a hand to his stomach and groaned out,

“Just look at you. How could you ever think I wouldn’t want you?”

Jim tried again to rid Harvey of his shirt. Wanted to show in action what he was failing at in words, but Harvey still seemed kind of reluctant. Had a hand still splayed across his stomach, expression torn between want and something else entirely, and it hit Jim in a rush that if he could be terrible at communication, maybe Harvey could too.

If he could lay awake at night and worry instead of making himself clear, perhaps he wasn’t the only one.

He went up on his knees and let his fingers tangle in Harvey’s hair. Kissed him, soft and slow, until it wasn’t enough, and then it turned hot and demanding, the shirt finally falling by the wayside. He trailed fingertips up the length of Harvey’s arms. Traced them over freckles and scars, and let them dip beneath the collar of Harvey’s undershirt, breath coming shallow at the feel of heated skin beneath them.

Hid his face in the curve of Harvey’s neck and used the cover to confess,

“I love you. I really really want you. I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not saying it because I think I ought to.”

He made himself look then. Smiled without effort, without meaning to, because Harvey looked so lost. Looked like he felt sometimes, like life was so good he was sure to mess it up at any moment, and Jim only beamed harder when Harvey managed,

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed. I couldn’t bear it - to come this far and fall at the last hurdle.”

Jim kissed him in reassurance. Used the distraction to get rid of Harvey’s undershirt, and revelled in the skin it revealed.

“I’m not going to be disappointed,” he pledged, certain, then grinned still wider. “And, if I were. Well. We’d just have to try again, wouldn’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	189. Chapter 189

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nasturtian who suggested a suit shop/nerd store AU a la that [Tumblr post](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/post/168558788258/nasturtian-lesbianchrispine-orarewedancy) which has been doing the rounds. :)

As undercover gigs went, Harvey knew he had it pretty cushy. Decent hours, a working heater, and an excuse not to shave for the duration. The music wasn’t so bad either, not if you were willing to overlook the fact it was all teeny bopper bullshit.

They made up the bulk of the clientèle. High school kids and not much older, all baggy pants and wallet chains, desperate to hear some other suburban brat screech about how Mommy didn’t love them. It sounded okay turned up loud, at least, and if the Department was convinced his being here was going to end in a media worthy drugs bust. Well.

That was their problem.

He was only one man. He could only work with what he had been given. He was so busy tapping out a drum solo on the side of the cash register that he almost missed the last minute swerve of one of the preppy idiots from the store across the way, ditching the direction of the food court for the ambience of his own dingy third rate record store.

The college kids gathered around the imports section raised their eyebrows as he pushed by, and Harvey fought to keep his own expression neutral as a matter of professional pride. Nobody needed to know that it wasn’t an entirely professional interest he was taking in the guy approaching him.

“If this is about the volume,” Harvey started, picking up where his argument with the deputy managing director of Hale & Hawkes Menswear had left off, “I already said, no can do. Just turn the Duran Duran up and you won’t be able to hear it.”

The guy blinked at him, confused. Looked like he needed somebody to put that stupefied expression on his pretty face on the regular. An older somebody, maybe. Somebody who -

“Oh, my Mom likes them,” the guy said and if that wasn’t a metaphorical bucket of cold water to the face, then Harvey didn’t know what was. “I came over to ask if we could use your microwave. We used to go next door,” he inclined his head towards the recently shut up unit, “and Steve said you’ve got one out back. It’s ten minutes down to the food court otherwise.”

Steve would have.

He was going to say no way. Was going to deliver some cutting line about how fucking thankful this guy ought to be that he had a healthy pair of legs then, to ensure that he never came back with those big blue eyes and crisp white shirt that just begged to be messed up a little. So, of course, Benny B - real name Curtis Smith, according to his file - chose that moment to clap the sucker on the shoulder and start asking how his brother was.

Grin wide as he claimed Roger Gordon to be one of the best guys in the world, and shift the pile of records he was planning on purchasing from one arm to the other, a less than subtle reminder to Harvey’s psyche that neither Steve nor the Department would be pleased if he pissed off the DJ of the leading nu-metal night in the city. Not when he was happy to drop so much cash, and not when he was their very best in to the drugs ring the Captain was so very convinced was going to keep his swivel chair secure.

“What are you going to offer me in return?” Harvey said instead, and absolutely wasn’t enchanted by the furrow that formed between Gordon’s brow as he thought about it.

“We’ve got a decent bathroom,” he piped up, finally, looking inordinately pleased with himself, and Benny ingratiated himself for eternity by bursting into laughter.

“It’s no wonder you’re still single, Jimmy. Buy a guy a drink before you ask to take things somewhere more private!”

~*~  
Harvey couldn’t help but think about that exchange way too much over the weeks that followed. Couldn’t help but fixate on the way Jim Gordon’s cheeks had flushed up so attractively, nor the way the very tips of his ears went red the first time Harvey winked at him and told the snobby supervisor that he was taking them up on their kind offer.

The supervisor wasn’t so bad, not after a few calls of nature had rubbed smooth the worst of the antagonism, and the guy ended up spending his lunch break in the record store a few days later, commiserating with him over the way all the kids wore pants that hung so low the cuffs scuffed along the floor everywhere they walked. He hated it because the weather was shit and he had to clean the damn carpet, but Suits talked about it like it was a personal affront to his sense of decency.

“They take no pride in their appearance,” he griped, apparently blind to Harvey’s own threadbare band tee and flannel shirt, “it’s an uphill battle just to get our staff to pass muster.”

“Jim?” Harvey said, without thinking, and Suits just hmmed over some God awful Osmond ‘Best Of’ before assuring that, no, Jim could be relied upon to wear clothing that fit properly.

He got it confirmed for himself when he ran into Jim on his day off, flanked by an older woman who had to be the Duran Duran loving Mom, and wearing a pair of dark jeans which fit so well it should have been illegal. Jim’s mother looked him over with a sneer of disdain, dismissing as she moved on to the next thing, but Jim smiled and spoke, and asked him how his Christmas shopping was going.

“It’s not,” Harvey confessed, honest in spite of his best intentions, and somehow they ended up losing Mom to the thrills of an expensive jewelry store, Jim trying to appear grown up and disinterested instead of secretly delighted when Harvey made for the nearest toy display, intent on striking a whole bunch of cousins off the list.

It was better fun that it had any right to be, laughing and joking, and too intently focusing on the serious expression on Jim’s face, followed by the beaming grin when he cracked one of the puzzles laid out for the little kids to play with. He laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder in a not so mocking display of congratulations, and they grabbed some lunch afterwards, he not ready to part ways and Jim apparently willing to humor him.

“I don’t think their parents are going to thank you,” Jim told him as Harvey reorganized his purchases into different bags, “that’s a lot of paint going on there.”

“Kids love getting messy,” Harvey shrugged, easy, and Jim cleaned his hands fastidiously with a paper napkin as he commented,

“I didn’t.”

It made sense, Harvey thought. He had loitered around the suits and the dress shirts more often than was either useful or justifiable. Had listened to Jim wax lyrical about fit and drape, and pulled strings at the precinct to check up on his relatives and his background, and to make sure that he wasn’t going to get into hot water simply for thinking about what he wanted to do to Jim. In short, he had devoted enough time to the man in front of him to know that he liked logic, and order, and horribly insubstantial sandwiches that couldn’t possibly satisfy anyone.

“That’s why you ended up working menswear,” was all Harvey said on the subject, and rather than smile and nod, Jim launched into an explanation of how he hadn’t intended to take the position, and how much he disliked being indebted to his brother for anything.

“He invests, in anything he thinks might make him some money. He’s no morals about it either. I had an internship all lined up, at a nonprofit my father was involved with, but it fell through at the last minute.”

“Well, I’m glad you took the stopgap,” Harvey offered, rendered weak by the festive cheer and the heat of Jim’s knee where it was almost touching his own beneath the table, “who else was going to tell me I’ve been wearing the wrong shade for my skin tone?”

~*~

All good things had to come to an end. Harvey had spent his whole life reaffirming that truism. It still sucked to acknowledge it, hurt a little, like a papercut that wouldn’t quit stinging, because Jim proved to be the key to cracking the case, and that only meant Harvey got to see more of him than ever.

Jim leaned on his brother, through some subtle pushing, and when Roger got nervous about the potential of scandal, there was finally visible movement among the circle Harvey had been looking for an in on, rats deserting a sinking ship as they sought out better prospects.

He couldn’t thank Jim for it, not yet. Hadn’t come clean about the realities of his working life, and ended up blurting out a suggestion that Jim might like to go for a drink with him, to the metal night his friend hosted, uncomfortably like a teenager mustering up the courage to secure a prom date. It was a fact finding mission, really. In no way romantic, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Jim agreed, anyway, and Harvey watched him as he drank a little too much, so that he sat closer to Harvey than was strictly necessary. So that he spoke louder, and laughed harder, and fell heavily against his side with the strength of his mirth, nose pressed into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“If you wanted to,” Harvey started, when they were outside getting some fresh air, because Jim’s behavior had to mean something. Surely. Then Jim was being sick, copiously, violently, sick, and that really put an end to the evening. Harvey saw him into a cab and decided to look upon it as divine intervention.

A great celestial tip-off not to be a total idiot.

Because Jim was young. Too young. Barely out of college and not even decided on what he wanted to do with his life. He, on the other hand, was fast approaching middle age and had thrown all his chips in with the police department. This was it for him, he was too old for starting over, and he sat up for a long time that night, making sure all his notes were in order.

Making sure that things went off without a hitch, so that the following day arrests were made, evidence was seized, and the Captain gave him a smile that was almost genuine and told him that he had made a recommendation for him to Robbery-Homicide.

They all went for drinks afterwards, by way of celebration, and the next morning he was assigned a new desk, and a new partner, and immediately deluged with a mountain of unresolved case files.

He still thought about Jim, all the same. He thought about him on Christmas morning when his cousins tore the wrapping paper off the gifts he had gotten them, and he thought about him when he was on late night observation duty, shivering in the car and wondering if there was anything in Jim’s claims about the benefits of twill.

A job took him back to the shopping precinct in the middle of January, and Harvey called in at the record store. Just for old time’s sake. Got an unattractive wolf whistle from Steve on account of his bargain basement suit and ill fitting new shoes, and then a smoker’s cough of a laugh when he showed the guy his finger.

“That kid was in asking after you, you know, the one with the watch that would cost us mere mortals six months wages.”

“He’s 22,” Harvey pointed out, mildly, but Steve only shrugged and heaved a battered box up from beneath the counter. Folded out a rumpled envelope that was clearly meant to go with it, and then went back to some in depth discussion or other over the artistic merits of a band who had sat in the carcass of a shark for their album cover.

Harvey took the box back to the car. Ignored the questioning look on Dix’s face and stashed it in the trunk for safekeeping. Finally read the note when he got back to his desk, and smiled helplessly at Jim’s apology for not being able to handle his drink, and for not having chance to speak to him before he went off to basic training.

‘I’ve got to do something with my life,’ he wrote, penmanship neat but hurried, ‘and I have it on good authority that the dress uniforms are everything a guy like me could wish for. I hope you don’t mind that I got you something. For Christmas. It was end of line so if you don’t like it you’ll have to give it to one of your cousins.”

He opened the box then, curiosity overpowering, and shook his head at the sight of the fedora.

Put it on, just for fun, and then admired his reflection in the polished chrome of the stair railings.

It looked good, really kind of sophisticated, and if he ever crossed paths with Jim again he’d make sure he thanked him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	190. Chapter 190

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to the last chapter, [#189](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30210807). :)

Jim didn’t dislike the job. He loathed it. Because this was supposed to be the time where he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Where he started to make a name for himself, fresh out of college and eager to make a difference in the world, and instead the trust had informed him at the very last juncture that actually they couldn’t offer him a placement.

Circumstances had changed, budgets had tightened. He pointed out that he wasn’t going to be getting paid but it had made no difference.

Roger was good friends with the son of one of the directors. His Mother still had the power to pull strings. He ended up working retail at the city’s main shopping mall, trying to persuade businessmen and dot com success stories to part with a few hundred dollars for a work shirt.

“I thought it would suit you,” his Mother told him, over dinner, and looked appalled with herself when she recognized the unintended pun. “You’ve always liked to dress smartly.”

That was true, at least. He had loved to shine his shoes and comb his hair just so. Had sewn all his own patches onto his Scout uniform, ensuring that each one lined up perfectly, and probably spent more time pressing his tux than his prom date had on choosing her entire outfit. There was something calming about it.

Comforting.

An orderly appearance suggested an orderly mind, that was what his Father had used to say, and rather than hear his Mother speak ill of the dead he determined to just knuckle down and get on with things. At least for the time being.

At least until he found an excuse to talk to the guy who had just started in the store opposite, because there was always something of a lull in the early afternoon, and Jim couldn’t help but stare over at broad shoulders and thick red hair. His racks and rails were already spotless.

“You can do better,” Martin, his supervisor, told him when he followed his wandering gaze to its inevitable focus, “Never date a man who wears plaid, not unless you’re into that kind of thing. Are you into that kind of thing?”

Jim ignored the questioning - if well groomed - eyebrow in favor of smoothing down his necktie display. Of seeming mysterious, maybe, because he had never said anything either way. If people wanted to assume things about him, that was their problem. It didn’t mean they were right. Didn’t mean, for instance, that he sometimes daydreamed during particularly long fittings, imagining the look on Roger’s face when he introduced his boyfriend.

His boyfriend who could definitely kick Roger’s self-aggrandizing ass, should he feel the inclination.

“It’s your lucky day,” Martin announced during one such session, leaving the customer in Simon’s capable hands as he outlined the rudimentaries of the plan. “Don’t come back until that soup is hot,” Martin warned finally, pressed the Tupperware into his hands, and encouraged him on his way with a light push between the shoulderblades.

In spite of the pep talk, Jim couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t bear to see the sneer on the other man’s face, or hear the way everyone in the store laughed at him, like he was just some dumb rich kid. He was going to go down to the food court instead. Get the stuff heated there and be spared all the embarrassment. Except… He couldn’t help but think of the internship he should have been serving.

He would have been facing much bigger difficulties there. He would have been working with disadvantaged kids, and disillusioned war vets, and not being such a total coward.

So he swerved at the last moment. Pretended that his intentions had never wavered. Stared stupidly at the guy as though he were 100% brain dead, and then in place of some quick remark or witty comeback to the guy’s dig about Hale & Hawkes Menswear’s choice in music, he stood there like an idiot and said,

“Oh, my Mom likes them.”

The shame of it was immediate. The flush that burned down the back of his neck and across his cheeks an inferno. Who brought up their Mom in front of criminally attractive men with eyes that color? Who started rambling, too fast and too awkward, about card stores and microwaves and the failing local economy?

He was saved from himself, finally, by a friend of his brother’s, and Jim didn’t even complain about the too forceful hand clapped on his back and the gushing soliloquy to Roger’s non-existent qualities. If he kept his mouth shut he couldn’t dig himself any deeper. He just needed to stay silent, just until Curtis got bored of reminiscing, and then he could slink off back to his vest shipment and pretend the entire encounter had never happened.

“What are you gonna offer me in return?” The guy behind the counter asked then, just when Jim had resigned himself to not hearing another word from him, and he took a moment this time to think up something suitable.

Something sophisticated. Something that said he was definitely worth getting to know better.

“We’ve got a decent bathroom,” he said, thinking of the trek down to the public restroom, and Curtis just started howling with laughter beside him. Only laughed harder as his own face paled, the implications of what he had just said dawning. Curtis wiped a stray tear from his eye and laughed all over again.

“It’s no wonder you’re still single, Jimmy. Buy a guy a drink before you ask to take things somewhere more private!”

Harvey - as he learned the guy’s name to be - didn’t hold his less than stellar conversational skills against him. He couldn’t do, truly, because he took Jim up on the offer of using their bathroom, and began loitering around afterwards and asking him to explain why anyone in their right mind would want to buy a shirt for $250.

“This entire outfit cost me twelve bucks,” Harvey told him, gesturing at his own fraying jeans and threadbare t-shirt, so Jim smirked and said too innocently,

“Inflation’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

Harvey laughed, the sound rich and honest, and Jim quit dreading going to work in the morning. Instead he couldn’t wait, genuinely looked forward to it, and spent half his wages in store, just in case Harvey had really meant it when he said that if a suit was going to make him look like him, then maybe he could understand why people were willing to waste so much money on it.

Jim beamed at his reflection after Harvey spent almost 15 minutes letting him explain the color contrast chart.

Blushed into it like a wet behind the ears schoolkid when Martin returned from a lunchtime sojourn to report that Harvey had been asking after him.

Smoothed his jacket lapels down in it, eager, and went to loiter around the record store cash desk for an hour and a half after the end of his own shift, because if he had to meet Roger for dinner, he could at least do something he wanted to do before it.

“Where were you working before this?” He asked, trying to sound disinterested, and maybe it was his imagination but Harvey kind of clammed up a little. Shut that line of conversation right down, and Jim did his best to swallow down his own curiosity and concentrate on making a good impression.

On trying to work out whether or not he had a hope in hell of Harvey returning his way too blatant interest, and what his Mother would say if he brought home a guy technically old enough to be his Father.

He got an inkling that Saturday when he was out serving as his Mom’s personal bag carrier. Harvey was looking as good as he always did, freshly washed hair falling about his face, and he swore his Mother could tell exactly the kind of thoughts he was having, if her disapproving expression was anything to go by.

“I’m sure you know what you’re doing,” she said to him, tone heavy with meaning, but she invented some reason to leave him alone to do his own thing, and for that he was truly grateful.

Because the day that unfolded was so perfect it could have been plucked directly from one of his cringeworthy daydreams.

They went around the toy stores, picking out gifts for Harvey’s cousins, and they went for dinner like any of the other Christmas shopping couples, knees almost touching beneath the table. Harvey was good company,was always cracking jokes and telling outrageous tales, and Jim felt the want pool low in his stomach even as he heard himself spilling the kind of personal stuff he never told anyone.

How he had ended up shilling overpriced dress shirts and why he and Roger didn’t see eye to eye. How he worried that he would never find a purpose, the way his Father would have wanted him to, and his deep seated fear that he was going to end up alone and miserable, alienating everyone like his Mother.

Harvey didn’t freak out on him. Didn’t invent some reason why he had to leave, nor shift away in discomfort. Instead he simply accepted it, waited until Jim was done with venting about it, then flung a friendly arm around his shoulders when they dragged the day out still further, standing outside in the winter cold admiring the City light display.

It was so perfect, so very close to what he wanted, and Jim couldn’t help but gaze at the other man’s face whenever he looked away, all too aware that it wouldn’t take much to push what he was feeling to the next level.

Would take scarcely anything at all because Harvey asked questions about his family and his plans for the holiday. Pulled him to one side in the middle of the shopping rush the following Wednesday and asked him if he wanted to go out for a drink. With him. That evening. Jim had plans - people he had to see and places he needed to be. He gave them a swift mental apology and grinned wide at Harvey, assuring him that he’d love to.

“Are you sure about this?” Martin asked him when they were finally - finally - shutting up shop for the evening. “Did he actually say ‘will you go on a date with me’?”

“He didn’t need to. It’s obvious that’s what he meant, isn’t it?”

Martin said nothing, looked nowhere near convinced on the subject, but Jim chose to ignore it in favor of the excited fluttering in his stomach. Drank too much in an attempt to smother his nerves and succeeded only in embarrassing himself, pressing so close to the guy that there couldn’t have been any doubt what he was angling for.

No doubt what an idiot he was, either, because the moment they got outside his stomach started churning. He was sweating, shaking, and then he was being sick, rough and helpless, and getting bundled into a cab and told to go home and sleep it off.

His Mother lectured him in the morning. Roger shook his head, as though he was some paragon of virtue, and the deputy manager glanced significantly at his wristwatch when Jim finally dragged himself from his bed and put in an appearance.

Harvey wasn’t about at all and that, at least, made him feel a little better. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who was a bit of a lightweight.

Except Harvey wasn’t in the day after, nor the day after that one.

“He’s ill,” his weird co-worker told him, with a shrug, and when he returned the third time sighed and added, “if he wanted you calling him up he’d have given you his number, wouldn’t he?”

That rankled, hurt in ways Jim really didn’t want to examine, and somehow a few hours sulking resulted in him gift wrapping the last of a line there was no way they were going to shift, because he had had such a very good time the afternoon they had talked about their favorite books and movies. Harvey was into old black and white movies - noir detectives and gun toting damsels - and he hoped it would serve as a peace offering if it really was him that Harvey was avoiding.

Maybe it had all been in his head. Maybe it had only ever been wishful thinking. Maybe he was such an awful prospect that this was the best he could ever hope, stifling silence as he ate Christmas dinner with Roger, Roger’s fiancée, and his Mother, every scrape of the cutlery like nails on a chalkboard.

He had to get away from it. He had to quit living with his head in the clouds and waiting for something impossible to happen.

He spoke to the recruiting sergeant the first chance he got and lay awake almost the entire night, terrified that he had made the wrong decision.

“Will you give this to him when you see him?” He asked the guy behind the counter at the record store, handing over the hat box and a goodbye note. Changed his mind at the last minute and scrawled his email address and phone number on a separate piece of paper to go along with it. The army couldn’t kick him out just for being in contact with a man he wanted to screw six ways from Sunday.

Surely.

He never got a reply, either way. No letter and no phone call. No last minute visit the night before he left for basic training, like something out of a romance movie, and no explanation at all for just disappearing though Curtis assured him that he had seen Harvey out and about, wearing a terrible suit and eating grease laden sandwiches from one of the food carts near the main police precinct.

It played on his mind when training was tough going. When he got moved from base to base, lonely and increasingly disillusioned, and when they shipped out to put the training into practice, all of them pretending they couldn’t hear the sensitive types who spent the nights sobbing into their pillows.

Pretended that he didn’t feel like joining them, ever more often, because this was supposed to be him finding his place in the world, not him wishing he had listened to his brother.

He thought about how it would undoubtedly work out for the best, in the long run, and how he would never be able to aspire to a command position if the temptation to break the rules was always hanging over him. Then he did it anyway, some stupid meaningless exchange under the cover of darkness, and he hated himself afterwards for his lack of self-control, and for how it fell so far short of what he really wanted.

Things were different when he went home. His Mother had moved with Roger to the center of his new business enterprise, out in Chicago, and when he tried the old record store it was to find it transformed into a sleek unit selling cell phones. Hale & Hawkes was still there, though with few of the staff he had known, and it was no good asking Curtis this time around because the guy was in prison.

He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen if his efforts were successful. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just accept the massive hint he had been given. He pressed his favorite suit and spent the afternoon wandering the art galleries, determined that the trip shouldn’t be a total blow out, and was flattered to be approached by a gorgeous blonde with a trust fund and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They stayed in touch. Wrote letters and exchanged phone calls, and when things began moving faster than he was comfortable with him he stood by and let it happen, because trying to call a halt to the life fate had planned out for him was what had got him into this mess in the first place.

“This means we’re engaged,” Barbara told him over a crackly long distance line and he supposed that it did, really. “Oh, Jim, we’ll have to tell your Mother.”

She invited them to stay for New Years, the whole affair false and too formal, and when Jim wandered outside with a champagne flute to stare up at the stars he wondered what it meant that this was exactly the future he had been hoping to escape from.

It carried on unfolding regardless. Barbara found a bigger apartment, and a dress, and when he was nearly killed out on operation begged him to think seriously about not renewing his contract. She wanted to actually make it down the aisle. She didn’t want to be made a widow before a mother, and she didn’t want to be one of those for a good few years yet. She sent him the jobs section from the Gotham Gazette, so he could lay in his hospital bed and start putting real thought into what he was going to do, and when he turned the page over his heart faltered in his chest because he recognized the face staring back at him.

Harvey was wearing the hat, even, and when he was given his meds Jim fell from surreal dream into surrealer dream, all against a backdrop of a world in which he had been persistent and Harvey had let him.

“I’m coming home,” he announced a few weeks later, when the dust had had chance to settle and he had had chance to make enquiries, “I’m joining the police force.”

“Oh,” Barbara said, an entire novel condensed into a single syllable, and still he soldiered on.

Just the same way he had been trained to do.

He loved the Academy. Finally felt like he had found what he was meant to be doing. Loved his patrol uniform even more, along with the sense of satisfaction when he left a senior citizen feeling safer, or a kid feeling like a dismal future wasn’t already planned out for them. He wished he could do it for himself, that he could plaster over all the cracks forming in his and Barbara’s relationship, and when the news came through that he was getting the transfer to Robbery-Homicide, it was his colleagues he celebrated with - not the woman he was supposed to be sharing his life with.

“If you had a death wish you should have stayed in the army,” Barbara told him when he got home, visibly drunk and high on something, and threw the contents of her dressing table at him as she accused him of never having wanted to commit to their relationship anyway. Of being condescending, and distant, and of lying to her about where he went, and who he went with.

He wanted to yell back. Wanted to make accusations of his own, about the nights when she didn’t come home, and the nights when she did, shrouded in the cloying scent of someone else’s perfume. He didn’t because it wouldn’t make any difference. Wouldn’t fix any of their problems. He slept at a motel instead and went into work early, and wasn’t in the least surprised to find Barbara waiting for him at the front desk when he was finally done for the evening.

“I do love you, Jim,” she told him, make-up perfect but voice frail, “I just don’t know how to live with you.”

“We’ll work it out,” he pledged, like he had the first clue of how to function like a civilian, and kissed her forehead.

He tried, genuinely. Rolled over when he was woken by nightmares, and made strained small talk at Barbara’s galas and functions. Pulled all his suits out of storage, and went out and added a couple more to his wardrobe, seeing the echo of the boy he had once been when he met the gaze of his reflection in the mirror. Life had been simple then, back when he had no reason to doubt whether or not he deserved the life he hoped for.

He was older now, that was all. Wiser.

Still completely blindsided by the fact Harvey Bullock was actually stood in front of him, shabby suit rumpled and stinking of drink, a scowl settled on his features as he looked him up and down and announced,

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“You remember me then?” He smiled with it, hoping he was misinterpreting the tone, but Harvey only sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. Looked even tireder than he had before and gestured over at something that might be a desk underneath all the unfinished paperwork.

“A rookie ex-soldier who was once sick over my shoes. And here was me thinking the day couldn’t get any worse.”

“I wasn’t sick on your shoes.”

In the vicinity, certainly, but not actually on them. Jim was sure of that much.

Harvey only grunted in dismissal.

After that things only went from bad to worse. Harvey either ignored him or berated him. Sneered at his by the book note taking and turned up so drunk one morning Jim refused to get into the car with him.

“Suit yourself,” Harvey snapped at him, and drove away without him.

He had to explain it to the Captain. Had to try and come up with a reason why he had specifically requested to work with Bullock in the first place. Failed miserably and was sent down to the records room to try and help clear some of Harvey’s backlog. It was quiet down there. Eerie, almost, and Jim couldn’t help but think that he had really gone and done it this time.

Had got himself in way over his head, had the mob breathing down his neck and the Penguin wanting vengeance, and a partner who despised the fact that he even existed.

It wasn’t going to work, it had been an idiot idea right from the very beginning, and it all spilled over in a shoving match outside some dingy dive bar, not so very far from the club where he had once been convinced that Harvey was going to kiss him.

“You made a mistake,” he snarled, finally getting Harvey backed against the wall, “you couldn’t help your partner. None of it is my fault. Stop taking it out on me. Stop letting something that happened ten years ago destroy you.”

“You never regret anything, soldier-boy?” Harvey asked, softer than he had probably intended, and suddenly the intimacy of the situation was all too clear.

They were pressed too close. His heart was beating too fast, his breathing coming a touch too frantic. Harvey’s gaze was boring into him, having the exact same effect it had had all those years ago.

He cleared his throat, head swimming with the scent of the older man’s aftershave and his voice gruff with so many years of wanting,

“What do you think?”

Nothing happened that night. He saw Harvey into a cab and he walked home. He kissed Barbara on the cheek, chaste and distracted, and the two of them lay side by side in bed, a couple of inches that might as well have been a thousand miles between them. Barbara was gone when he returned from shift the following night, no note but her make-up bag missing from the dressing table, and he left her pathetic voicemail messages because they had sworn not to throw the towel in for another couple of months at least.

She didn’t come home the next day, nor the day after. Told him finally that they weren’t working things out, not ever, and that he could stay until he found somewhere else, because they had always been better as friends than lovers, hadn’t they? He didn’t breathe a word of it to Harvey. Didn’t tell a living soul, truthfully, and he was so busy thinking about the mess his life was in that he didn’t notice where they were going until Harvey cut the engine and went and yanked the door open for him.

“What?” He started but Harvey just shoved his hat on his head - and the stupid thing looked just as good on him as he had always known it would - and started in the direction of the shopping mall.

“It’s that time of year and, as I remember, you weren’t awful at gift shopping. And, before you start, I squared it with the Captain so it’s either this or you go home and drink yourself into a stupor.”

Jim hesitated, even the reality of his evenings not quite enough to overcome his innate stubbornness, but then he caught sight of his reflection and saw a guy he barely knew looking back at him. A guy who was stuck mourning the loss of something he had known wouldn’t work right from the first second it started. A guy who was being offered an out, served up on a silver platter, and was still determined to refuse it.

“I can hold my drink better these days,” he said rather than deal with any of the real issues. Harvey just patted him on the shoulder, sober himself for once, and shot him a smile.

“Whatever you say, Junior.”

The trip played out like deja vu, right down to the piped pop music and the flickering lights hanging from the ceiling. This had been the biggest mall in town back then, the jewel in Gotham’s retail crown. Now it was shabby and run down, no match for the new development on the west side, so Jim was surprised to find some of the smaller stores still in business.

“Aren’t they a little old for this now?” He asked when Harvey lead the way into a cramped old school toy store, and Harvey shot him a sly grin and told him,

“Some of them have kids of their own now. You’re not as young as you think you are.”

“I’m always going to be younger than you.”

“Age before beauty then,” Harvey offered, giving him a playful shove out of the way of a display of breakdown inspiring electronic toys, and Jim couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard.

The last time he had laughed, period.

It felt good. Made his jaw ache in a good way and his soul feel a little lighter. Gave him an appetite for the first time in weeks, and reduced him to nothing more than a token protest when Harvey settled on the same fast food joint they had eaten at back when he had been dedicating all those lonely nights in his bedroom to detailed experiments of how it might feel to have Harvey’s hands on him.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were a cop? Why did you just pull a disappearing act like that?”

That was the real question. The question that had been eating away at him for over a decade now.

“I liked my job,” Harvey sighed. Fidgeted with the napkin in his hand then looked him full in the face. “I thought it would be better for both of us.”

Jim thought about that answer. Rolled it this way and that, then dismissed it as nowhere near good enough.

“I was half in love with you.”

“That’s why you went running to Uncle Sam, eh? He don’t ask so you don’t tell. What a life we could have lead.”

The tone was harsh, disbelieving, and Jim rose to the bait, snapping, “It wasn’t like that.”

He expected Harvey to argue back. For the whole thing to descend into yet another school yard scrap. Instead Harvey fell quiet for a long moment. Sighed again then seemed to come to a decision.

“You can’t just spring declarations like that on a guy, okay? Your friend never did teach you anything about taking things slow, did he?”

“He was Roger’s friend.” It raised a smile, if a small one, and Jim figured he might as well keep going as he was in this deep already. “I tried to track you down. I was never any good at taking no for an answer.”

“If I didn’t like you I could apply for a restraining order.”

“But you do like me?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for an answer, his palms clammy with sweat and his skin feeling too tight, like the anxiety was just desperate to burst out of him.

Harvey jostled his knee under the table. Trailed his fingers along the brim of the hat he had laid on the table, lost in thought for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally, soft with something Jim knew he wasn’t simply imagining, “I’ve always liked you.”

It wasn’t the answer to all his problems. Wasn’t going to wipe the slate clean and give them a fresh starting point. It was enough though - more than enough to be going on with - and this time he didn’t leave it to chance when they simply stood for a moment, looking at the light displays and the sparsely decorated Christmas tree.

“I didn’t think you went in for public displays of affection,” Harvey said, breath hot against his cheek when Jim pulled back from the kiss he had just bestowed on him. Touched cool fingers to his jaw, where the beginnings of a bruise was starting to show, and Jim beamed just as stupidly as he ever had as a lovestruck college kid.

“I can make an exception.”

“You mean you’re a damn hypocrite.”

“Maybe I’m still figuring some things out.”

Harvey kissed him that time, the scratch of beard against his skin and the rough tangle of fingers in the fabric of his overcoat.

“Now that I can believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	191. Chapter 191

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim and Harvey actually manage to have that talk, and Harvey doesn't walk away at the end of 4x11? I'm LOVING the angst of Harvey quitting and sorta breaking up with Jim (again), but a small part of me did want that conversation to happen. :)_
> 
> I started this with the best of intentions but then it just kind of devolved into porn...

“What can I say to make it better?”

The question was pathetic, the earnest strain of desperation in Jim’s tone even more so, because Harvey had always known that Jim only played at being a functioning adult. Hid his insecurities by shouting louder, and instead of listening to reason carried on straight ahead, unwavering in his faith that somebody else was going to be there to break his fall.

He wasn’t wrong, that was the worst of it, and Harvey had the scars to show for it. The bullet wounds, and the knife wounds, and the mottled skin left behind by burns and explosions, because if Jim was heading into danger the only thing he could imagine doing was following him.

Then there were the wounds you couldn’t see, deep and ugly and festering, left behind by Jim’s rejection and indifference. The ache in his head, where his common sense had been drained from him, and the stabbing pain in his heart where in spite of it all he would still give anything for Jim to want him. Need him.

Love him.

It was never going to happen, he knew that now. Jim simply wasn’t capable of it. Had been offered everything he was, everything he had to give, and had still turned it down in favor of a pretty face and false promises.

That was where he and Jim differed, he supposed. Jim had never had to promise him anything.

“What can I do, Harvey?”

It was pitiful, really, the way Jim was looking at him. That he had come here at all, begging for his forgiveness, as though it would make a jot of difference to the life Jim had forged for himself. Jim was doing just fine without him, by all accounts. He had the loyalty of the Department and the grudging respect of the Commissioner.

Some kind of hold over the city’s nutjobs, even, who flocked to him in droves, like his acknowledgement was as big a thrill as committing cold blooded murder.

It sickened him, vaguely, that he could sympathize.

“There’s nothing left to say,” was the only answer he could give, “just do what you always do.”

Jim looked at him expectantly, face pale and the dark smudges under his beautiful eyes more pronounced than usual. He wasn’t getting enough sleep, was working himself too hard. Was probably starting to really feel the pressure. It wasn’t any of his business, Harvey told himself ruthlessly. He should have walked away. Should have ignored Jim’s request to talk, and now he wouldn’t have to ignore the ache of emotion in his throat to be able to say,

“Whatever you want, Jim.”

That should have been it. Was supposed to be the last word on the matter.

Jim just stood there, still and silent, then pushed forward into his personal space like he had every right in the world to do so. Mashed their lips together, hard and unrelenting, and instead of long cherished dreams coming true it felt like something out of a nightmare.

“I want you,” Jim told him, shoulders tense with determination, and Harvey let himself be pushed down to sit on his museum piece of a sofa. Watched, like he was an outsider to the scene unfolding, as Jim pulled his tie free of his collar and began unbuttoning his work shirt.

Stripped down to his underwear and stood before him, waiting for his verdict.

Harvey reached a hand out without really meaning to. Pressed his palm flat against Jim’s abdomen and felt the shiver that went through him in reaction. The shudder of revulsion, maybe, because Harvey was no idiot. If Jim wanted this, truly wanted this, he wouldn’t have waited until Harvey had been ready to string himself up just to be free of the knowledge that none of his prayers were ever going to be answered.

Jim put a hand over his own but made no move to yank it away. He pushed it down harder instead, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation, then when it became too much dragged it along further, until he could feel the heat of Jim’s dick through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

“I want you,” Jim repeated, voice gruff as the statement was simple, and Harvey wondered how awful it was, on a scale of one to ten, that he was going to take advantage of whatever guilt trip Jim had put himself on. That he was going to touch him, and take him, and not worry about Jim’s motivations until afterwards.

“Show me how much.”

The words spilled from him, helpless, and the flush started spreading from Jim’s cheeks to his neck, red and blotchy, even as his dick twitched, hot and eager against his fingers.

Jim dropped to his knees, clumsy and inelegant, and Harvey wondered at how he could ever have thought this man so graceful. Why he had wasted so many hours fixating on the length of his swanlike neck, or the beauty of his pianist’s fingers. They were at his belt buckle now, fumbling with the fastenings, and Harvey could see ink stains and bitten fingernails when he studied them at work, not the gloss of perfection he usually found in them.

He wasn’t quite hard, couldn’t quite stay in the moment, so Jim wrapped those fingers around him, firm and businesslike, and stroked him from root to tip, brow furrowing with concentration.

It did the trick, worked its magic, and Jim shut his eyes as he leaned in still closer. Let his long lashes shadow against his cheek as he licked experimentally at the head of his dick, the sensation sending a jolt of lust through him. Convinced him to sift his fingers through Jim’s hair, touch tender but heart hollow, and Jim took him down too far and too fast, so that he gagged and heaved and made Harvey’s stomach churn in reaction.

Jim just kept at it. Swiped the spit from his chin and tried over again, mouth just as hot and wet and perfect as Harvey had always known it would be. If he shut his eyes, perhaps he could get there. If he let his head tip back against the ridge of the couch and envision another situation entirely, maybe this wouldn’t last longer than a few feverish moments. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t look away from the face he had considered in his lowest darkest moments to be his only hope of salvation, and instead had to settle for pulling Jim up and off him.

For taking in the slick swollen lips and the wetness clinging to his lashes, and hating himself for the insistent sense of certainty that those tears deserved to be there.

“Could you -” Jim tried, eyes a little wild when they met his own, “Can I -” He couldn’t seem to get the words out, was too ashamed, perhaps, to be chickening out of something he had started, then he took hold of his hand and roughly dragged it into position, voice little more than a whisper as he managed, “Please, Harvey.”

Because when he glanced between them it was to find Jim’s underwear gone and his erection leaking wet against his stomach, and when he brushed his fingertips along Jim’s crevice the other man pushed back into the touch, groaning softly.

He did it again, and again, and again. Let Jim cling to his shoulders, fingers twisted tight in the cotton of his shirt, and then slicked up his own with pre-come and saliva, the sound Jim made juddering through him as slowly teased him open.

“Yes,” Jim breathed, reverent, and then set about attacking his throat with lips and teeth and tongue, the attention sparking his arousal even as the tight heat clenched around his fingers made him ache with longing.

He supposed he could be anybody with Jim’s face buried in his neck like that. Some old school friend, perhaps, or an ex comrade from the army. Jim could picture who he wanted, be given what he so obviously needed, and Harvey twisted his fingers hard, just to hear the helpless sob it wrenched from Jim’s lying lips.

“Want you now,” Jim demanded when he increased the pressure against his prostate, “I need to feel you in me. I want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

Not once had Harvey ever imagined the first time would be like this. Jim might beg, might even know exactly what he was doing, but he had never envisioned filth like that. The Jim he had placed on a pedestal was too proud and too pure, and to hear those words ripped from his doppelganger’s mouth was such a turn on that Harvey lacked the willpower to do the decent thing and refuse him.

Jim tore at his clothing. Flung it aside, eyes dark and cheeks burning, and straddled his lap lest he think of escaping. Nipped at his lip, and panted in his ear, and squirmed shamelessly against his fingers, forestalling his protests and ignoring his hesitation, hissing instead that he ought to just do it.

Took the initiative himself when Harvey proved unwilling, and Harvey flushed later to think of the sound he had made, lost as much to the pained bliss on Jim’s face as the clenching heat surrounding him.

Jim rode him, claimed him, and Harvey had no choice but to concede that he had never been in charge of the situation. Jim had played him again, a master tactician reducing him to ruin, and though he tried to keep both his head and his heart out of it, it didn’t stop him falling for the illusion. Jim’s body was so beautiful, every angle and every curve crying out for his devotion, and his face was painted with rapture - not because he was otherworldly and perfect, but because he was flawed and human, half mad with the need to be brought to orgasm.

“Yes,” Jim was panting now, quiet desperate pleas released on each exhale, “yes, Harvey, please.”

He had his hands braced behind him, fingers digging into the flesh of Harvey’s thighs, and Harvey couldn’t help but admire the ripple of Jim’s muscle as he fucked himself faster and harder. Couldn’t help but think about how he would have done this if it were the real deal - all the ways he would have embarrassed himself, worshipping Jim in any way he could, crooning nonsense into Jim’s ear and promising that he would always love him.

As it was he kept quiet. Stifled back the noises that wanted airing, and finally put his hand on Jim, conscious that it was either undo Jim or be laid bare and vulnerable. He marvelled at how wet he was again, what a wanton mess he was in, and stroked him in time with their frantic movements, the other hand twisting in Jim’s hair and dragging him into a kiss that was messy and breathless. Jim’s body jerked and spasmed. He broke away from the kiss, breathing ragged, and gasped out his climax, louder than Harvey had allowed himself to fantasize he’d be.

A few more thrusts was all it took. The pliable weight of Jim draped over him, and the way Jim twitched and trembled, over sensitized yet still greedy for it.

Jim kissed him as he came down from it. Slow slick strokes of his tongue that had him shivering with aftershocks. Leaned heavily against him, still and sated, and for a moment Harvey was so happy it felt like he could achieve anything. Then reality crept back in, cold and gray and miserable, and he pushed Jim from him, the cool air nothing compared to the chill encircling his heart.

“Was it everything you imagined it would be?” He asked, voice strained but steady, “Did you prove your point, Jim?”

Jim frowned at him, blue eyes so guileless Harvey could almost believe that he had been reading it all wrong. That Jim simply wanted to get close, to want and feel wanted, and not that Jim was a manipulative sadist with the face of an angel.

“All I want is for you to forgive me,” Jim said, knowing how painfully the statement would pull at his heartstrings. “I don’t want us to be enemies, Harvey.”

Jim wanted him to act the fool for him. To humiliate himself, again and again, because he was unable to turn his back, and incapable of walking away. Not for real. Not for any significant length of time. Jim had to know that. Everybody else in the city did. Perhaps he had just wanted to drive the point home. Bind him into the cycle still more completely.

“Do you forgive me?”

Harvey just concentrated on reaching for his clothing. Wrapped his tattered dignity back around himself and looked Jim in the eye, hoping that Jim couldn’t tell exactly how much it cost him to do it.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

They both knew that he would never refuse Jim anything he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	192. Chapter 192

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim gives his life for Harvey and Harvey can't live with it. Somehow he finds a way to bring Jim back from the dead and they get a second chance._

“When I go I want the full works. Solemn Requiem Mass, eulogies, dirges. I want the congregation to be so bored they wish they were the one in the coffin.”

That was what he had said when a long ago stake-out conversation turned, inevitably, to doom and gloom and funeral services. Jim had rolled his eyes, as much at the sentiment as the long swallow he took from his hip flask, and even when prompted only came up with,

“I don’t know. I don’t want anything frightening.”

It had struck him as a strange choice of wording at the time, spilling from the mouth of a war-vet turned homicide detective. As he grew closer to Jim, learned more about his past and his upbringing, the statement made perfect sense.

Because it hadn’t been the soldier or the cop talking that night. It had been the nine year old kid desperately blinking back tears at his father’s funeral. The boy shipped off to school to help him catch up on what he had missed out on - to start mixing again and to stop having nightmares.

It was that boy Harvey thought of when the task organizing the service eventually fell on his shoulders. Jim’s brother wasn’t coming, said he couldn’t get the time off work, then got his secretary to send a wreath of white lilies though he must have known how Jim had always hated them. Jim’s mother sounded clipped and cold over the telephone. Put upon that Jim had had the gall to work in a dangerous profession, twice over, and not think to make arrangements for his own funeral.

Harvey couldn’t take it. Told her that he had Jim’s wishes, and that he would be executing them, then made sure the death notices said that the service wouldn’t be formal, and that mourners were welcome to make donations to the youth rehabilitation service Jim used to volunteer with, back when he was on uniformed foot patrol.

Mrs Gordon wasn’t impressed, couldn’t manage so much as a crocodile tear, and his own voice caught in his throat when he read out the eulogy, gaze falling from one to another of those who had done their best to ruin Jim.

He was the worst. He was the one who had struck the final blow.

He was the one who broke down at the graveside, his erstwhile colleagues and the handful of Jim’s army buddies looking away in uncomfortable embarrassment.

Harper gripped his arm as she left, just for a moment, and somehow it stung worse than Alvarez’,

“At least he’s in a better place now.”

His faith wasn’t what it could be, wasn’t what it had once been, and he drank himself into a stupor night after night rather than face up to reality.

“You wouldn’t want to see your future,” a strange wisp of a woman had once told him, out of time and out of place in one of the precinct’s interrogation rooms, “you wouldn’t want to live in fear.”

It was her words he thought of as he clung to the few mementoes of Jim’s life he had been able to salvage. The shirt he imagined still had the faintest whiff of cologne at the collar, and the dog tags he had taken from Jim’s apartment. They had buried his badge with him, six feet down to keep him company in the darkness, and just the idea of it made Harvey want to find a way to go join him.

If he had known this was how it would end up... If he had had any inkling he would be the one left standing… If he hadn’t been so single mindedly intent on punishing Jim for his betrayal, he would have realised that the only thing that could possibly hurt more was to be without Jim entirely. If he could do it all over he would have stayed when Jim wanted to talk. He would have knocked Jim’s door instead of chickening out in the hallway.

He wouldn’t have walked straight into a trap because Jim could have simply told him the truth of what was happening, and he wouldn’t have had a knife being held to the ugly scar across his throat, a too calm voice demanding Jim decide which one of them would be walking out of there.

“I’m sorry, Harvey,” Jim had said, voice steady but eyes wet with emotion, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Then the choice was made and he was being released from yet another madman’s clutches, screaming Jim’s name like force of will alone could save him.

It couldn’t.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this,” some well meaning do-gooder told him three months in, and Harvey heard ever syllable of what they weren’t saying. Jim had given up everything for him, died for him, and the least he could do in return was shower occasionally. Do some laundry and eat a hot meal, and not pray every night as he fell asleep that he wouldn’t wake up in the morning.

“He wants you to know that he doesn’t regret his decision,” an oddly familiar voice said behind him though he hadn’t managed to put in any more effort, and he turned around to see the same woman he and Dix had once pulled in on conspiracy, and he had seen released without charge much to his partner’s consternation.

She didn’t look a day older, a woman’s prerogative he supposed, and somehow he ended up in her movie set of an apartment having the creases in his palm studied. He drank tea, and told himself it was all make believe. Viciously swiped away a tear and let her whisper to an invisible audience, and then chant over him so that all the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, before telling him that a good turn always deserved another.

He was exhausted when he got home. Collapsed onto his unmade bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Woke in the middle of the night to an icy touch to his shoulder and a creeping feeling of foreboding, then moved so quick he felt physically sick with the adrenaline.

Jim was sat on the edge of his bed. Or, perhaps, something with Jim’s face was sat on the edge of his bed, because Jim was dead. Jim was rotting down in the city cemetery. Jim was reaching a hand out to him, and Harvey couldn’t help but note that this was no pretty spectral vision. It wasn’t even the false face painted on for the open casket, the powder clinging to his lips when he leaned over the coffin to press a last kiss to Jim’s cheek.

This was the kind of corpse he was used to seeing on a morgue slab, cold and pale and coming apart at the seams.

He couldn’t look away, couldn’t get his feet to co-operate. His heart was pounding fit to burst, the room too hot and too cold in equal measure, and it was only when Jim opened his mouth, black putrefaction spilling from his lips, that Harvey had the presence of mind to pass out with a mixture of booze, and pills, and utter terror.

It was still dark out when he came to and the room was just as it should have been. The bedside lamp was burning bright and his sheets were, not clean exactly, but they weren’t crawling with maggots or soaked with embalming fluid. He stumbled from the room all the same, frantic with the need to get away from it, then sobbed uncontrollably on the sofa, wondering how the world could be so unfair as to rob him of even his dreams of Jim Gordon.

In the cold light of morning he felt ashamed of his reactions. It was a nightmare, nothing more. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that he was such a mess he had let some crazy lady stir all his hopes and his fears up.

He was going to get a grip. Going to start putting his life together. He almost had a heart attack on the subway when he glanced at the window and saw Jim sat in the empty seat beside him.

Everywhere he went it was more of the same. Everything he did Jim was there, dead eyes staring at him in accusation. It was his fault, Harvey knew. You didn’t disturb spirits at rest. You didn’t let strangers try and talk you into fool ideas like making contact with the one man you would have gladly given your soul for a single moment more with.

Other people knew it too. The kid who looked up at him with frightened eyes and crossed the road to avoid him. The street preacher pitched outside some dive bar he had been losing himself in, whose ranting and raving reached fever pitch when his gaze fell upon him, his cries that his soul was already damned following him down the sidewalk.

All the votive candles sputtered then burned out when he approached the platform, finally turning to the church for some kind of relief from the torture, and it was then he went back and banged on the door of the woman’s apartment, ready to beg for her to reverse whatever it was she had done to him.

“You won’t get an answer there,” an old man in cardigan and carpet slippers told him when he had been at it for a good few minutes, “nobody’s lived there for a decade, maybe more.”

Harvey refused to believe it. Knocked again and again, and then shouldered the door open. The old boy was right - the place was empty. Had been for a long time, by the look and the smell of it, and when he slumped down to sit in the stairwell of the building, completely drained, he didn’t flinch away when he sensed Jim’s presence at his elbow.

Instead he turned to look at him properly. Noted for the first time the touch of color in one cheek, about the spot where he had kissed him, and that the longer he looked into them the more Jim’s eyes seemed just as vibrant and blue as he remembered them.

“What do you want, Jim?” He asked tiredly. “If you want me to suffer you’ve already achieved it.”

Jim looked pained at that, long lashes sweeping his cheeks as he ducked his head for a moment, and then he was reaching out again, slow and steady. Harvey’s heart raced in his chest. His lungs burned with the need to draw a breath he couldn’t quite manage. Then -

Then the man from upstairs was calling to ask if he wanted to leave a message with the landlord, and he was all alone again.

He was mad, that was the only explanation. He had completely lost it. He loved Jim. Adored Jim. Was so pathetically unable to live without him that he had to dream up conversations with Jim’s corpse, just because it was better than accepting that he was never going to see Jim again.

It really truly hit him then, crushing despair like he had never known, and maybe that was what the visions had been trying to tell him. That he should just give in and get it over with. That he had been stupid and presumptuous to hang on with half baked dreams of a miracle - of being able to move past Jim Gordon - and he let his feet carry him where they would, the cold night air making his breath mist out in front of him as he found himself looking over a bridge railing.

The water was a long way down, black and inviting, and it genuinely surprised him to look down and find that it was his bare hand wrapped around the frozen metal railing, his fingers so numb he would have sworn he was wearing gloves. He just felt numb all over. Half dead already. Except then came the icy thrill, the dread certainty that someone was watching him, and when he slowly turned around it was to find Jim standing behind him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Harvey croaked out, pointing an accusing finger at Jim’s sharpened features, “This is what you wanted.”

Jim just stared, blue eyes rooting Harvey to the spot in spite of his best intentions. Kept him there as Jim took a shuffling step forward and then another. Came so close Harvey shook with it, fear and yearning and months of descending into insanity, and touched rotten fingers to his cheekbone.

Harvey sucked in a trembling breath. Stood stock still, helpless, and let his eyes fall shut as Jim leaned in closer yet and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was so cold he could scarcely feel it. So surreal he couldn’t be sure that he wanted to. He kept his eyes shut, either way, desperately trying to hold on to the sensation, until rain started falling all around and he heard his name being yelled at him.

“Come on,” Alvarez urged from the wound down car window, “I’ll give you a ride back to the precinct.”

He gave the black abyss of the river one last longing look, but did as he was bid. It didn’t feel like anything he did mattered now, anyway.

Alvarez bitched and griped the entire ride, complaining about the Captain this and the Captain that, as though Harvey cared a damn what Jim’s replacement was doing. As though he cared about anything. That was why he followed Alvarez inside - why he didn’t protest, and why he didn’t question it. Coffee at the precinct was no worse than the dubious remnants of the jar at his own apartment.

Except he had to grasp at the edge of the desk for support as he looked about the place. Had to try and swallow back a thousand swirling emotions. Because Jim was standing there, light haloed behind his hair like something out of a painting. But he wasn’t the man he had just left on the bridge, pale and dead and silent. Jim was alive, vibrant. Signing off on some report for McKenna, then turning to look at him, gaze meeting across rows of desks and personnel.

Somehow he made it to Jim’s office. Managed to wait until the door was closed behind and there was some nominal sense of privacy before he tried to get his mouth to co-operate. Before he opened his mouth and shut it - once, twice, three times - and abandoned the attempt in favor of crushing his arms about Jim, face buried in his shoulder.

“I know,” Jim cooed, like his behavior wasn’t incomprehensible, “It’s all right now, Harvey.”

Jim’s fingers were in his hair, petting the back of his head, and Jim’s lips were against his ear. His cheek. His jaw. On his own, finally, and Harvey kissed him back, frantic, tasting the heat of Jim’s mouth and the salt of both their tears.

He pulled away at that realization. Brushed his thumb along Jim’s cheek and made some unintelligible sound, asking for Jim’s explanation.

“I dreamed I was dead. I reached for you and you were terrified.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Harvey croaked, not caring how they must look to anyone peering through the window. Jim just kissed his cheek again, the same place he had out on the bridge, and told him firmly,

“It was here.”

Harvey groped for his hand, and wound their fingers tight together.

Wherever here was, he was determined to stay no matter what.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	193. Chapter 193

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from putismybestfriend: _Jim’s desperately in love with Harvey, and Harvey knows it. Harvey doesn’t return the feelings, but he’s not above taking advantage of it now and then. Or, the one where Harvey’s just looking for a quick fuck and it tears Jim apart._
> 
> This was quite hard to write because 'hopelessly devoted to Jim' is kind of the core of how I see Harvey. I tried though!

Love wasn’t unconditional.

It didn’t last forever.

That was what life had been teaching Jim, right from the very beginning. From the way his parents yelled at each other, the picture perfect façade falling apart behind closed doors, and the way his brother told him at their mother’s funeral that there wasn’t really any reason for them to stay in contact from that point on.

The way his high school girlfriend wanted him to wait, wanted him to prove himself, then rang him from her college dormitory to break the news that there was someone else, sorry.

It was a story which repeated itself, over and over, because his first serious boyfriend ditched him for being too settled and boring, and the girl he left behind on deployment finished things via the military postal service because she couldn’t see a time when he wasn’t afraid of commitment.

Barbara claimed that there had only ever been a very fine dividing line between loving and hating him, and he didn’t know what it was that guided Lee’s actions with the Tetch virus but it wasn’t love. Not the kind anyone in their right mind wanted.

That was what Harvey told him in the aftermath, tone harsher than it usually was when it came to discussing Jim’s disaster of a love life, and for the first time Jim really considered what Harvey might be trying to tell him when he said that he would never turn his back on him.

Twisted the idea around in his head, this way and that, and fell hard for the fantasy even as he pushed at the boundaries - determined to test Harvey’s sincerity before he got hurt all over again. Hurt Harvey, cruelly and knowingly, and flaunted what he was doing with Sofia, just to see the devastation in the older man’s eyes every time he looked in his direction.

He pushed too far, way too far, and though Harvey ultimately refused to abandon him, saving his life against all the odds, Jim was sure he wasn’t imagining the shift in the way Harvey treated him. Because he had been so busy attacking he had forgotten all about defending, and because his heart had started pounding frantically in his chest every time Harvey forgot the new status quo and put a hand on his shoulder.

Every time he caught Harvey looking at him in barely concealed interest, gaze sweeping over him in ways that got him hot and bothered.

It was that look he thought about in bed at night, hand just the right side of too tight, imagining Harvey pinning him down and taking everything he was offering. Losing himself to the intensity Jim knew there would be between them, and staying close afterwards, the intimacy fixing the damage their relationship had sustained since the days when Harvey had been ready to worship the ground he walked on.

He should have known better, really, because sex had never solved any of his problems.

It had created more, prolonged others, but he still put a hand on Harvey’s thigh, brazen, and looked him full in the face as drink and jealousy made the words flow easily,

“Why would you look at her when I’m right in front of you?”

Harvey went wide eyed with shock. Glanced from his hand to his face and back again. Finally pried his hand away and said bluntly,

“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at.”

He should have backed down then. Should have wrapped what was left of his dignity about him, and listened to the warning tone Harvey was using on him. All he actually did was lean back in, frustrated and determined, and whispered in Harvey’s ear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

That he could show him, if they took this conversation somewhere more private.

Harvey just put his hat on his head and dropped a bill to the counter to cover his bar tab.

“Go home. Sober up. We’ll forget this ever happened.”

Jim couldn’t forget it. Refused to accept no for an answer. Turned up on Harvey’s doorstep at three in the morning, freshly discharged from the hospital and wired high on pain pills and adrenaline.

“I’m not interested,” Harvey told him, almost apologetic, and when Jim demanded to know why added, “you only ever complicate things.”

“What if it was just sex,” Jim countered, not ready to admit defeat, “no strings, no expectations.”

Harvey drained the whiskey he had been nursing. Looked skyward for guidance and then fixed Jim with a look that made him shiver all over.

“It’s not going to be anything more, Jim. I won’t let it be.”

He only nodded, too eager. His entire adult life had been about taking chances.

Harvey kissed him in reward, hard and unrelenting, and it was all Jim could do to keep up and give as good as he was getting. To fumble with the buttons on Harvey’s shirt, fingers clumsy with want, until Harvey simply gripped his wrists together in a silent reminder that he wasn’t the one in charge here.

He wasn’t the one calling the shots, no matter how ragged his breathing became, or how feverishly he attempted to rut against Harvey’s leg, overwhelmed by the combination of Harvey’s body heat and the scent of his cologne making his head spin.

“You wanted this,” Harvey hissed, like there was any doubt about it. As though he was justifying something. Like he didn’t care a damn about the way Jim shuddered and groaned, the hand that yanked his pants down and pulled his cock out too harsh and too demanding.

Not enough - nowhere near - because it only stroked him once, twice, root to tip, and then Harvey was bending him over his unmade bed and spitting over the pre-come smeared on his fingers, losing no time in pressing them up against his entrance. It had been a while, a long while, and Jim tensed and winced at the intrusion. Grit his teeth tight together and struggled to remember to breathe, the discomfort flaring along all his nerve endings.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey breathed, the sound of it making Jim’s blood boil in spite of the pain he was feeling, “You sure you’ve done this before?”

Jim just whined at a particularly well calculated thrust of Harvey’s fingers, the white hot pleasure overriding the sting of it, and attempted to push back and force Harvey to do exactly the same thing over again. Harvey teased him by falling just short. A touch to the left and then a touch to the right. Chuckled, dark and knowing, and commented,

“Yeah, you know how this works. Fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

The color burned brighter in his cheeks even as more blood rushed southwards. Harvey wasn’t wrong, had always been able to read him better than anyone, and Jim squirmed and panted, hair falling over his forehead as he looked back to watch Harvey pull his own dick out through the fly of his trousers and stroke himself in readiness.

“Like what you see?” Harvey asked him, voice rough in a way Jim had never actually been privy to, and he had to press his forehead against the mattress, heat flooding through him as his hand attempted to steal into the space between the bed and his body.

Harvey put a stop to it. Took hold of his wrist and held it behind his back, the other hand guiding his dick into place before gripping at his hip. It was too much, too fast, and still he begged for more, pleas and curses falling from his lips as Harvey set a brutal pace. Fisted a hand tight in his hair and yanked his head up, the strain only pushing him closer, shameless sounds escaping him as Harvey fucked him mercilessly.

It was so good, so amazing, and yet he needed more. Attempted to tug at Harvey’s arm, to pull him into another kiss, but Harvey just pushed him down with a heavy hand between his shoulder blades. Snarled out filth about how this had been his idea, and how he was going to have to wait until he was finished. Until Harvey said he was allowed to touch himself.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have got him off. Maybe it shouldn’t have had him sobbing into the sheets, dick leaking for want of stimulation. It did, that was all there was to it, just the same way his gut sparked with lust with every reminder of the fact Harvey was still fully dressed, while he was spread out naked before him.

It was proof of what he felt for Harvey. Evidence of how completely he trusted him. A declaration of love, every bit as clear as the one he yearned to hear from Harvey. The one that didn’t prove forthcoming, not as Harvey stilled and groaned, and not when his own climax hit either, his nose buried in the crook of Harvey’s neck, clinging to him like he never wanted to let go again.

He didn’t, truly, but Harvey was already disentangling himself. Wiping his hand off on the sheets and righting his clothing. Bundling Jim’s together and dropping it onto the bed in front of him.

“Do you want a drink?” Harvey asked, raking a hand through his sweat damp hair, features still flushed, and Jim just stared up at him incredulously and heard his own treacherous voice saying,

“It’s late. I thought it might be okay if I stayed until morning.”

Harvey looked pained at that, just for a second, and then it was gone, replaced with something that was more longsuffering.

“You made your choice, Jim. I told you how it was going to be if we did this.”

“I just thought you might want to go again,” Jim said, voice rough and expression brittle as he did his best to cover, “It’s not my fault you’re not as young as you used to be.”

“I’m not anything I used to be. I’m just not capable of it.”

Jim heard what he was saying. Shouldered the blame for his part in it.

Shed bitter helpless tears as he made his way home in the darkness.

Harvey had loved him once, and maybe he should try and take consolation in that. Think not of what he had missed out on, but what he too would cease to feel, given time. It wouldn’t go on for always, he prayed, this ache in his heart. One day, he had to hope, he would be more than content with friendship.

Love wasn’t unconditional, he knew.

He had to believe that it didn’t last forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	194. Chapter 194

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask from angryangryowl: _Can I request gordlock where Jim walks in on Harvey sobbing because he's finally given up. Jim is never going to love him back, so he might as well accept that. But it hurts like hell, and full on, loud, ugly sobbing happens. Jim walks in thinking someone has died. Harvey, wrung out, finally confesses. Jim is bewildered 'But it's always been you...' Thank you ❤_

Harvey still recalled the exact moment when he first realized he was screwed. He was sprawled across the floor of the precinct locker room, jaw smarting where Jim had just slammed a fist into it, and the man himself stood above him, apologizing but determined to go and do the right thing.

He had been just about ready to kill him. Had bruised up his own knuckles on the metal of his locker, rage and fear and frustration blighting his sense of reason, and then drank and smoked and drank some more, swearing to anyone who would listen that he was going to wring Jim’s neck when he caught up with him.

Had turned up on the doorstep of Jim’s - Barbara’s - swanky penthouse with a girl whose name he didn’t know and didn’t care to learn, just to prove to Jim that if they were going to do this, it was going to be on his own terms.

If he was going to fall for Jim’s drive and his earnest dedication, for his big blue eyes and magazine cover good looks, he wasn’t going to be the kind of fool who spent his nights alone, pining pathetically for a guy who could have anyone he chose to.

That was how it ended up, inevitably, because nobody compared to Jim Gordon. Nobody came close, even. Not the woman he was ready to marry, and not the fellow lost souls in whose company he had previously been content to while away the lonely hours. Instead Jim started sanding away at all his rough edges. Gave him reason to quit with the pills, and to take it easy with the drinking. Made him want to do more than trudge through life, getting out only what little he put in, until he began to feel almost proud to wear the badge again.

Until he felt almost like the idealistic rookie he had once been, blinded by the intensity of Jim’s faith in the power of good to triumph over evil.

He fought to keep the fire burning. Couldn’t handle the thought of it sputtering and dying, the same way his own had, and it was that which kept him hammering on Jim’s apartment door in the aftermath of the younger man’s stint in Blackgate. That had him offering up his sofa, his cheap beer, and pretending that his heart wasn’t splintering in his chest when Jim finally clung to him for support and sobbed into his shoulder.

Jim got back up again, bruised and bloodied but refusing to quit, and Harvey tried not to think about how it wasn’t technicolor fantasies of fucking Jim through the mattress that filled his head at night - at least not solely - but sickly sweet little daydreams about holding Jim close and pressing kisses to his temple. Tracing his fingers over the outline of Jim’s hand, and smiling at him besottedly as he introduced Jim to his family.

He was in love with Jim, he conceded finally. Loved him like he had never loved anyone, the strength of it frightening, the scope of it breathtaking. He wanted to be near Jim, always. Needed to know he was safe, needed to be sure he was going to get through the latest crisis, and if that meant throwing himself head first into danger then so be it.

Life without Jim didn’t bear thinking about.

Life with him was already the sweetest torture. Because it wasn’t enough to wish and want from afar. It wasn’t enough to bask in the attention Jim already bestowed upon him, and be thankful Jim didn’t sneer in disgust at what had to be so very obvious. No matter how much he had, he still wanted more, and as Jim’s relationship with Lee Thompkins began to fade into history, Harvey made the mistake of hoping.

Of daring to dream that Jim might one day come to reciprocate his feelings, and of reading too much into every insignificant gesture.

He quit looking for warm bodies to share his bed, and he gave up on his poker night and his dodgy contacts. Took the post of interim Captain instead, because it was the one thing he could do that might make Jim truly proud of him, and worked himself into the ground in an attempt to prove to Jim that they shared all the same values.

Jim praised him sometimes, when the stress of it all threatened to break him, and one night they slowly shifted closer and closer to each other on his beat up old sofa, Jim’s head eventually coming to rest against his shoulder. It was almost like cuddling with a lover. So perfect it made Harvey ache with it. He put an arm around Jim, careful and tentative, and when Jim only pushed closer, focus fixed on the television, Harvey wished he could freeze time then and there and frame the moment.

The problem was that nothing had really changed since his initial assessment. He was still too old and Jim was still out of his league. He was still a broken mess of a man, underneath the shiny new veneer, and he succumbed to temptation, just as Jim fell for a new set of feminine charms and pretty sounding falsehoods.

As the last of the scales fell from Jim’s eyes, the last of his own stupid hopes drained away, so that there was nothing but him laid out in a hospital bed, and Jim looking at him like the sight alone repulsed him.

Things only went from bad to worse.

He was living a nightmare. A hideous ordeal there was no waking up from. Because Jim washed his hands of him. Signed the death certificate of their friendship, and told him that it was his own fault for not being good enough. Let the implication hang in the air between them that he had never been good enough. Never would be either.

Not when he fell straight back into the embrace of the drink and the pills. Not when he had to hand back his badge and gun, and Jim only frowned at him like he didn’t understand why. Didn’t follow him to find out, and didn’t call around either, though time was Jim had almost been living at his apartment. Had his own key, and his own toothbrush, and a couple of shirts hanging in Harvey’s wardrobe for the mornings when he didn’t have time to work out the crick in his neck from the sofa and go home and change.

It was one of those Harvey clung to when Jim ignored him in the street. When Jim walked right past him like they had never meant anything to each other, and it was all Harvey could do to swallow back the emotion and keep walking. To hold his head up high and make it back to his apartment.

The place was as much of a mess as his life, empty and broken, and Harvey couldn’t help but think about how he had never noticed what a dump it was when Jim was sat in it. How it seemed like a god-damn palace whenever he managed to bring a smile to Jim’s lips. Whenever Jim brought a smile to his own.

Because Jim wasn’t as dour as he made himself out to be. He cared about the city and its people, genuinely. He was one of the real good guys, the nice guys, and if he couldn’t even find it within himself to to acknowledge a man who had made no secret of worshipping the ground he walked on, it had to mean that he was just sick of everything Harvey represented.

Of Harvey, in general.

He had wanted to share his life with Jim. To love Jim, to be loved by Jim, and now they weren’t even friends. They weren’t anything, not beyond two people who had once known each other, and all his best intentions went out of the window as he buried his nose in the collar of Jim’s shirt and sobbed like he hadn’t since his mother’s funeral.

Sobbed like he was never going to stop, great wrenching gasps as he curled into his pillow and howled out the unfairness of it all. The agony of what he felt, and the cruel reality that he was never ever going to stop feeling it. He was going to love Jim to the end of his days. He was going to hurt like this until the day he died, without even the balm of knowing he had Jim’s respect and his friendship to soften the blow.

He was in such a state that he didn’t hear the knock at the door. Didn’t hear it opening, either. Didn’t hear anything at all until there was a hand on his shoulder, and then he was clinging so tight he wasn’t sure he could ever let go, sucking in great lungfuls of a scent he had feared forgetting, fingers twisted in the back of Jim’s jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Jim begged, hands stroking at his hair, “Please, Harvey, tell me what’s happened.”

It only made him sob harder, the humiliation of the situation. Jim was here, in front of him, convinced he must be at death’s door, and his sole problem was that Jim had had too much sense to want anything to do with him.

“You’re scaring me,” Jim said, hand cupping his cheek so that he had no choice but to look at him, “Whatever it is, I can help you.”

“No, you can’t. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

The words were barely intelligible, lost in his ugly struggle for self-control, but Jim answered immediately. Told him that he had seen him earlier, out in the street, and that he hadn’t been able to get away from the job to go speak to him. That he had wanted to, had been wanting to for weeks now, and that he didn’t want this to be the end of the best friendship he had ever been part of.

“I don’t want to lose you, Harvey,” Jim said, blue gaze swimming a little, and it hit like a punch to a gut, to be so close and yet so unfathomably far away from what he wanted.

“I love you,” the confession was wrenched from his very soul, dragged raw and bloody from his throat, “ _I love you_.”

Jim’s hand fell away from his face, shock painted across his features, and Harvey hadn’t known he could feel any worse until that moment. Hadn’t known anything could hurt more than Jim’s indifference until he was up close and personal with Jim’s outright rejection.

“I’m sorry,” he managed in a choked up whisper, “I know you don’t - I never expected you to -”

He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Wished that he could take the words back and never know for certain how Jim would react to them.

Except Jim’s hand was back, fingers pushing into his hair as he forced his gaze back up. As he leaned in close, clumsy, nose bumping against his own so that they were sharing breath, soft and intimate. So that Harvey was shaking with it, overwrought and overwhelmed, and then Jim was murmuring against his jaw,

“But it’s always been you. You have to know that.”

It couldn’t be true, just wasn’t credible, but Jim was making confessions of his own. Was whispering out impossible lines about how he had never known, and how he had never believed Harvey wanted anything more than friendship. That he could ever want more than that.

Harvey had to kiss him. Had to know how it felt to be the happiest guy in Gotham City. The world, maybe, because Jim loved him. Jim was kissing him back, eager and heated, in between grinning at him stupidly. Laughing, helpless, and stroking his hair back behind his ear before kissing him all over again.

“I love you,” Jim told him, smiling wider than Harvey had ever seen, and Harvey could only beam in return,

“I know, but why don’t you say it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	195. Chapter 195

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock going from "just friends" to much more via sexting. Super steamy x-rated sexting. Maybe one of them's a bit drunk, maybe some photos get sent.... But pretty much the whole thing just being them texting each other and getting increasingly filthier._

Harvey let out a whistling breath, eyebrows climbing close to his hairline. “You get all the luck, don’t you, Junior?”

Jim snatched his cell phone back from the other man’s hands, the tips of his ears burning along with the back of his neck as he glanced about to check that nobody was listening.

“How was I meant to respond to that?” He asked rhetorically. “I told her that I didn’t think it was going to work out between us.”

The look Harvey gave him was a little pitying. A little unfocused too, maybe, but Jim wasn’t in a position to say anything. He was drunk himself, enough that the world was a touch unsteady at the edges, because if he wasn’t there was no way he would be talking about this with anyone.

It wasn’t exactly gentlemanly.

“You don’t know when you’re on to a good thing,” Harvey said, drink sloshing over the table as he spoke, “all you had to say was that you couldn’t wait to act it out in person.”

Jim blushed harder. “But she wanted me to, you know, reciprocate.”

He wasn’t good at communication of any kind. Never had been, most likely never would be. He hadn’t known what to type, and she would probably have just laughed at him anyway.

Harvey was laughing at him right now: chuckling at the horrified expression on his face, and then patting heavily at his hand in apology. Leaning in too close, drink on his breath and smoke in his hair, and suggesting, “Why don’t you let your Uncle Harvey show you how it’s supposed to be done?”

That wasn’t a good idea at all. Jim knew because his stomach clenched a little, undone by his partner’s proximity, and the very last situation he ought to be getting himself into was encouraging Harvey to tell him about his sexual proclivities. He didn’t need to add any more fuel to that particular fire. He certainly didn’t want to slip up and find himself confessing the kind of things that got him going.

Not if he didn’t want to lose his best friend all over again.

But he was drunk, and stupid, and Harvey’s hand had found his leg for balance as he pushed himself upright. He was going to say yes, no matter what the consequences.

So he nodded, the movement eager but awkward, and Harvey nodded in return. Solemnly like this was the start of some important undertaking. Picked up his cell and tapped something out, so that Jim’s own buzzed within the confines of his jacket pocket.

_I wish we were alone right now. Its torture trying to keep my hands off you_

“Go on then,” Harvey urged, gaze so earnest Jim couldn’t hold it, “imagine I’m one of those skinny chicks you like so much. What are you going to say to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. Just give it a try.”

Jim frowned at his cell phone. Actually thought about doing it before putting the thing down on the table.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, ignoring the slurred delivery, and went to use the bathroom. Scrubbed his hands over his face at the sink, and wished that he had had the sense not to try and match Harvey drink for drink.

He couldn’t hold it the way his partner could.

Couldn’t do a lot of things the way his partner could, and thought helplessly of the text message Harvey had just sent him. Imagined what it would be like if Harvey had meant it for real, and how good it would be to have Harvey worked up and wanting, desperate to get his hands on him.

It wasn’t real. It was never going to be real.

It was only when he said goodnight to Harvey at the usual junction, and clambered into bed after cleaning his teeth and piling up his clothes for the laundry hamper, that he thought to check his cellphone again, and realized that Harvey hadn’t left it at a single message.

_I can’t stop thinking about the things I’d do to you. The things I want you to do to me._

_I want ur dick so bad. Want to feel u on my tongue. Hear the noises u make as u fuck my throat._

_Do u want that? Tell me._

Jim swallowed thickly. Tried to ignore the interest certain parts of him were taking, and fumbled with the keypad to type,

That escalated quickly!

Harvey would laugh at that when he read it, and that was really what their friendship was supposed to be about. Sharing life stories like brothers, not him shivering all over at the idea of Harvey wanting to put his dick in his mouth.

Except his cell buzzed almost the instant he snapped the thing closed, his pulse picking up as he read Harvey’s answer.

_:D Would u rather I take it slow? I'd love to make u beg._

I wouldn’t beg.

_U would. Trust me. U’d be sobbing for it by the time I was done with u._

He would be, probably. He wasn’t going to admit to it, in jest or no.

You have a very high opinion of yourself. Maybe I’d be the one to make you beg.

_How?_

How indeed. Jim closed his eyes for a moment. Let his free hand fall against his thigh, his skin tingling in interest, and suddenly he could picture it all too vividly. Harvey laid out before him, a wanton flush spreading across his pale skin, the thick muscles of his thighs quivering as Jim brushed his lips against them.

As he pressed his nose into the crease of his thigh, desperate for the scent of him, Harvey’s dick an angry red at being denied the stimulation.

His pulse thumped harder at the thought of it, his own dick throbbing in the confines of his underwear. He wanted to touch it - needed to touch it - and when the fingers of his free hand twitched jerkily he gave in and trailed his fingertips along the length of it. The sensation made his breath catch. Made him open his eyes and blink at the light from his cellphone.

We’re not doing this. It’s stupid.

_Its practice. I’m not gonna tell anyone._

His initial opinion was on the money: it was stupid. It was a really really stupid idea, so he was going to go to sleep and in the morning he would delete those texts like the serious lapse of judgement they represented. Instead he tossed and turned, hyper aware of the semi that still hadn’t subsided.

Of the fact Harvey was laying in his own bed across town, thinking about Jim wrapping a hand around himself.

He had to do it. Had to squirm out of his underwear and arch his head back against the pillows. Had to grab his cell, finally, and type clumsily with his left hand about how he needed Harvey’s fingers, and how he was having to try his best to make do, though his own weren’t wide enough, and the angle was all kinds of awkward.

It was still good, so desperately gut clenchingly good, and his forehead was slick with sweat by the time he finished, breath punching out of him like he had been running a foot chase.

In the cold light of morning panic set in because Harvey had been joking - ribbing him just the same way he had since the day they were partnered together - and he had gone ahead and told him in detail how he wished Harvey were there helping him act out one of his favorite fantasies.

There were no new messages waiting, not when he was done dressing, and not when he got to the precinct either. Not after the morning briefing, and still when he left for some pointless finance meeting. He was discreetly checking in the middle of that, the droning voice of City Hall’s chief accountant washing over him, when he almost dropped the thing in shock, heat flaming up to the tips of his ears like he was a schoolboy catching sight of his first centerfold, not a grown adult being asked if he was feeling sore and swollen.

If he liked it, got off on it, and if he wanted to be spread wider until it really burned and Harvey would have to get his tongue in on the action so he could kiss it better.

 _Anyone ever do that for you, Jim?_ Harvey asked, like he didn’t know full well what the answer was. Like Jim hadn’t been falling down drunk one evening, raising the stakes higher and higher as they asked each other personal questions. He had asked Harvey if he was interested in guys - ever, at all - and Harvey had just laughed at his nervous delivery and told him that he didn’t have the luxury of being fussy.

Jim thought of that night again now, along with the wistful tone he liked to imagine Harvey had been using, and fidgeted in his seat until the interminable meeting was finally over and he could ask Harvey what the hell he thought he was playing at.

I was in a meeting!

_Then you shouldn’t have been reading personal text messages._

He had no comeback for that, no pithy one liners, and when he didn’t object further Harvey sent him another barrage of filth, detailing how wet and how ready he’d get him, and how he’d be absolutely frantic to get a dick inside him.

Next time I see you you’re going to regret this, Jim messaged, though he was supposed to be concentrating on paperwork, and it genuinely surprised him when he checked his phone again that Harvey had written,

_I never meant to make you uncomfortable. You know how much you mean to me._

It made his heart swell up in his chest, the warm glow of affection spreading to his toes and his fingertips. Harvey cared about him. Worried about him. Had forgiven him for something that had been all his own doing, and wasn’t put off by knowing that Jim’s interest in him went further than the bonds of friendship.

Harvey was the best friend a guy could have, even if that was all they would ever be. He wasn’t going to ditch him just for trying - just for asking - and Jim slumped back into his couch cushions once he was finally off the clock and typed out a veritable essay of what he would do to get Harvey begging for him.

How he would nibble at his ear, the way he had seen Harvey go weak kneed over back in the very earliest days of their association, and how he would make him watch while he used his own hands to take the edge off, because maybe Harvey hadn’t been pulling concepts from thin air when he suggested that Jim liked it best when he was already over-sensitive.

From there, somehow, it ended up with Harvey directing him. Telling him what to do, and how much pressure to use, and when he was sucking in trembling breaths, forcing his hand away from the precipice of orgasm for the third time, he shivered all over at the way his cell started rhythmically vibrating. Shivered harder still when he pressed it to his ear and Harvey’s voice spoke into it, rough and dark and perfect, and asked him if he was being a good boy and not coming off without permission.

“What would you have me do if I were there, Jim? Tell me how I should make you come for me.”

This was another level entirely, awkward embarrassment that had his neck burning. It didn’t lessen the coiled tension in his muscles though. The tremors in his thighs or the throbbing of his erection. He let his eyes fall closed, so it was just Harvey breathing hot and heavy in his ear, and heard himself croak out,

“I still want your fingers. I need them in me.”

His hand was wandering again, fingers brushing overheated flesh, and he couldn’t help the frantic noise that escaped him when he trailed them over and behind his balls, so turned on he felt light headed with it.

“Are you touching yourself? You’ve got no self-control, have you?”

Any other time and Jim would have argued the point. Right now he simply whined, turned on and frustrated, and he was sinking a finger into himself even as he heard the scraping of a key in the lock. Was arching into his own touch, even as his cell phone was pulled from the clenched fingers of his other hand.

“Technology is great, yeah, but sometimes there’s no substitute for face to face communication.”

Jim nodded. Tried to formulate words in response, but gave it up as a bad show, free hand twisting in Harvey’s hair as the other man kissed him instead, his entire body shaking and shuddering as Harvey’s tongue plundered his mouth. As his hand snuck between them, fingers bumping up against his own so that the kiss turned still messier, fevered and desperate until he tensed up hard, no hiding what the extra stimulation had done to him.

“That was even hotter than I thought it’d be,” Harvey told him as he came down from it, kissing his cheek, and his jaw, and then latching onto the skin of his neck so that he started squirming all over again.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Jim asked, still catching his breath and attempting to shove Harvey’s jacket from his shoulders, and the other man just beamed at him broadly before carrying on where he left off,

“I’ve got a couple of scenarios of my own I want to act out on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	196. Chapter 196

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Please do a chub chasing Jim - do what you want with it and only if your comfortable, but I'd love to read a story where Jim takes care of Harvey's nice tum. ;3_

“So which one is he?”

Harvey scoured the room for likely looking candidates and came up blank. There were a few good looking men about the place - though not a patch on Jim, naturally - but they were all way too young to have been battering Math through the thick skulls of Jim and his classmates.

“He probably won’t be here,” Jim said, astute enough to know exactly who he was referring to, “It’s a student reunion.”

But his words were trailing off even as he uttered them. His grip was tightening on Harvey’s arm, attention fixed on a figure making small talk at the edge of the buffet.

Harvey almost laughed at the sight of him, something suspiciously like jealousy starting to soothe away because Mr. Dalton wasn’t quite matching up to Jim’s description of tall, dark and handsome. Not now, at any rate, because though Dalton was tall, his hair was shot through with gray - worse than his own, perhaps - and he was certainly nowhere near the muscled hunk of an army recruitment poster he had feared on hearing Jim wax lyrical.

Because this was the guy who had first opened Jim’s eyes to the possibility that he was never going to walk up the aisle with a woman his Mother approved of. This was the guy who Jim claimed, under the influence of drink and flushed up adorably, had featured in all his filthiest teenaged fantasies.

This was the guy making his way over, middle age spread straining out the front of his button down, and grinning wide as he shook Jim’s hand enthusiastically and told him that he always knew he was going to really make something of himself.

Jim blushed and stuttered in response. Went starry eyed and breathless - not so much that just anyone would notice, maybe, but unmistakably to anyone who had spent the kind of time studying Jim he had - and introduced him as his boyfriend though Harvey had fully expected to be relegated to friend or even work colleague for the duration. Jim’s former Math teacher simply smiled through the introductions and pleasantries, and gave Jim a fond look as they talked, like a parent proud of their kid’s achievements.

It made Harvey wonder how obvious Jim had been back then. Had him studying the yearbook photos pinned about the place, and coming to a halt in front of a series of classroom action shots, an impossibly young looking Jim gazing up at the guy attempting to explain quadratic equations like a lovesick puppy.

He glanced back to where Jim was talking to a woman he must have been at school with, vaguely awkward and stilted the way he usually was in social situations, and tried to get his head around the fact that Dalton hadn’t let himself go in the intervening years. If anything, he had shed a few pounds since those pictures were taken.

It was still on his mind when Jim reached his limit and called an end to the evening. When Jim thanked him for going with him, like they both didn’t know that if he hadn’t Jim would never have set foot through the door, and when Jim kept pressing closer, kisses soft but insistent, so that he couldn’t help but put theory into practice.

Kissed Jim with a new found purpose, devouring and demanding, and guided Jim’s hands up and under the fabric of his undershirt. Felt the hitching excitement in Jim’s breathing as his fingers dug into the flesh of his sides, and the half desperate way Jim ground up against him when he pushed Jim back against the sofa cushions and pinned him in place with the extra weight he had totally been meaning to do something about since the early 90s.

He was usually careful not to. Self-conscious in spite of the jokes he made at his own expense on the subject. Jim was crazy hot, all toned abs and golden skin, and the blissed out joy of finally having Jim to himself had done nothing to help the situation. He hadn’t even dared try a couple of the suits in his wardrobe, not since he had had to stop relying on lovelorn misery to curb his appetite.

But maybe he had been approaching the issue from the wrong angle. No maybe about it, really, because Jim was tearing at his clothing, frantic like Harvey had never seen him, whimpering out a strangled sound that went straight to his dick when for once he didn’t manoeuvre to keep the lights dimmed or his most hated attributes undercover.

Jim was flushing all down his perfectly formed chest, blotchy and painful looking, and his big blue eyes were so dark with want that Harvey found himself giving in to Jim’s subtle urging, straddling his lap and kissing him deeply while Jim stroked reverent hands all over him. There wasn’t enough room, his knees were deeply unhappy with the arrangement, and somehow the next thing he knew they were spread out on Jim’s bed, lights blazing, Jim looking up at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

Like it was all he could do not to embarrass himself, fingers twisting up tight in the bedsheets as Harvey shifted experimentally, his own commitment to keeping his mouth shut deserting him as Jim’s dick pressed against the very spot he most needed it. From there it was just inevitable, his hair falling in the way as they moved together, kissing frenziedly so that he felt lightheaded with the lack of air and the heat they were generating.

With the climax Jim wrung out of him, leaving him slumped atop Jim, panting and boneless.

“Sorry,” he managed finally, still struggling for breath, but Jim only clutched him closer so that he couldn’t have moved even had he found the energy.

Jim pushed his hair back from his face with a tenderness that made his heart clench up, and kissed him soft and slow, saying in actions what he went on to whisper in his ear, sweeter and more sentimental than Harvey figured most people who knew Jim thought him capable of.

It felt like something had changed between them. That some barrier he hadn’t even consciously realized was there had been removed - an ever present knot of anxiety in his stomach that Jim was telling tall tales about what he saw when he looked at him easing away into nothingness. Jim seemed more relaxed too. Wound his arms about him as he made breakfast the following morning, kissing the back of his neck and resting his chin on his shoulder.

Was way more physical than usual, at least behind closed doors, touching him every chance he got, and cuddling in close in a way Harvey had always assumed Jim would find suffocating.

“You don’t mind?” Jim asked him, like he was testing the boundaries, and Harvey only moved his arm so Jim could lay his head on his chest more easily. They sat like that on his beat up sofa, painfully domestic as the TV droned in the background, and Harvey said nothing as Jim’s hand came to rest on his stomach.

As he started petting at it, fingers gentle as they stroked over the fabric of his shirt front, and not even as Jim grew more adventurous, tentatively sliding fingertips through the gap between his shirt buttons to his undershirt.

“It’s getting kind of warm,” Harvey said eventually, voice much rougher than he had expected, and when Jim made to move and give him space he immediately guided him back in place. “You don’t have to move. I was just gonna take my shirt off.”

If he was wrong about this it was no big deal. If Jim just happened to like a couple of guys with meat on their bones, it wasn’t a problem. He still got to be one of them. But if he wasn’t wrong, if this was something deeper seated. Well. Harvey was more than willing to take advantage of that. Couldn’t forget how indescribably hot it had been the other night, knowing that Jim was getting off the sight of him. That Jim wasn’t just being polite when he said that his body did it for him.

He peeled off the shirt, either way, and dumped it over the side of the couch. Waited with baited breath as Jim settled back against him, excitement starting to build as Jim’s hand returned to its previous position. As he realized that Jim was watching its movements, intently, and that he was slowly working on hitching the undershirt up until there was a strip of skin exposed along the bottom.

His skin felt over-sensitized, hyper aware of Jim’s proximity, and when Jim’s fingers finally touched skin Harvey sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Jim pulled his hand back, as though burned, and Harvey figured it was now or never. Put his hand over Jim’s, guiding, and put it back on his stomach, his other arm still holding Jim close as he said quietly,

“Why don’t you finish what you started?”

Jim sat up a little. Searched his face for sincerity - for reassurance that he was on board with this - then tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him. Pressed their foreheads together and told him shakily,

“I’m not - it’s not just - I love everything about you. You know that, right?”

It was weirdly touching, Jim worrying and overthinking the way he so wished he would do on the job, and Harvey put a hand on his jaw. Cupped his cheek, careful and tender, and scratched his beard along the opposite cheek before kissing him. Before employing all the little touches he knew really got Jim going, fingers stroking over the tips of his ear and nose buried in the curve of his neck until Jim broke away, wild eyed and breathless, and started yanking at the hem of his undershirt.

Harvey obliged and let Jim remove it. Groaned appreciatively when Jim responded by latching onto a nipple, eager sparks of sensation radiating outwards, and then slid slowly onto his knees in front of him. By stroking worshipful hands over the expanse of his stomach, expression almost disbelieving, like he couldn’t quite believe he was being allowed such unfettered access.

He did his best to encourage Jim. Smoothed his palms over Jim’s shirt sleeve, up to his shoulder, and messed up his hair a little by playing with it. Breathed out praise, told him how good it felt, so that Jim moaned helplessly and started brushing his lips over the lingering echo of stretchmarks. Kissed and licked, and pressed his nose into forgiving flesh, so visibly turned on it made Harvey ache in sympathy.

This was kind of new for him, wasn’t at all his usual game plan, because if his bed partner was too busy being reduced to a quivering pile of jello, then they were too busy to notice any parts of his own that might be quivering. Jim was so obviously into him though. So enjoying what he was doing, breath trembling out of him on every exhale, that Harvey felt invincible. Wanted and desirable, and the fact that it was Jim making him feel that way was almost overwhelming.

He reached for his belt buckle, needing something he was more familiar with. Watched in a mixture of heartfelt amusement and pulsing anticipation as Jim stumbled out of his own clothing, balance awful as he fought with shoes and trousers. Then they were both stripped to their boxer shorts and he was on his feet, kissing Jim passionately as Jim groped at his backside, movements clumsy with excitement.

“Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he whispered into Jim’s ear, because his back deserved the comfort of a mattress, and Jim nodded so eagerly it ought to have been laughable. Instead he just kissed Jim all over again, lost in wave after wave of fresh arousal, until Jim had him spread out across clean sheets, mouthing at his dick through his underwear.

It was too much, all the single minded attention. The way Jim’s fingers were massaging the flesh of his thighs, and the whimpering little moan Jim couldn’t bite back when Harvey started toying with his own nipples, like he was determined to drown in a deluge of sensation. He wanted to hold out, to return the favor, but then Jim was tugging at his waistband and sucking him into the wet heat of his mouth, and Harvey knew that there was no hope of it.

Jim was too hot, too good, and when he groaned out something to that effect it only pushed Jim further. Only had Jim taking him so deep that his nose was pushed into his pelvis, Jim’s hand stealing into his own underwear and moving in time with his bobbing motions. Faster, even. Faster and faster, so close that his mouth was getting wetter and sloppier, so unbearably good that Harvey had to grab hold of Jim’s free hand and splay it across his stomach, Jim moaning around his dick in gratitude.

“I’m gonna,” he managed in warning, hips pushing up in jerky, half aborted thrusts, and Jim just went at it with renewed vigour.

Swallowed down everything he had to give and then rubbed his cheek against his stomach. Looked positively drunk on it, hand still jerking furiously, and Harvey heard himself saying what an obscenely perfect picture he made, the noises Jim made as he stiffened and shook in response enough to have him twitching with aftershocks.

“So is that how you used to picture it in Math class?” he asked when he got his breath back, fracturing the awed silence they were trapped in. Jim snorted in laughter. Shifted up the bed to lay beside him and looked so happy, so radiantly beautiful, that Harvey fell a little deeper in love with him.

“I was kind of sheltered,” Jim confessed, beaming as he curled into his embrace, “and I didn’t have a very good imagination. I barely had strength to hold my pen as it was, and it all tended to fade to black after kissing.”

Harvey laughed himself at that. Hauled Jim into another kiss, then traced fingers across his palm and cracked jokes about repetitive strain injury.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Jim asked finally, voice smothered in his chest, like he was still afraid of the answer, and Harvey tugged at the hand he was still holding until he could press a kiss to Jim’s palm in solemn promise that he didn’t.

“Of course not,” was what he said aloud, flippant so as to maintain his reputation. “I worked hard to look like this. It’s only natural that you should want to be down on your knees worshipping me.”

If Jim gave him a swat to the arm in response, they both knew that he didn’t mean it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a companion piece to this from Jim's POV [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30710745).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	197. Chapter 197

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham / Life on Mars mash-up! Jim is involved in a car accident and wakes up in 1985. He's convinced that if he can just work out why he's there, he'll be able to get home again.
> 
> (This originally came about because somebody asked me for age-reversal Gordlock and I just had to try and find some way to do it without writing a _total_ AU. Warnings for lots of period typical homophobia / hate crime.)

“What do you know about Eddie Callahan?”

The name meant something to Harvey, Jim could tell, and he settled on the stool beside him, waiting, until his former partner gave in and started talking.

“He was a big deal, back in the day. Ruled The Narrows with an iron fist, there wasn’t a soul in the place who’d say a word against the Callahans.”

Jim absorbed the information - nothing he hadn’t already known - and the too calm tone that told him Harvey was holding out on him. He couldn’t blame him, not really. Not after all the shit that had gone down between them.

Not after Jim had gone and ruined the very best thing he had ever had going for him.

“I pulled in his brother last night,” Jim said by way of explanation, swirling the whiskey he had ordered around his glass, “he said I ought to give you his regards. That you knew exactly what I had coming to me if I wasn’t careful.”

Harvey’s head snapped up at that, a look of concern on his face that was so familiar Jim’s heart ached for all the occasions he had put it there.

For all the times in the last few months Harvey had succeeded in keeping it hidden from him.

“If you’re involved in something, if he has something on you -” Jim sipped at his whiskey, needing to order his tangled thoughts. “You can tell me. I owe you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The worst mistake he could have made.

Had Harvey slamming him up against the filthy brick wall of the alley behind the bar, teeth bared as he snarled,

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? I’d tell you that you need to watch your back but it won’t make a blind bit of difference. Do what you want, Jim, just the same as usual and don’t blame me when you end up in a body bag.”

He made to walk away, shoulders squared with determination, and maybe it was the way the back of his head had connected with the wall. Perhaps it was the way his pulse was pounding in his ears, riled up by the accusation and Harvey’s proximity. In all likelihood he was just sick of facing Gotham on his own.

Whatever the reason he made a grab for Harvey’s arm, pulled until Harvey turned to look at him, and the truth fell from Jim’s lips - or at least as close as he was ever likely to get to it.

“I don’t want to die, Harv. All I want is for things to be the way they used to be.”

* * *

Harvey rode with him to the latest scene of crime. Crouched down beside the body and used the end of a cheap ballpoint to inspect its open collar and bloodied shirt cuffs. Paled at the sight of something peeking out of the guy’s breast pocket and couldn’t quite hide the unsteadiness in his voice when he said,

“You ought to farm this one out to HCTF. Central’s got bigger things to worry about, everyone knows that.”

Jim looked over the corpse, nothing but a regular homicide so far as he could see, and demanded to know what the Hate Crimes Task Force was going to be able to do on this that they couldn’t.

“Just listen to me for once in your life and get rid of this case. You don’t know what can of worms you’re opening.”

“Then tell me!”

He had been through all the files down in the records room. He had scoured the net and trawled through the microfiche archives at the City Library. He couldn’t understand what it was about these murders that had Harvey so visibly terrified.

The Callahans had been thugs, no question. Had kicked the shit out of informants and operated protection rackets. Beaten their girlfriends and started turf wars with members of rival gangs. They had done the exact same thing a million other lowlifes had done before and after them, the only difference being that a few of their associates had actually spent a couple of decades rotting in prison for it.

Harvey only shook his head roughly. Stormed over to the car and held his hand out for the keys, expression brokering no argument. Jim debated arguing anyway - Harvey was still refusing to come back to the fold and wear the badge, and that had to mean any damage he did wasn’t going to be covered by the department’s insurance policy.

In the end he held his tongue. Figured it was a small price to pay to keep Harvey on side, and buckled himself into the passenger seat, impatient with expectation.

“You got no idea how things used to be,” Harvey said right on cue, knuckles white where they were clenched tight around the steering wheel. “You think it don’t matter anymore, that everyone thinks like you do. But it don’t work that way. It just don’t, Jim.”

Harvey turned to look at him, beseeching, and there was something about his gaze Jim couldn’t look away from. Something more Harvey was trying to tell him, something that threatened to turn his entire world on its head, and -

And suddenly it was history repeating itself, him yelling Harvey’s name, the surreal panic washing over him even as he braced for the impact. The deafening screech of metal on metal, and the sickening sensation of being thrown forward as far as the seatbelt would take him. The spray of blood and the sound of his own screaming.

He wasn’t in the car when he came to. He was out on the patch of waste ground next to it, shaking and attempting not to throw up all over his shoes. Sweating and panting and pressing his forehead against the cool metal above the car door.

The undamaged car door.

In fact, the car had sustained no damage at all. Not even a scratch to the paintwork. There was no sign of the other car, nor its driver.

There was no sign of Harvey.

Jim was starting to really freak out. Could feel the hysteria building, every bit as potent as the biting pain of his twisted ankle and the bruising to his chest where the seatbelt had cushioned him from the worst of the damage. Because he scouted out the car and the surrounding area. Came up empty handed and caught sight of himself in one of the wing mirrors.

Patted horrified hands down the front of his double breasted suit jacket, and brushed fingertips over the mustache obscuring his top lip. Desperately searched his pockets for his cell phone and fought back the urge to cling to the uni who approached him in relief, because he was in serious need of a ride back to the precinct.

They had to get the search underway for the piece of pondlife scum who had taken Harvey.

Except the guy only frowned at him like his clipped commands were the ravings of a madman. Pulled a clunky radio from his duty belt that looked like it ought to have been retired in the mid-80s, and started right out with ten-code though Jim had been president of the GPU when the action was passed to make the switch to plain-language protocol.

The officer was less than impressed to be called out on it. Demanded to see his warrant card if he was going to go around making such claims, then looked kind of contrite and apologized with,

“Sorry, Detective.”

It only riled him up further. Had his temper slipping because Harvey was MIA and the reason it had happened was that he was a Captain. The Captain of the central precinct, no less, and no-one but the greenest rookie on this patch had any excuse not to be aware of it. The guy listened to him rant and rave with a raised eyebrow. Simply held a hand up when the radio crackled, issued a curt 10-4, then held the thing out to him.

“The Captain wants to speak to you.”

* * *

He had lost his mind, it was the only explanation.

Either that or he was tripping out on some industrial strength narcotic.

Laying helpless in a coma.

That last one, perhaps, he thought when the world started tilting violently at the edges, static sounding in his ears as he clung to the stair railings with a death grip. He was going to pass out. Was going to keel over completely.

“Get a goddamn move on, Gordon!” Jenkins barked, already sick of being partnered with him, and Jim sucked in shaky breaths as the darkness and the blipping slowly receded.

It had been three days now and whatever the hell had happened it was looking less and less likely that he was going to simply snap out of it.

The Captain had given him a dressing down like nothing he had ever experienced, not even in the army. The cursing would have made even Harvey blush, he was sure of it, and the follow up had only been worse, issued after he commandeered a squad car and peeled over to Harvey’s apartment, frantic with the need to find him.

He had fished the key from his pocket - thankful that they hadn’t taken that from him, at least - and almost fell through the door with his eagerness to get the thing open. Had hyperventilated in a ball on the floor, just for a few minutes, with the realization that it wasn’t the key Harvey had given him. It was his key, the key to his own apartment, proven by the paperwork in the cabinet and the name card out in the hallway.

The suits hanging in the wardrobe - pant legs too short and jackets way too narrow in the shoulders - and the new partner who appeared in the doorway, cigar clamped between his teeth as he told him bluntly that if he needed to go home for a cry in the middle of the day he should have just said so.

They’d sort out moving his riot gear over to the women’s locker room in the morning.

Back in the present - a present in the shadow of billboards advertising New Coke and a Steven Spielberg movie promising zany time travel hijinks - Jim swiped a hand across his mouth, mustache bristling, and followed Jenkins into the underbelly of The Narrows.

“This is undisputed Callahan territory,” Jenkins told him, tone making it clear that the continued truth of the statement wasn’t up for discussion, “and most of this scum would sooner cut their own throats than rat on anyone associated with the Callahans. But,” he grinned, dropping the stub of one cigar and moving straight on to another, “I got a kid so desperate for green he’s turned informant. And you and me, we’re gonna pay our pal a little visit.”

Jim felt unease prickle along the back of his neck. They were being watched, openly by a gang of youths loitering around the burned out carcass of an Impala Sedan, and surreptitiously by curtain twitchers in the apartments towering above them. It could be a trap, a set-up they were going to walk straight into. Or else Jenkins really didn’t give a damn and he was going to sell this kid’s safety out for a lead that probably wouldn’t stand up in court anyway.

“Don’t give me that bleeding heart bullshit,” Jenkins said when he voiced his concerns, “the kid’s no saint. He knows exactly what the score is. Will probably end up working for them in a month or two. That’s what all the drop outs do.”

The statement wasn’t surprising. It looked even rougher than it did in the Gotham he knew, the squalor highlighted by the little kids playing amongst the broken glass and uncollected garbage. The hopeless sense of despair by the only other suit in the vicinity belonging to a guy making his way over to a vehicle emblazoned with the name and number of a local funeral directors.

“Come on, open up,” Jenkins demanded, banging his fist against the door at the end of a dark, dank hallway. “Open up or I kick it in, your choice.”

Jim tried to put a stop to the heavy-heavy approach. Tried just to get a word in edgeways but then a voice was sounding from the other side, telling Jenkins to fuck off because it was too late and he didn’t need his money. Didn’t need anything, not from anyone, and if he didn’t lay off he’d go straight to the papers with stories of police corruption.

“Thinks he’s a genius,” Jenkins said for his benefit, “was gonna flunk senior year twice over before we came to this arrangement.”

What arrangement, exactly, Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Was going to say so, too, when the door was finally pulled open and he was staring into the face of a kid who couldn’t be more than 19, face red and swollen like he’d spent the last few hours crying. Into blue-green eyes the color of the tie he had giftwrapped back in his real apartment, waiting for a time when it wouldn’t be dropped into the trash unopened, strands of thick red hair falling back into them as they escaped the hand attempting to scrape them out of the way.

“ _Harvey_.”

“Who the fuck is this loser?” Harvey asked, voice thick and clogged, but expression nothing but disdain as he flicked his gaze over him.

“None of your fucking business,” Jenkins assured, even as he gave Jim an appraising look, “now are you gonna tell us what we want to know or am I gonna bust you for the dope you got on your person?”

“I don’t do drugs,” Harvey hissed, the angry flush only making his face blotchier.

“What’s this then?”

Jenkins was holding up a bag from his own pocket between two fingers, a move straight out of one of Jim’s worst command nightmares, and it was all too much to deal with. He was threatening Jenkins with a tip off of his own, ignoring the murderous look the other man was sending his way, and then he was steering Harvey back into the tiny apartment, voice threatening to crack as he touched Harvey’s face with trembling fingers and asked him if he was okay.

It was the wrong thing to do. He always did the wrong thing when it came to Harvey.

Harvey flinched away from his touch, the movement so dramatic it should have been comical. Shoved him afterwards for good measure and asked him what the fuck he thought he was playing at. Yelled at him, self-control out of the window, so that Jim wanted to be sick at the implications of,

“I told you I don’t need the money now. I’ll starve before I do that again.”

He couldn’t stick to his training. Had to get up and pace, not knowing and not caring where Jenkins had skulked off to so long as he didn’t come back any time soon. He’d kill the guy. Throttle him with his bare hands and push his body over the railings. Serve whatever time was coming to him gladly because planting drugs and roughing up suspects was one thing. Some things just weren’t forgivable.

“I was never that desperate,” Harvey said seemingly from nowhere, apparently as able to read him in 1985 as he had been in 2017, though when he looked at him, startled, Harvey only shrugged and slumped exhaustedly back against the couch cushions, “you were muttering under your breath about killing him. You on day release from Arkham or something?”

Jim couldn’t help the way his lips quirked upwards.

“Something.”

“I meant what I said,” Harvey went on, eyes closed and face tipped towards the ceiling, “I’m through with sucking dick because some old guy is gonna pay me for it.”

“That’s - that’s good,” Jim managed, something that felt suspiciously like tears choking up his throat at the idea his Harvey had lived through this. That he had never known, never really scratched the surface, and he was still trying to swallow down the swell of emotion when Harvey dropped his head to look right at him.

“I’m only gonna suck dick because I want to.”

He didn’t know how to react to that. What to do, or what to say. What to think, even, and then none of it mattered because Harvey was bursting into tears. Sobbing helplessly into his hands so that Jim hovered awkwardly, hand caught in the space just above Harvey’s shoulder blades. The sobbing grew harder, louder, and he took the risk, rubbing soothing circles into Harvey’s back through the fabric of his t-shirt.

Backed off when Harvey sat up, fully expecting a fist to the face, but Harvey only scrubbed at his face with another shirt strew over the arm of the couch. Sucked in a few shuddering breaths and blinked back fresh tears as he croaked out an apology for the way he was behaving.

“My M-mom. She-” he had to struggle for another calming breath before he could finish, “She died last night.”

Jim didn’t care what kind of beating it earned him this time - he just wrapped his arms around him. Hugged him so tight it had to be suffocating, and swallowed convulsively a few times before he was certain he wasn’t going to join Harvey with the waterworks. Harvey hugged him back, just for a moment. Clenched his fingers in the back of his ugly suit jacket and inhaled raggedly, nose pressed into his shirtfront.

Then there was the sound of approaching footsteps, Jenkins returning from somewhere, and Harvey pulled away hurriedly. Scrubbed a hand over his face like it would remove all trace evidence. Looked sullen and angry when Jenkins pushed the door open, rather than lost and devastated, and nodded curtly when Jenkins cleared his throat and said roughly,

“Sorry to hear about your Ma, kid. She didn’t deserve what it did to her.”

Jim loitered for a moment too long in spite of the obvious dismissal. Fought with the temptation to simply pull Harvey back into his arms and try to somehow make it better.

“If you ever need anything,” he said instead, pulling one of the old school calling cards from his jacket, “just ask for Jim Gordon.”

* * *

Jim didn’t sleep that night. Tossed and turned in his uncomfortable bed and thought of Harvey all alone, grieving for the woman who had meant the entire world to him.

It had been the first thing that had made him soften to Harvey, hearing him talk about his Mom like he would never ever get over the fact she wasn’t there anymore. He knew how that felt, understood what it was like to lose the one person who could have set you on the right tracks, and over the years he had only admired Harvey more for it - the way he didn’t give a shit who knew he had loved his Mother, or what they thought of it.

He had never said it, of course. Had never said any of the things he should have admitted to Harvey, like how grateful he was for the sacrifices Harvey had made for him, and how sorry he was that he let his own stupid pride get in the way of being a decent human being again.

Perhaps this was his punishment. Perhaps he was already dead, body laid out cold in a morgue somewhere, soul doomed to live out this nightmare for all eternity. He had never believed in God, or Hell, or any of it, but it seemed fitting somehow. Seemed like it was no more than he deserved for the lives he had ruined.

He had hurt Harvey worst of all. It had all been deliberate with Harvey.

It had all been completely avoidable.

He gave up on sleep and got out of bed. Stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the light above his head flickering, and breathed in the scent of antiseptic and hospitals. The blipping was back, the rhythmic whirr of a ventilator, and Jim figured that maybe he wasn’t dead yet.

Maybe he had been sent here to prove himself.

With that in mind he rifled through these belongings which weren’t quite his own, seizing at the razor in the bathroom cabinet. He shaved off the mustache, pleased to look more like himself, and went through his entire wardrobe to find the least objectionable suit, shirt and tie combo. He combed his hair back neatly, none of the sticky lacquer he had found in it that first day, and finally nodded in satisfaction.

Took the subway across town, the car almost empty before the morning rush descended, and banged sharply on Harvey’s door, going over and over his in head what he was going to say to him.

It all left him the instant the door was opened. Harvey looked even worse than he had the day before.

Looked like death warmed over, Jim thought, then had to smother an hysterical laugh at the irony.

“I brought you breakfast,” he said, holding up the bag he was carrying. “I don’t know if this is real. I don’t know if it will make any difference. But I’m going to try and make it up to you, Harvey. I swear to you.”

The silence stretched for one beat, two, and then Harvey was leaving the door open for him and leading the way through to the main living space.

“You really are a crack job, aren’t you?”

Jim studied the place as they ate - the worn furniture and the outdated décor. The collection of medication all lined up on the sideboard, and the scent of sickness that lingered in the air.

“She was ill for a long time,” he said, a statement rather than a question, and thought about how it was so different hearing at a distance how Harvey had given up on school to nurse her through it, and actually seeing it at close quarters. “Do you need any help with the funeral?”

Harvey pinched at the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Snorted out a wet, ugly laugh and cursed, “You lot never fucking give up, do you?” Dropped the sandwich he had been steadily chewing back into the wrapper and fixed Jim with a look that frightened him. “You know what, fine. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t have anything left to live for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim snapped, never any good at dealing with emotional situations, “You’re 19.”

“20, almost. Callahans ever find out how I know, they’ll come for me anyway. Maybe I’m already on the list - gossip travels fast in this shithole.”

Jim wasn’t keeping up, must have looked just as confused as he felt. Harvey was incredulous, at any rate, and asked him what kind of detective was he. If he had just transferred in from planet Pluto.

“Upstate,” Jim answered vaguely, thinking of the nonsensical service record on his transfer papers, and followed it up with, “I’m not like the others. I’m not content with picking a few of the faithful off the fringes every time it looks like the main players are forgetting to cut us into their deals. I want to clean this city up. If they’re threatening you,” he shrugged, “I’m not afraid of them.”

His hand had been inching closer of its own accord all the time he had been speaking. Was brushing Harvey’s arm, just, and Harvey eyed it up for a long moment before meeting his gaze, expression suggesting he had a full read on him.

“You ought to be, trust me.”

* * *

Jim liked to be prepared. He had been a boy scout.

He returned to the records room at the precinct, the system even slower than he remembered, and pulled everything he could find on the Callahans. Grew increasingly frustrated at the lack of detail, the complete absence of case notes, and it was only by chance that he cross-referenced a mention of a name that looked familiar and found himself staring at a series of crime scene photos of a uniformed officer who had been tortured and murdered.

A fall guy had been found to take the wrap, a lackey of the Callahans who had been skimming profits, and Jim decided it was time to go to source, wriggling away from Jenkins’ side for a couple of hours that afternoon to go knock on the door of Officer Merrick’s mother. She was shaky and fearful. Kept looking out the window for signs of her husband as she handed him a rattling cup and saucer.

Told him finally, anguished, that the nice detective on the original investigation had promised that nobody would ever know why it had happened - who Merrick had been meeting that night, and what they had been planning to do. The pieces suddenly fell into place, the picture coming into focus, and Jim couldn’t help the incredulous laughter that bubbled in his throat and out into the air between them.

“It isn’t funny,” Mrs. Merrick snapped, appalled, “this is my son’s reputation we’re talking about.”

“It’s 1985,” Jim said, half to her and half to whatever trickster had arranged his current predicament, “not 1895.” Stonewall was over a decade ago. There had been an organized parade in the city every year since 1973 - he had learned about it in high school. Frankie Goes To Hollywood had been playing on the rec room radio back at the precinct. “Your son was gay, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

He had to rethink the approach when he was standing out on the street, Mrs. Merrick slamming the door in his face.

Because maybe Harvey had been onto something back on that ill fated car ride. Maybe he really didn’t have any idea how things had used to be. Jenkins certainly looked beyond horrified when he told him what he had been up to, and asked him rhetorically how many families would be happy for that kind of revelation to be splashed across the papers, and how he ought to know better than anyone the destructive impact it was likely to have.

“I’ve seen your discharge papers.”

It was more than he had - he had been too busy freaking out to give more than a vague thought as to which campaigns he was supposed to have fought in. “I had an honorable discharge,” Jim said still, stubborn, refusing to believe that things would be that different.

“On appeal,” Jenkins countered, “you think I don’t make it my business to know about the guy I got to work with?”

It had been a formality, really, him angry and self-righteous with a letter from the brother he barely spoke to in his pocket, pledging his full support against outdated military rhetoric. The repeal had been about to go through, his service record was squeaky clean, and he had never once felt like it was down to anything other than the fact his CO hated him.

Here, now, he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. If this meant he was going to get a kicking in the locker room, or be shunned like some kind of leper.

“Look, Gordon, I don’t care a damn where you’re sticking your dick in your spare time, I just don’t want you bringing it on the clock with you. Don’t think I didn’t notice your slip up with the Bullock kid yesterday.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest, Jenkins couldn’t be more wrong about what had been going on there, but the older man was having none of it,

“Let me give you a piece of advice, it’s up to you whether or not you take it. Try the clubs on Main Street. Go on trips back Upstate on the weekends. Stay the fuck away from Narrows whores, not if you like your face in the arrangement it’s in. The Callahans pick and choose which sins need punishing, you understand me?”

Enough to get the gist of the thing, no question.

Enough for him to start looking more closely, listening more intently. To start building a file on recent deaths which fit the MO, and to settle in for long hours of surveillance at some of the Callahans’ favorite meeting points.

He was shifting in the front seat of the pool car a week or so later, head fuzzy with distant talk of switching up his dosage, when the passenger side door opened and a too familiar figure dropped into the seat beside him.

“You got a death wish or something?”

“Something,” Jim offered, echoing the first time he had encountered this strange version of the guy who knew him better than anyone.

“Everyone knows you’re a cop. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Jim glanced over the monstrosity of a casual jacket he had found in his closet, sleeves rolled up like he was aiming for a background shot in Miami Vice, and decided he didn’t care if the Callahans knew he was onto them. In fact he kind of preferred it.

“They’ll all know you’re talking to a cop then,” Jim pointed out, the surge of over-protectiveness nowhere near as new a sensation as Jim supposed it should have been. He had never much liked the idea of Harvey getting into trouble on his account, no matter how willing he had been for Harvey to go ahead regardless.

“One good turn deserves another,” Harvey said, shrugging one shoulder as he patted down his leather jacket for his cigarettes. Lit one with an uncooperative lighter, clearly indifferent to the way Jim wrinkled his nose in distaste, and went on, “I saw you at the funeral. That was good of you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Jim said honestly. “How are you bearing up?”

Harvey studied his cigarette for a long moment. “Badly,” he admitted eventually. “I’m not sure it’s even sunk in yet, not really.”

The silence stretched, calm and companionable. It made Jim think of stake outs in another lifetime, Harvey cracking jokes, and plying him with danishes and coffee. Berating his taste in music and listening, really listening, to him in a way he didn’t think anybody else ever had. Simply sitting with him, steadfast and loyal even when he had every right not to be, chasing away Jim’s self-doubts and self-recrimination.

He had to blink back the sudden sheen of tears. The hollow ache in his gut that warned him he might never set sights on the man again.

“You did the right thing, ditching the mustache,” Harvey said, like he knew how desperately he was in need of a light hearted distraction, “We can’t all be Tom Selleck.”

Jim brushed his fingers over his lip, instinctive, and smiled just a little.

Wherever Harvey was, he hoped he had some other version of himself to lift his spirits.

* * *

The next time he saw Harvey he almost didn’t recognize him.

He was taking Jenkins advice, kind of, and propping up the bar at one of the clubs on main street, bad music blaring and overpriced drinks glittering in the optics. He was collating data, listening out for evidence, and then he looked up and felt a wave of want wash over him because the guy rocking up beside him had exactly the kind of presence that he always fell for.

Broad shoulders and a bit of a swagger. The bulk to match up with the larger than life attitude, starting with the total disregard for the dress code.

Then he finished dragging his gaze up from work boots and denim to red hair and a knowing smirk, and felt sure his head was spinning with all the conflicting messages it was getting.

“You’re not old enough to be in here.”

“And you’re too much of a gentleman not to offer to buy me a drink anyway.”

Harvey batted his eyelashes at him, clearly a few sheets to the wind already, and despite his better judgement Jim ordered him a soda and herded him over to a booth where their thighs pressed against each other and the scent of Drakkar Noir assaulted his nostrils.

“So what brings a guy like you to a place like this?” Jim asked, unable to help but fall back into the kind of banter he had always had with Harvey, and the other man beamed at him as reward for getting with the program.

“I was kind of hoping to meet some super rich Tom Selleck lookalike who wants to take me away from the shitstorm that is my life. But, seeing as you’re here instead, I’ll settle for getting laid and a couple of glasses of soda.”

Jim choked on his beer. Coughed and spluttered and had to have Harvey slap him firmly across the back until he regained control of himself.

“You can’t go around saying stuff like that.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

Jim felt the flush working its way up to the tips of his ears. Burning down the back of his neck because, no, he couldn’t say he wasn’t interested. Couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t thought about it, over and over, big hands gentle even as they pinned him in place, beard scratching up the skin of his jaw as Harvey plundered his mouth like he knew he owned it.

The Harvey in front of him was sporting little more than a five o’clock shadow and, if he was more than making up for it with the extra inches of red hair trailing down his back, Jim wasn’t going to get into that. He was a senior police detective, the guy in front of him wasn’t even legal drinking age.

End of conversation.

“Yeah, you’re interested,” Harvey spoke for him, slouching back into the cushioned back of the booth, “you’re just too much of a coward to admit to it.”

“I am not a coward,” Jim fumed, temper flaring nought to sixty, then realized he had been played masterfully when Harvey smiled brightly and said,

“How about asking me to dance then?”

Jim shook his head, long suffering. It stood to reason that if Harvey knew how to make him feel better, from nothing more than a handful of brief meetings, he’d know how to get under his skin and rile him up too. It stood to reason, too, that he was giving the request way more consideration than he ought to be. It was lonely here, out of place and out of time, and though it hadn’t gone so far as a refusal to provide back-up, his colleagues at the precinct had made it very clear that they didn’t want to spend time fraternizing with him.

Somebody had scrawled across his locker, even, like it was high school not the police department. It wasn’t that he cared, not particularly. It wasn’t that he didn’t have plenty of experience of his presence being barely tolerated. It was just that Jenkins was absolutely no substitute for Harvey, and he invariably woke with tears on his face after a few hours sleep fractured by nightmares, desperate to get back to the real world and his partner.

“I don’t dance,” he said finally, aware that Harvey was still waiting for an answer, and Harvey only dismissed it as so much wasted oxygen and said,

“This isn’t the ballroom championships.”

Another soda and two whiskeys later the argument seemed more convincing. His resolve was wavering, either way, and somehow rather than return to the bar he was being tugged by the hand to the dance floor. Was feeling self-conscious and awkward before his feet even left carpet, and then the DJ just had to go and compound the issue by fading out the cheesy dance track for George Michael and Careless Whisper.

Harvey gripped his hand harder, sensing his panicked urge to flee, and then set about wrapping his arms around his neck. Pushing in closer so that Jim’s hands settled on his waist to help them keep their balance, the inept shuffling sway fading into insignificance in contrast to the way Harvey’s eyes were locked with his own, the very same eyes he had lost himself in a thousand times before.

It was a struggle to remember what the problem was. That there was a problem in the first place. Harvey was so warm and so solid. Felt so good pressed up against him like that, and would taste so good if he inched his head just a little to the left and kissed him. Instead Harvey pressed his nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent in a way that had shivers running through him, and Jim pulled him closer still.

Imagined throwing caution to the wind and taking Harvey back to the apartment they had spent so much time in. The apartment he wished they had spent more time in, those late night conversations meandering ever further into personal territory until Jim panicked about the implications and went home to empty silence. To make up for it he let his fingers run through the ends of Harvey’s hair. Tangle in it, the feel of it intoxicating, and tug Harvey’s head up a little.

So that they were back to eye contact, his pulse racing with the thrill it sent through him, and then he was moving. Was going to do it, consequences be damned - And then the music was scratching to a halt and the lights coming up, like a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head.

“Gordon,” a voice he recognized as belonging to one of the Narco detectives from the precinct said, his partner working through checking the IDs of the people around them, “I should have known.”

* * *

Monday was a bad day. News of his indiscretion had spread like wildfire, and the solitary scrawl across the front of his locker had extended into total coverage. Something was wrong with his breathing, out in the real world where he was rotting in the ground or atrophying in a coma, and he passed out in the middle of a foot chase, inspiring the mocking to ever greater heights of creativity.

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Jenkins complained when they were back in the car, “you want your little crusade against the Callahans, fine. You want to wear it all on your sleeve, whatever. It’s your funeral. But I told you. I warned you. That kid’s trouble.”

“You don’t know him,” Jim defended, the ‘like I do’ not needing to be voiced for it to be audible.

Jenkins sighed. “You know he’s Eddie Callahan’s bastard? You know that Eddie’s going to hear about your little stunt - if he hasn’t already - and he’s going to castrate you for it.” He glanced over at Jim’s pale face but refused to let up, “I’m not joking. I’m sure you must have come across the O’Reilly case already.”

He had. Had one the less sickening crime scene photos tacked up on the wall of his living room, pins and string interconnecting it to a dozen other murders carried out over the last eighteen months or so.

“Does -” he had to clear his throat and start again, “Does Harvey know about it?”

“He knows Callahan’s his old man. He was going to be my chief witness in the St. Stephen’s Park case. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say the way those two facts connected was not lost on him.”

Jim struggled to get his head around it. Wasn’t sure if the pain in his chest was betrayal, indigestion, or the onset of a heart attack. Went and splashed cold water over his face back in the precinct locker room, and felt his pulse pound harder and harder as the room around him flickered in and out of existence.

“If he doesn’t respond to the treatment,” a cultured voice said in his ear, chills racking through him, “I think we need to prepare ourselves for the worst case scenario.”

He came to with his knees on the unforgiving floor, arms clinging to the bench like an anchor. His clothing was soaked through with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.

“You’re a freak of nature, Gordon,” a detective whose name he hadn’t bothered to learn told him dismissively as he finished fixing his collar in the mirror, and then he was left alone again, trying to work out what he was supposed to do with any of this information.

He went through the files again. Went back further, nineteen years or so, and found a suspended sentence for battery and some hand scrawled notes justifying an expenses claim with the fact there was a baby without food, and the girl’s Mother was refusing to take her back on account of her not being married.

Jim scrubbed a shaky hand across his face and thought about every mention Harvey had ever made of his father. The man was a waste of space. A drunk and a scrounger. He had offered them money when his Mother fell ill, and they had thrown it back in his face because they didn’t need anything from a man like him. A man who preached morality but didn’t practice it, Harvey had said once, and Jim left everything scattered haphazardly across his desk and made his way out into the overcast light of a Gotham summer.

Harvey had been cut some slack because he was flesh and blood. He had been protected from the usual retribution for talking to the police and flouting convention. It was only going to take him so far, Jim knew with certainty. He had read and heard and seen with his own eyes, and he remembered all too clearly the clammy fear on Harvey’s face when he had told him - it seemed so very long ago now - that Paul Callahan had said he knew exactly what Jim had coming to him.

He ignored the speed limit on the drive over. Parked across three spaces and ran up the cramped stairwells to Harvey’s apartment. Pounded his fist against the door, panic rising and rising, until eventually the old man next door came to see what the problem was and told him that they had taken the boy away in an ambulance early that morning.

Jim’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t be too late. He was supposed to be making it up to Harvey.

Gotham General looked the same as ever, overrun and understaffed, and he flashed his badge at the desk and demanded they take him to Harvey. Right now. He was lead to an overcrowded general ward, to the end bed where the curtains were pulled all the way around.

His hand trembled a little as he worked up the guts to yank the curtain back, and then he was trembling all over, a total wreck, because this time Harvey really wasn’t recognizable.

He didn’t know where to touch him that wouldn’t cause more pain. Gingerly settled on stroking the pad of his thumb along one eyebrow, the one not full of angry looking stitches, and dimly acknowledged the tear streaking down his own cheek at the sight of so much misshapen swelling. The breathing tube shoved down Harvey’s throat, and the splints bound to the fingers of the hand laid atop the coverlet.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” a nurse said when she came around to check up on him, and Jim gave up on the respectable distance. Pulled the chair right up to the bed, the same way he had in the aftermath of Harvey’s encounter with the Pyg, those long hours when nobody was certain whether or not he was going to make it, and whispered confessions he should have made years ago.

He talked about how Harvey had saved his life - physically, emotionally, mentally - and how sorry he was for fucking up Harvey’s chances to build a life with Scottie. Took it back, only a few moments later, and said that he wasn’t sorry at all. That he was selfish, and greedy, and how he hated the idea of sharing Harvey’s attention with anyone. How much it hurt to learn that Harvey had been keeping secrets from him, accepting money from the Penguin rather than turn to him, and how those nights when he kept pushing closer he was trying to offer it up on a plate, not play the role of cock-tease.

How terrified he was that he would ruin their friendship, ruin everything the same way he always did, and how sorry he was that he couldn’t see that he was doing it anyway, by not simply closing the gap between them and telling Harvey that he loved him.

“I do love you,” he croaked out, broken by the enormity of the statement, “I love you so much, Harvey.”

Behind him somebody cleared their throat and Jim hastily swiped the tears from his face, embarrassed to be caught at such a moment.

“You really do care about him,” Jenkins said, tone almost wondering like he had never thought it possible before this point. And, then, because that was entirely too much male bonding for their 80s less-than-buddy cop relationship, “I figured he just had a talented mouth on him.”

“Did you get them?” Jim asked, clipped and curt, and Jenkins took a long swig from his hip flask before handing it over to him,

“I pulled Eddie in for questioning. He says he doesn’t know a thing about it. Has his brother and some girl from Murphy’s ready and willing with an alibi.”

“He tried to kill him!” Jim spat, gesturing at the beaten and bloodied figure on the bed, throat constricting as he added, “He very nearly succeeded.”

“It’s going to be his word against Callahan’s. If he’s willing to speak at all, that is.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Jenkins blinked at him incredulously. “How much more of a warning do you want, Gordon? This was for you just as much as it was him. Back the fuck off or you’ll be spouting all that pretty bullshit to his headstone.”

Jim forced himself to swallow back the anger. Harvey would testify. Jenkins just didn’t know him like Jim did.

* * *

“No way,” Harvey told him adamantly. “I looked death in the face, eyeball to eyeball, and I didn’t like what I saw. You were right, Jim. I’m too young to die.”

Jim squirmed under the onslaught of conflicting emotion. Frustration that Harvey couldn’t see how much safer he would be once the Callahans were locked up in Blackgate. Fear that he might not be able to protect Harvey in the meantime. Breathtaking adoration for the little smile playing about Harvey’s lips, wisecracking though he was still stuck in a hospital bed.

“All right, let’s change the subject,” Jim conceded, though it wasn’t easy for him, “don’t be angry but I gave up the lease on your apartment.”

“Don’t…” Harvey echoed, looking positively apoplectic as he attempted to sit up, “that was my Mother’s apartment. Her home.”

“I know,” Jim said, interrupting, the guilt warring it out with anxiety, “but you can’t go back there. I bagged everything up, apart from the furniture. It’s at my place. You can sort through it when you’re feeling better.”

“Your place?”

Trust Harvey to home straight in on the pertinent information.

“I thought - I was hoping. I want you to stay with me.”

Harvey was gaping at him, wide eyed and speechless, and then the usual bluff and bluster snapped back into place.

“Are you asking me to move in with you? Because I am totally willing to offer you sexual favors in exchange for room and board, but I hear the law frowns on that kind of arrangement.”

“You don’t need to offer me anything.”

“That’s not the same as saying you’re not going to accept them,” Harvey pointed out, complete with ridiculous lecherous wink, and Jim didn’t bother fighting the smile wanting to curl across his own face.

It might not be how he ever pictured it happening, but he was getting Harvey all to himself. It called for celebration.

In the more immediate future it called for spring cleaning. He hadn’t done more than wash up a few dishes since he had woken up in crazy topsy-turvy-ville, and the place hadn’t exactly been sparkling at that point. Harvey wasn’t exactly renowned for his housekeeping, had never shown any inclination for caring about other people’s, but still Jim scrubbed every nook and cranny. Took down the scene of crime photos and crammed everything but Harvey’s clothes and personal items into the storage closet, and laid out the latter in his own newly dust-free and lemon scented bedroom.

He could make do with the sofa for the duration.

At least that was the plan until Harvey let out a low whistle at the obvious results of his panic cleaning, then sat and bounced on the edge of the mattress a couple of times to test the give, and announced that Jim was now relegated to the right hand side.

“I told you I wasn’t expecting anything. There are no strings attached to this, Harvey.”

Blue-green eyes swept over him appraisingly, gauging his sincerity, before Harvey gave himself a satisfied nod and said,

“If that Tom Selleck look-alike were stood here right now, offering me fast cars, and money, and, I don’t know, a standing all you can eat order with the pizza joint on Third and Main, I’d still pick sharing a bed with you. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Jim saw. Felt it settle in his chest, warm and happy, and later low in his gut, pulse fluttering at double speed with the excitement of having Harvey so close to him. Regardless of what had been said earlier Jim was determined to practice restraint. Wasn’t going to come on strong, or push for more than sleep, because Harvey was still recovering. Still had vast expanses of bruising, and his hand was still strapped and bandaged. The last thing he needed was Jim pawing at him.

Except it was Harvey who inched closer to him. Harvey who let their legs press up against each other, so careful it could have been casual, and Harvey who rested his good hand in the space between them, fingers splaying until the very tips were brushing the fabric of his pajamas.

“Do you usually wear this much to bed?” Harvey asked quietly, the lamplight making the proximity still more intimate, and Jim supposed he already knew the answer even as he shook his head. “Thought not. You know, I wouldn’t like to think of you overheating on my account.”

There was going to be no way of preventing that, not when the freckles along Harvey’s shoulders were begging him to lick them. To chase them down beneath the neck of his undershirt, over his chest and his stomach. Back up the lengths of his thighs, until he’d have no choice but to put his mouth to other uses.

“I don’t know how to breathe when you look at me like that,” Harvey whispered suddenly, lacking a few decades worth of self-preservation, “nobody’s ever looked at me anything like the way you do.”

Jim touched his fingers to Harvey’s cheek. Cupped his palm over the stubble covering it, loving the way it felt against his skin, and shifted forward until their foreheads were pressed together, noses nuzzling up close. Whispered out an uncensored confession of his own because this wasn’t real, not exactly, and that was kind of liberating.

“I love the man you are and the man you’re going to become. How could I not look at you like you’re the most important thing in the world to me?”

Harvey kissed him. Slid a hand into his hair and kissed him like he was drowning, like his life depended on it, and it was all Jim could do to slow it down and gentle it out, so that the two of them were breathing shallow and shivering, exchanging kisses until Jim felt so over-sensitized he was sure the lightest touch of Harvey’s fingers would ruin him. Even then he kept at it, kissing and kissing until Harvey reached for him, urging him to lie atop him.

Jim braced his weight up and off as best he could. Gently tucked Harvey’s hair behind his ear, playing with the long strands as they kissed, and Harvey bucked up helplessly against him, groaning low as their erections made contact through layers of fabric.

They kept kissing throughout it. Jim couldn’t pull himself away, was addicted to the heat and the taste, and the perfect slide of Harvey’s tongue against his own. Instead they shared each panting breath as they ground into each other, hips moving ever more eagerly as the friction pushed them closer and closer, Harvey finally breaking away from his mouth to cry out in pleasure, Jim drawing it out by latching onto the pale column of his throat and raising a possessive love bite.

Harvey’s reaction was so hot, fingers clenched in his hair as he desperately tried to hold Jim’s head in place, squirming and moaning with the sensation, until Jim couldn’t hold back any longer, his whole body shuddering as he came in his pants like he hadn’t in a decade or more.

“I love you,” Harvey murmured into his shoulder as they clung together, neither wanting to move, and the only thing Jim could do was kiss him all over again.

Not everything was as easy as telling Harvey he loved him. Living with him was surreal, a strange mish mash of the life that was and the life that should be, and though Harvey didn’t call him out on it Jim wasn’t blind to the puzzled frowns directed his way when Jim knew exactly how he liked his bacon, and his coffee, and the punchlines to all his favorite tales from his days as a choirboy.

For his part it made his heart ache even as it made it soar. Because he should be doing this for his Harvey, for the man he had grown to love against all the odds, watching him eat his cooking and stealing kisses before he left for work in the mornings. This was a practice run, he supposed. A template for how his life was going to be once he succeeded in getting back to it, and he didn’t know how to explain why he was so maudlin to the Harvey he had, even as was trying to assure him that he was happier than he had ever been.

It didn’t help that the nightmares were getting worse - flashing sirens and the passage of lights overhead as he was rushed down to the operating theater. Blood trickling down Harvey’s temple, and the way his fingers wouldn’t move though he was straining with everything he had to reach out for Harvey.

He was passing out in the days, coming over clammy and delirious, and he slammed his fist into the fresh slurs painted across his locker, because in a world newly terrified of the dangers of unprotected sex he was the least likely candidate to be contracting or spreading anything.

“Who is he?” Harvey asked, in spite of that, fingers tender where they were stroking his sweat damp hair back from his forehead, but face blank as though bracing himself for a blow he knew was going to be agony. “The guy you love more than me.”

Jim turned his head to the side and focused on regulating his breathing. It had been so close this time he could taste it, the chemical tang of cleaning fluids and the mouthwash being swabbed around his gums to keep his teeth in his head. He had seen it, even, the nondescript hospital ceiling and the rail for the privacy curtain.

“It’s not the way you think it is,” Jim said when he was certain he could manage it, reaching out until he could tangle Harvey’s fingers with his own. “You have to believe me when I say that it’s you. That it’s always been you.”

Harvey tried to smile only for it falter at the last moment. Only to duck his head to hide the pain Jim had inflicted all the same. To be subdued and quiet all evening, the inescapable knowledge hanging over them that it wasn’t him Jim clawed and fought his way to get to when he was trapped in the grip of the nightmares.

“If I could explain it to you, I would,” Jim said later, under cover of darkness where he wouldn’t have to see Harvey’s beautiful eyes scrutinizing him. “But I promise you that you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

* * *

The answer, Jim concluded, lay in Harvey’s decision to testify against his father.

He hadn’t, not in the real world. He had kept quiet, let the fear overrule his desire to do the right thing, and in return he had been the one to suffer for it. Falcone had used it against him, Jim saw that now. Had absorbed The Narrows into his own territory, for a price, and never let Harvey forget how much he owed him.

Never get over the effects of the beating, and the subsequent threats, and the outright terror that living the kind of life he wanted was only going to result in the death of the guy he loved.

It was already different, Jim had achieved that at least, because whenever he broached the topic with him Harvey was vocal in his determination not to change who he was because of it. Acted like he was over it, supremely calm and confident, then couldn’t meet Jim’s gaze when he dropped everything at a call from the hospital, not caring how much of a dressing down he got for it.

“I’m fine,” Harvey told him, like he wasn’t on the verge of literally shaking, “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was nothing.”

Jim bit his tongue and took him home. Noted the way Harvey shrank back from his touch when he handed him a bowl of soup and moved to sit beside him. Hated the way Harvey only pushed the food around the dish, and felt like his heart was going to splinter in two when they were lying in bed, inches of clear space between them, and Harvey asked him from nowhere whether he thought his Mother would have been ashamed had she known the things he had done.

Worse, the things he had enjoyed doing.

“She loved you,” Jim said, adamant, “she’d be so proud of you.”

“What the hell would she have to be proud of?” Harvey snapped, voice choked up and body tense where Jim reached for him. “My being too stupid to graduate high school? My non-existent career prospects? The fact I whored myself out for rent money, or that I’m now sharing a bed with a guy old enough to be my father?”

“You are not stupid,” Jim countered, caressing Harvey’s cheek with his hand and pulling him in closer, not knowing how else to offer the support Harvey so obviously needed. “Do you think you could have kept everything together the way you did if you were stupid? Do you really think this is as good as it’s going to get for you? Because I know it’s not. I know you’re going to go back to night school, and you’re going to stick with it. You’re going to get your GED and you’re going to join the police force, and you’re going to end up Captain, Harvey.”

There were tears soaking into his chest, a harsh snuffling noise where Jim hugged Harvey still tighter.

“You think I’m so desperate to spend time with you I’m gonna join the GCPD,” Harvey choked out, trying and mostly failing for levity, and Jim felt the familiar fear of imminent rejection weighing his limbs down even as he pressed kisses into Harvey’s hair. Even as he sucked in a breath and said,

“You’re going to join the police force because it’s what you’ve always wanted to do, ever since some scumbag tried to steal your Mom’s purse and a uni took him out without breaking a sweat.”

Harvey stiffened in his arms, both of them well aware that he had never told him that story. Not yet, anyway.

“You can do better than me,” Jim whispered, “so much better. Here, there, now, then. If you want me to back off - if you want this to just be two guys sharing an apartment - It’s your call. You need to know that.”

The last words were muffled, Harvey’s mouth pressing up against his own. The slick of Harvey’s tongue taking his breath away, Harvey moving over him, weight braced on a forearm in deference to his still bandaged hand. Jim ran his hands through Harvey’s hair, down the planes of his back. Up and under the t-shirt he had worn to bed, and over the firm swell of his backside.

“I don’t want anyone else but you,” Harvey told him, solemn as though it were a life long pledge he were making, “I’m never going to.”

Jim almost wished he didn’t believe him.

In the morning something had shifted, some new sense of determination that had Harvey holding his head up higher.

“I’m going to do it,” Harvey told him over eggs and bacon. “The beating, St. Stephen’s Park, stuff my Mom told me. I’ll make a statement, testify, whatever it takes to put the bastard behind bars, Jim.”

Jim kissed him in gratitude, soft and slow and tender, and set about mentally making plans to ensure everything ran smoothly. Because this was it.

This was his ticket back to the future.

* * *

Jim had thought about making this visit hundreds of times. Had even made it to the steps of the office on more than one occasion, only for his courage to falter at the last hurdle.

It was too weird. It would make it too real.

He squeezed Harvey’s shoulder, reassurance for himself as well as his companion, and pushed through the entrance doors of his father’s law firm. Inside it took his breath away, everything exactly it was in his memories. The oversized clock on the wall, and the pot plant on an occasional table in the corner. The receptionist clacking her blood red fingernails against the counter, and the door of his father’s office opening, his chest seizing up with nervous excitement.

“Detective Gordon?” His father greeted, holding a hand out, and Jim just stared at it for a moment, dumbstruck, before gripping too hard and shaking too eagerly. “And this must be Mr. Bullock?” his father went on, picking up his slack, so that Jim nodded and flustered, desperately struggling to regain control of the situation.

They followed him through to the office, the room so much smaller than he remembered, so that it was all he could do to flash Harvey a smile in gratitude when he placed a comforting hand of his own on his shoulder.

His father’s gaze lingered on it for a beat too long, observed all kinds of things Jim had never meant him to, and it must have shown on his face because Peter Gordon just offered him a lopsided smile and said,

“Half my case load is pro bono. I do advice work down on Main Street. I’m not prejudiced.”

Jim couldn’t speak. Could scarcely explain to himself what it meant, to know for sure that his father wouldn’t have thought any less of him. To see for himself that his father had been one of the good guys, no matter what mistakes he might have made.

“The rest of them will be though,” Harvey said instead, tone nothing like his usual confident drawl, and because he had already been given Peter’s assurance Jim quietly reached out and took Harvey’s hand in his own. He knew how frightened Harvey was, how much the upcoming court case was weighing on him, and if this meeting was going to help in some small way then every second of mind bending surreality was more than worth it.

“The defence will do their best to discredit you, yes, and I’m not going to lie and say that your living arrangements aren’t going to complicate matters. But I believe we have a strong case. It’s not going to be easy but we can win. I never play to lose, I can promise you that.”

They talked it over for an hour or so, Jim caught between the way Harvey was clenching at his fingers and the smell of his father’s aftershave. The need to pay attention to finally bring the whole saga to its conclusion, and the sound of his father’s voice, enveloping him in a feeling of security he had only subsequently come close to feeling while crushed up close in Harvey’s embrace.

“I wonder if we’re any relation,” Peter said when the formalities of the meeting came to an end, “were you born in Gotham, Detective?”

“Yeah,” Jim managed, though it was a struggle. “I moved away for a time, but I always wanted to come back here.”

“Nowhere in the world like Gotham,” Peter commented, all smiles, and Jim’s gaze fell again on the family portrait sitting on his father’s desk, Roger on his Mother’s lap and his own baby face beaming up at his father. “My boys,” Peter said proudly, seeing his interest.

“Do you get to see much of them?” Jim asked, wishing he dared hug the man in front of him.

“Not as much as I’d like, what with work the way it is. One day though, when things are more settled and they’re a little older. I quite fancy myself the great adventurer - camping and fishing and not holding the map upside down!”

Peter laughed and Jim had to blink back tears.

“They’ll love that. They’ll love any time you spend with them.”

He didn’t hang around to see the confused expression on his father’s face. Stumbled instead out into the fresh air and tried to act normal. Told Harvey they could do anything he wanted, seeing as he wasn’t due back at the precinct until the following morning, and then had a full on fit at the multiplex on the outskirts of town.

“They’re getting worse,” Harvey told him when he came round, hand still tingling from the way it had twitched back in the real world, “you need to go back to the doctor.”

“It won’t be long now,” Jim assured, suddenly exhausted to his very soul, “everything will be better soon.”

Harvey watched him more carefully, all the same. Jenkins had his eye on him too, always wary about the knock on effects of poor field performance, and Jim found it an ever greater battle, just to get through each day without giving anyone cause to cart him off to the loony bin.

It had to be because he was so close. He was just a few days away from getting back to Harvey.

“What are you thinking about?” Harvey asked him one afternoon, lips brushing against his cheek as they stood looking out over the city, and Jim wound an arm around his waist and returned the favor. Thought about the last time he had been stood on this bridge with Harvey, yet another manic life or death situation, and how perhaps he would do it again some time.

Maybe Harvey would even remember.

That idea sent a stab of guilt through him, just the same way it always did, because if that was the case he was going to abandon Harvey - even if it was to return to him. He kissed Harvey properly then, needing something to anchor himself to, then brushed his nose along Harvey’s cheek and confessed,

“You. How much I love you. How much I miss you.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” Harvey confessed in turn, “Sometimes the things you say scare me.”

“I’d never hurt you.”

That was a lie. A barefaced blatant lie because he could and he would. Already had done, so badly it twisted his gut in knots just to think about it.

Harvey put a hand to his cheek. Stroked a thumb along his cheekbone and said quietly,

“Please promise me you’re going to be there on Tuesday. I can’t do it without you, Jim. Please, promise me.”

Jim caught hold of Harvey’s hand and held it in place so he could press a kiss to his palm.

“Of course I’m going to be there. You have my word, Harvey.”

* * *

He wasn’t there.

There was a crisis at the precinct, traffic clogged throughout the city. Torturous pains in his head and lights flickering back along the sidewalk, arcing like some kind of fairy doorway. This was it, this was the moment, and still he hesitated.

Looked up at the courthouse, mind full of Harvey’s desperate plea that he be there for him, but was ultimately drawn back to the lights.

Harvey would understand. Harvey would forgive him, surely.

Harvey was dead was the news he came back to, his own reaction so extreme he was put under sedation.

“He took the full impact of the collision,” Lucius explained, tasked with the job of visiting, “he lingered for a couple of days but there was nothing anybody could do for him.”

Jim wept helplessly. On and on and on until the nurses grew crisp and commanding, and told him that his friend wouldn’t want to see him waste away into nothingness like this. He got better in spite of his apathy. Regained the ability to sit up and feed himself. To take slow tentative steps, and to stand before Harvey’s grave, the plot shared with his Mother, and to sob there instead though he had felt sure he couldn’t possibly have any tears left to cry.

He went back to work, the precinct the same in so many ways as it had been for the last few months he had been serving as Detective Second Grade, so that he still kept opening the door of the computer lab expecting to find the click clack of the typing pool. Sat down in the cool quiet of the records room when it all got too much, and pored through yellowing newspaper clippings - apparently mislabelled and wrongly filed last time he had requested everything on the Callahans - detailing how the witness in the St. Stephen’s Park case had fallen apart on the stand, and how the case had eventually been thrown out for lack of evidence.

“We found this in his apartment,” he was told a few weeks in, presumably when he had been deemed capable of withstanding whatever might be in the envelope, “it was addressed to you.”

Jim retreated to the sanctity of his office and stared at the familiar handwriting for a long time. Remembered lunchtimes at diners with Harvey jotting down notes on paper napkins, and cosy evenings with Harvey curled up against his side, chewing the end of his pen as he filled out the crossword in the newspaper.

There had been another letter, apparently, for the coroner. Suicide notes for an attempt that had mercifully failed, and when Jim finally reached for his letter opener he couldn’t control the trembling in his fingers as he unfolded the paper, a mixture of emotion and medication.

‘I’m sorry, Jim. I love you - God knows how I love you - but I can’t wait any longer.’

There was no more. Nothing to set it in context, and nothing to say it wasn’t the result of too much drink and too much of whatever else Harvey had been using.

Nothing except the date in the top right hand corner, two years before they ever officially met each other.

It was too hot yet too cold. He was crying, a ceaseless stream of tears, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He folded up the letter small enough to push into the inner breast pocket of his jacket then climbed the stairs up to the roof of the building, for once not caring about the slight drag of his left foot, nor the pain that washed over him with each and every step.

He felt certain, free of the all encompassing misery that had been his constant companion from almost the moment he opened his eyes in the hospital. He was doing the right thing.

He had never been any good at waiting.

* * *

“For a moment I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I promised you I’d be there,” Jim said, smiling so wide his jaw was aching, “there was just something else I had to do first. Somebody else I’d made a promise to.”

“If you’re in the mood for promises…” Harvey trailed off, clearly waiting to judge his reaction, and Jim couldn’t help the fizzing excitement beneath his skin. The urge to clutch Harvey close and spin him around. To kiss him senseless right there on the steps of the courthouse, uncaring who might be watching or whey they might think about it.

“Go on,” he said, encouraging, “I’m listening.”

Harvey fidgeted with his jacket. Reached for his smokes only to put them back again, like he really was trying to kick the habit. Studied his face for a long moment then spoke all in a rush as they walked,

“I want you to make me a promise we both know you can’t keep. I want you to promise me forever.”

Jim halted, rooted to the spot until Harvey turned around looking for him. Felt everything catch up with him, the relief and the grief and the fact he was here, with Harvey, with their whole futures stretching out in front of them.

“You promised me once you’d never turn your back on me,” he said, to which Harvey only tilted his head and let him finish, “and you never did. Not really. And I didn’t make that easy, not for a moment.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Harvey admitted, calm for all that he was rambling like a madman, and Jim smiled again through the tears and the choke hold of emotion.

“I’m saying that it’s yours if you want it. Forever. Always. We’ll be able to make it official, one day.”

Harvey crushed him into a hug, there in the street, just for a moment, then fell back into step beside him, like they hadn’t just sworn in health and in sickness.

“Your word is good enough for me.”

Jim got the feeling that it always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	198. Chapter 198

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _A/B/O dynamics. Harvey is an omega who, although he takes suppressants religiously, went into heat on a case and found himself knotted by his partner and crush, the young alpha Jim Gordon. While Jim was all too eager to pretend it never happened, Harvey found himself pregnant with Jim’s pup(s). Now, he has to break the news to Jim, but he’s beyond frightened that Jim will reject him and their pup(s), just like he pretended the knotting never happened._

His first instinct was to ignore what his body was telling him. It was the stress of the job, or the cold and flu bug that had been doing the rounds. It was his poor diet, or else the after effects of Gotham’s latest brush with total crazy.

Anything else simply wasn’t possible.

Because, okay, maybe he could have been more careful. He should have been carrying extras, no question, and he shouldn’t have been so weak as to beg Jim to help him. To fill the aching chasm in his soul even as pushed into his desperate body, and to stick close to him afterwards, the two of them locked together so perfectly it still made Harvey shiver every time he thought about it.

He had been through all that before though. Had tried and tried and tried, month after month of waiting with baited breath only to be crushed by disappointment. Only to have to confess that it hadn’t worked, that perhaps it was never going to work, until the marriage fell apart and he was being told that it was just one of those things, and nothing to do with the lack of a baby.

Why would it be when the guy she replaced him with was already carrying?

That was what the rumors had said, anyway, while Harvey pretended not to care either way. Unpicked the lover’s knots from his bedsprings and refocused his attention on his career. Took his suppressants religiously and acted like it didn’t faze him the first time he was mistaken for an Alpha.

Society said it was the best thing anyone could be, so it had to be his fault that it only made him feel like a failure.

He should be thankful for what became the default assumption, he knew, because he was too old to play the role of Omega now anyway. He couldn’t catch, was never going to be anything other than barren, so he simply concentrated on getting blind drunk after Jim stood and dressed and walked away, like they had never given into biology in the first place.

Like he never wanted to have to so much as think about what had happened ever again, because Harvey was the walking talking stereotype. He was the one so painfully head over heels in love that every moment Jim refused to acknowledge the fact they had knotted was absolute torture.

Jim had his whole life ahead of him. A constant stream of delicately beautiful Omegas lining up for his consideration. Even if by some miracle he was carrying Jim’s child, there was no earthly reason why Jim would want anything to do with either of them.

He told himself that those first few weeks, over and over again, until the smell of the food cart where they usually picked up breakfast made him feel so ill it had him retching over the sidewalk.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” Jim said, expression unreadable as he took in his shaking hands and clammy forehead, “the days might not seem so bad if you didn’t start them with a hangover.”

Harvey flipped him the bird and offered up some smartass remark. Almost had a breakdown in the locker room, back at the precinct, and finally booked himself an appointment over the phone to try and settle the panic churning in his stomach.

It was kind of surreal, being back at the fertility clinic. Seeing the guy he had once been in the faces of eager young couple, cooing over scan pictures and exchanging private looks and touches. The only other people his own age were parents offering support in place of partners, and one middle aged woman in court shoes and smart two piece asked him if he were there with his son or his daughter. A nurse called him through before he could answer, and it was his cheeks which flamed as he exited the room, for all that she tried to offer him an apology.

“You can see the heartbeat here,” the doctor told him, pointing to the screen, and his own heart was thumping all over the place, too many conflicting emotions to make sense of what he was feeling. There was a time when this would have been the happiest moment of his life. A time when he would have sacrificed anything to get this far. Now the doctor was asking him seriously if he had thought about whether or not he would be going ahead with the pregnancy, and if he understood all the associated risks should he decide not to terminate.

It was too much to get his head around. Not there at the clinic, and not back at his own apartment either. He would have to get a bigger place. Would have to turn his entire life around. He’d have to switch to light duties, sooner rather than later.

He’d have to tell Jim why he needed to be desk bound.

Why none of his work shirts would button, and why his entire body ached with the need to be closer to him every time he caught the faintest whiff of Jim’s aftershave.

In the end it was a no brainer. This was his last chance, his only chance, and he couldn’t give it up for anyone. Not even Jim Gordon. It didn’t make the realities of it any easier. The pain in his back and the God awful morning sickness. The raging hormones and the horrific urge to cry every time Jim snapped at him. The constant fear that something was going to go wrong, that the next appointment would be the one where they told him that they were sorry but there was nothing for the heart monitor to pick up on.

Still he held out for as long as he could. Endured jokes about his waistline and claimed it was nothing but indigestion slowing him down when he couldn’t handle a foot chase. Dodgy take out wrecking its vengeance when he had to go and bring up his breakfast. A good old helping of cowardice when he refused to crawl into a fire fight, the cramps shuddering through him with every new hail of bullets leaving him sweating and terrified.

Because it was already too late. His own stupid pride had cost him everything. That was all he could think about, deaf to the judging comments directed his way, and he went straight to the hospital as soon as the all clear was given, rather than wait around for Jim’s debriefing.

“You have to start putting the baby first,” the doctor scolded as the sound of a heartbeat finally filled the room, and if Harvey weren’t so busy attempting not to sob with relief he would have called her out for talking down to him like an imbecile. As it was he felt limp with the assurance that the baby was okay. Wrung out and weak legged, and he had to slump against the wall of the corridor for long minutes before he found the energy to find the exit, trembling a little with the enormity of it all.

He fell into bed when he got home, exhausted, and finally conceded what he had always known.

Jim needed to know he was about to become a father.

“I need to speak to you,” he told Jim the following morning, paperwork stamped and enveloped in his hand ready to hand in to Human Resources. “I’m -”

“You’re requesting a transfer,” Jim said, blue gaze swamped with emotion as it fell on the paperwork. “You don’t need to - it was one time. I’ll never tell anyone. Haven’t I proven that to you?”

It knocked him for a loop, so completely unlike any of the reactions he had been expecting. But Jim wasn’t joking. Was looking almost panicked, hand on his arm as he steered him down a hallway to give them some modicum of privacy.

“I know I should have had more self-control. I know I had no right to do that to you. But we’re still partners, right? We can still work together.”

Jim’s tone was pleading, his face pale, and Harvey could only stutter out dumbly,

“I’m not requesting a transfer.” He had to whet his lips, then raked a hand through his hair. Swallowed convulsively and forced himself to look Jim in the eye as he said, “I’m going on light duties.”

He saw the moment Jim understood the implications. The slight furrow in his brow that preceded it, mulling the information over, and then the almost comical widening of his eyes which accompanied the realization.

The disbelief and the dubious glance he cast at his midsection. The slowly dawning hope that threatened to floor Harvey completely.

“I’m not expecting anything from you,” he clarified, the continued silence unnerving, and then it was like a switch was being thrown and Jim was fussing over him like something out of an old black and white movie, insisting that he sit down, and keep his fluids up, and demanding to know why he had waited until almost the five month mark.

Lee had told him to knock it off, the big protective Alpha crap, or so Jim had told him. He had absolutely no intention of curbing any of Jim’s instincts to be sweet and solicitous. Let him fuss, and fluster, and bring him gifts of candy bars and pastries while he was dying of boredom at his desk. Asked him casually if he wanted to go with him to his next appointment, and daydreamed pathetically that it wasn’t only the baby that had Jim accepting so eagerly.

Tapped his pen distractedly against the paperwork that never seemed to diminish any, and imagined how it would be if they were a real couple, happy and excited to be building a life together. Reminded himself, ruthlessly, not to be an idiot, because he had more than he had ever thought he would. Jim wasn’t denying parentage, and he wasn’t ashamed who knew about it. He wanted to be a part of the kid’s life, no question, and when they went to see how things were progressing, Jim clutched tight at his hand and whispered breathlessly,

“That’s our baby, Harvey.”

It was so close to perfect the bitter burn of tears stung behind his eyelids. The distance between what he had and what he still wanted felt like agony. It must have shown on his face too, in spite of all his best efforts, because out in the car Jim fixed him with a pained look of his own. Held his gaze with eyes that were positively swimming and told him quietly,

“I know I should be, but I can’t be sorry it was me. I wish it was the way you wanted, I wish I was who you wanted, but I’ll never be sorry that we’re sharing this.”

He was hearing things - had to be. Was daydreaming again, surely, because there was no way Jim was looking at him like that. Saying things like that. Dashing a hand across his cheek, lashes wet regardless, as though it were Harvey who was the sticking point in their playing happy families.

“Who else would I want it to be, Jim? I begged you for it, or don’t you remember?”

Jim flushed up to the tips of his ears, so adorable it made it difficult to decide if he was more desperate to kiss him or hug him. To grin like a madman or burst into hormone driven tears as he thanked God in Heaven for giving him what he wanted.

“Everybody begs for it in the heat of the moment,” Jim said, tone reasonable but expression troubled, “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“You’re supposed to be the star detective.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest. Closed it sharply, understanding dawning, so that Harvey couldn’t help the fond smile threatening to split his face. The hand he reached out for Jim’s own, the touch of Jim’s skin intoxicating as he pressed it palm down over the fabric of his straining button down. It was the first time Jim had felt the results of their time together - the first time Harvey had felt sure he could bear to have Jim so close to him.

That it wasn’t going to kill him when Jim had to pull away again.

“I didn’t think I could get this lucky,” Jim said finally, justification for his not seeing what was happening, perhaps. Explanation for the way his hand was trembling, maybe.

“Can I quote you on that when you’re the one getting out of bed to go and change diapers at two in the morning?”

Jim just gazed at him, soft eyed, and smiled like he couldn’t help himself. Leaned in closer, uncaring of how it was cramped and awkward, and pressed a kiss to his lips in promise.

“I’m sure I’ll appreciate the reminder.”

He got the craziest feeling that Jim wasn’t even joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a companion piece / sequel to this from Jim's POV [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30731967)
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	199. Chapter 199

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey blusters through everything with pretend over confidence, but when things start to finally get hot n heavy with Jim he’s actually extremely self conscious and insecure about his appearance/body, especially compared to Jim, who he thinks is perf. Jim obvs thinks Harvey’s hot af... and proves it._
> 
> Also kind of a tie in for [Chapter 196](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30561522).

It was unspeakably unfair, Jim thought, that the most irritating waste of space he could have ever been partnered with was also the hottest guy he had ever laid eyes on.

Harvey had the bulk and the build. The shaggy hair that just begged for somebody to tangle a hand in it, and the rasp of beard Jim knew from experience would be felt for days afterwards. The swaggering confidence to back it all up with, even, and Jim took to folding his arms across his chest whenever Harvey started talking, lest the urge to reach out and touch became overwhelming.

Lest he forget himself, too close and too drunk after a long hard day of supposedly platonic male bonding, along with Barbara, and the wedding, and the fact that hooking up with his partner would be completely unprofessional.

Because as the weeks became months he was forced to reconsider his initial assessment. Harvey could be irritating, sure, but his heart was in the right place. He was a damn good detective too, one of the very best in the department, and he had already saved Jim’s sorry ass on more occasions than he could keep track of.

He wasn’t just hot, either, he had the rest of the package to go along with it. The solicitous hand on his shoulder that steered him home rather than seeing him mugged and left for dead in a gutter, and the easygoing attitude that balanced out his own propensity to get worked up and stress over everything. The kind of interpersonal skills Jim had accepted he was never going to master, and the willingness to let Jim reap the benefit of them, be it his sweet talking an old battleaxe of a reluctant witness, or his open invitation for Jim to sob brokenly into his shoulder.

Jim did a lot of that, in the aftermath of Lee and the baby and Blackgate, and when he started coming through the other side of the depression he really wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t simple speculation now, how good Harvey would smell and how strong his arms would be. How fantastic it would feel, the solidity of Harvey’s broad shoulders and the comforting softness of his stomach, and his interest in taking things further began to ramp up from idle fantasy to full fledged obsession.

He watched more closely and listened more intently. Cramped up his hand and daydreamed hopelessly through rainy afternoons when he should have been concentrating on his paperwork. Jumped at any excuse to touch or be touched, and fought it out between the arousal pooling low in his gut at Harvey’s proximity, and the vice clamped up tight around his heart every time it became clear that Harvey didn’t see himself anything like the way Jim did.

In the early days Jim hadn’t really noticed. He had accepted Harvey’s bluff and his bluster at face value, and hadn’t known him well enough to see all the little chips and cracks in its surface. Now Harvey was his anchor in an increasingly crazy world, and Jim wished he could explain to Harvey just how wrong he was when it came to the derogatory jokes he made about himself.

Wished that he could get away with punching those who laughed along at them square in the face, starting with the bartender at the dive of a club they happened to be keeping an ear to the ground in one evening.

“When you said partner I thought you meant _partner_ ,” the guy leered, so that Harvey removed the much appreciated arm he had wound around Jim’s middle, “I was going to ask you to give me a few pointers.”

“He should be so lucky,” Harvey said, all false bravado, “he might have the looks but I’m the brains of this relationship.”

“Really,” another of the patrons laughed, clapping Harvey hard on the shoulder, “well it’s not like you’re going to get far on your physique, your looks or your bank balance!”

There was raucous laughter in response, Harvey hiding his own faltering smile in a pint glass, while Jim just stood there and seethed quietly. Reminded himself, over and over, of how it wasn’t his place to say anything. How Harvey was scarcely likely to appreciate him jumping in and defending his honor. How Harvey would probably be disquieted, if not disgusted, at the idea that Jim would even want to.

They were best friends. Partners. It wasn’t the done thing to start confessing that he had wanted to get down on his knees and worship Harvey’s body from the very first moment they had met each other.

Jim couldn’t help but think about it, all the same, and when they ended up back at Harvey’s place that night, he accepted two or three drinks too many and encouraged the conversation to meander into personal territory. Asked Harvey about the first time, and the strangest time, and felt his entire face burning with embarrassment as he relayed a few of his own stories.

Told Harvey about the teacher he had crushed on all through high school, so bad he had to bite at his lip and squirm in his seat every time the poor guy bent over, and the girl he had almost lost his virginity to - right until she let him touch and it felt so amazing that he had to squeeze his eyes tight shut as he lost control of himself.

Harvey laughed at that one, loud and honest but without the cruel edge Jim suspected almost anyone else would have had, and pulled him into his side so he could press a drunken kiss to his temple in consolation. Jim made the most of the situation. Basked in the closeness, and the warmth, and when Harvey let him stay there as he drifted off to sleep, Jim carefully laid his head on Harvey’s chest, hand coming up to rest beside it.

They didn’t talk about it the morning, Harvey content to chalk it up to the booze and Jim not wanting to rock the boat any, but that didn’t mean Jim wasn’t thinking about it. That he wasn’t prone to fantasizing about it at all the most inopportune moments, like when they had a suspect to catch and he was struggling to concentrate on anything but the way Harvey was braced against the wall as he caught his breath, cheeks flushed and pants pulled taut across the perfect outline of his backside.

“Don’t give me that fucking look,” Harvey warned him, inspiring a flare of panic that he knew exactly what Jim had been thinking. But then he was pushing himself away from the wall, readjusting the fit of his shirt and his shoulder holsters, “we can’t all look like something off the cover of Men’s Health magazine.”

Jim glanced down at the state of his own suit. The rain water splashed around his trouser cuffs and the blood stain on his collar. The narrow fit of the shirt Harvey was still glaring at, and the frantic hammering of his heart that had nothing at all to do with his own efforts during the foot chase.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said aloud, gaze travelling up Harvey’s form, lingering on all the spots that got him hot and bothered. That was most of them, really, and he was breathing hard himself by the time he made it to Harvey’s face, the tension thick and heavy in the air around them.

“Jim,” Harvey started and maybe it was supposed to be another warning. The prelude to a joke perhaps, some typical comment designed to stop him looking too close beneath the surface. It just sounded kind of breathy, hopeful, and Jim hit breaking point. Pushed across the space between them, Harvey backing up against the wall, and kissed him the way he had spent the last few years dreaming about.

Heated and demanding, and so desperate Harvey switched their positions, shoving him up against the unforgiving brick and pinning him in place so that he couldn’t care less that it was broad daylight. That he had his badge clipped to his belt or that anyone could turn down the alley and find them at any given moment. He had been waiting too long, and Harvey just felt too amazing. Wrung the most embarrassing sound from him when his thigh pushed between his legs, and Jim had to break away from Harvey’s mouth to tip his head back and pant frantically. To bare his throat, Harvey taking up the invitation almost immediately, and grind his hips forward without restraint or coordination.

Harvey was the one to pull away. To hold him back with a firm hand at his chest and the other at his cheek, foreheads pressing together as he told Jim soothingly that they couldn’t do this here. That he had to calm down, just a little, so they could find somewhere a little less public. So he could take him apart the way he wanted to, the way Jim deserved to be, and somehow he managed to keep it together until they fell through the door of Harvey’s apartment, already kissing all over again.

It couldn’t last long, was never going to take more than the bare minimum of stimulation, and Harvey didn’t even undress, choosing instead to push him down on the unmade bed and strip Jim out of his clothing. To kiss and to suck, and to splay a hand over Jim’s abdomen, stilling the worst of his writhing, and swallowing him to the root as Jim lost control of his mouth like he hadn’t since before he joined the army.

He couldn’t shut up, couldn’t keep quiet, and Harvey only slid back up the bed and let him suck the taste of himself from his tongue as he pushed into the eager grip of Jim’s fist.

“We’re still on the clock,” Harvey said when they were finally done, voice so rough it had Jim shivering, and for once Jim couldn’t dredge up the energy to feel guilty about it. Couldn’t do anything but pull Harvey into yet another kiss, fingers tangling in his hair, so happy it felt like he was floating.

Because it was a no brainer that this was the start of something big, something important, and the week was scarcely out before Jim had croaked out love declarations, tears on his cheeks and sweat slick hair dripping in his eyes, Harvey reducing him to such a mess that it was a wonder he could even talk in the first place.

Harvey was just able to play him like a master, to wring responses out of him that he had never even considered possible, and that was the only excuse Jim had for not realizing sooner that Harvey still didn’t believe him when he said that Harvey was breathtaking. So gorgeous he couldn’t take his eyes off him, so desperately attractive that Jim struggled to keep his hands to himself around him.

“Your problem,” Harvey told him during one such confession, the buttons of his shirt scraping against the skin of Jim’s back as he slowly worked him open with his fingers, “is that you need your eyes testing.”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Jim protested, making to roll over and return the favor, but Harvey only started sucking at the tender skin of his throat and said commandingly,

“I don’t remember saying you could go anywhere.”

It was hotter than it had any right to be. Had him pushing back, begging for more, and though he got to look into Harvey’s beautiful eyes when Harvey finally pushed into him, Harvey stopped his hands from wandering up and under his shirt. Pulled the fabric back down, determined, when he thought him distracted, for all that Jim babbled helpless nonsense about how good he looked and how much he wanted him. How perfect he felt, pressed so deep inside him, and how he clawed at the cotton of Harvey’s shirt front, frantic, when Harvey took hold of his hips and started fucking up into him.

“We could shower together,” Jim suggested later, making the most of the post-coital cuddling, but Harvey only laughed and said that there was hardly going to be room enough for the two of them. Shut him down when he whispered hotly in his ear that they’d make it work somehow, and snapped at him when he didn’t know when to quit, so that Jim wished that he were the type of guy who said the right thing.

Who didn’t fuck up everything that was most important to him.

He tried backing off. Didn’t cling, and didn’t paw, and didn’t give into the urge to boast to literally everyone he met that he and Harvey were exclusive. Didn’t always manage it, especially not when Harvey was wearing his nice suit, had his hair all scraped back for the occasion, and he was surrounded by all the people who had voted him the high school senior most likely to end up in the care of an asylum.

“I always knew you’d really make something of yourself,” his old Math teacher told him, the guy who had featured in all his filthiest teenaged fantasies - who had made him realize that maybe there were other reasons why he would never make it down the aisle with a woman his Mother approved of - and Jim couldn’t help the blush that stained his cheeks or the breathless quality to his small talk. Harvey flashed him a smile, entirely too knowing, and left him to reconnect while he inspected the buffet.

Peered at all the embarrassing yearbook photos while Mandy Simmons, the girl he had wanted to ask to prom if only she would deign to make eye contact, congratulated him warmly on his job, and his relationship, and told him frankly that at school she had had the biggest crush on him. Responded to his stuttering protests on the matter with a line about how she would never have had the confidence to say anything, not when she was buying clothes via mail order and he was the star track champion.

It hit entirely too close to home, was entirely too relevant to his current situation, and he told her awkwardly that he had never once seen it that way. That he had assumed her lack of interest was because he was too weird: too much of a goody goody, and way too committed to the Scout Movement. She laughed at that, easy and confident, and he had to go find Harvey, suddenly desperate to be somewhere - anywhere - alone with him.

Needing to kiss him, over and over again, wanting reassurance that he had never made Harvey feel like he wasn’t good enough for him. That Harvey understood that he wasn’t trying to be funny or clever or superior - he was just attempting to put into words that he was head over heels in love with him. That he wanted him, needed him, almost constantly, and that he was so hard right now he scarcely knew what to do with himself.

Maybe Harvey got it because for once he responded without holding back any. Didn’t distract him while he worked the lights low, or encourage his hands to his back rather than the flesh of his sides where Jim so badly wanted them. Instead Harvey guided them up and under his shirt, and went willingly when Jim tried to pull him atop him. Gave just as good as he got as Jim lost himself to it, the weight pinning him in place so tortuously perfect, and let him actually get Harvey naked.

Let Jim spread him out across the bed, mouth watering at the sight of so much skin on display, and push his thighs apart to give him better access. To rock himself into the mattress as he dragged groans of approval from Harvey’s lips, movements clumsy and fevered. To haul Harvey on top after they had to pause to kiss again, and to cry out helpless when Harvey pulled his fingers free and slowly sank down onto him.

He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t take it, and he was still shaking when Harvey collapsed on top of him, so beyond happy that it didn’t matter how terrible he was with words, he had to tuck Harvey’s hair gently back behind his ear and tell him how this was everything he had ever wanted.

How he never wanted to have to so much as imagine life without him, and how even here, even now, he couldn’t get over just how lucky he was.

Harvey didn’t argue about it. Didn’t joke or wisecrack, even, content to simply accept his clumsy efforts, and in the morning Harvey wandered about in nothing but his underwear, so that Jim had to plaster himself up against his back and press kisses into his neck, uncaring what the distraction was going to do to the state of his breakfast.

It felt like something had shifted, like he had finally succeeded in getting through to Harvey, because when he pushed closer, hopeful and tentative, Harvey only encouraged him to snuggle in against him like he had only ever been waiting for Jim to take the initiative. Like he had no objections at all to the way Jim never wanted to let go again.

Like he was ready and waiting for Jim to convince him exactly how grateful he was for the opportunity to put his hands all over him.

Because he was grateful. So grateful he couldn’t get his mouth to work, not beyond a stilted attempt to impress on Harvey that it wasn’t just about the sex for him. That it was about everything they had ever been to each other. Everything they would go on to be. He couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t focus long enough, and dropped to his knees instead, rubbing his cheek along the soft skin of Harvey’s stomach.

Harvey breathed out praise in turn. Messed with his hair and told him that he was beautiful. That his mouth was out of this world, that the things he did with it were driving him crazy, and Jim brushed his lips over every mark and freckle, on and on until both of them were trembling. Until Harvey was hard and aching, fumbling with his belt buckle, and then they had to go take things to the bedroom where they were less likely to destroy the furniture.

It was touch and go, even so, because he was so turned on his balance was all over the place, and because Harvey was so far gone he couldn’t do anything but clutch at his hand and beg him not to stop what he was doing. Beg him for more, for whatever he could give him, and Jim kissed him breathlessly the first chance he got, so blissed out his face was aching from all the smiling.

“How do you feel about sharing a shower?” Harvey asked him later, after they had lost themselves in each other all over again, tone full of false bravado. Faltering all about the edges, in spite of everything, so that Jim wasted no time in jumping at the opportunity. In assuring Harvey that he would make it worth his while, and kept to his word until the water started running cold.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Harvey teased, even as he ducked his head back under the spray to rinse the soap out of his hair, and Jim just smiled smugly.

That was the kind of backhanded compliment he could deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	200. Chapter 200

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I'm re-watching s2 and I think it's absolutely hilarious that Harvey isn't that thrilled about grave robbing, while Jim is like "meh, needs must" - maybe you can write something about Harvey believing in ghosts and evil spirits? And Jim teasing him a little?_

Moving in together was a big deal, was usually the point when his relationships started deteriorating, so Jim knew it was fear of things falling apart that had him nitpicking over each and every apartment listed, rather than any serious concerns about location or noise pollution.

“It’s your choice,” Harvey told him after he had vetoed another perfectly decent option, shrugging as he snagged another slice of pizza, “I don’t care about anything but the fact you’re there.”

Jim raised an eyebrow and waited for the punchline. Braced himself to argue about the importance of closet space or neighborhood amenities, then realized that Harvey was being completely serious.

That his sentimental sap of a partner really was in this for the long haul.

It gave him the push he needed to finally make the commitment. To go view a nice two-bed apartment not too far from the precinct. To compromise on storage in favor of security, and to finally sign on the dotted line, Harvey assuring him over the phone that if he liked it he was sure it was perfect.

At first it even seemed as though Harvey had meant it. They laughed and they bantered, hauling Harvey’s ‘antique’ furniture up the stairwell and his own ‘characterful’ décor, complete with singe marks and bullet holes. Got fresh paint everywhere, Harvey smearing a white thumb down the bridge of his nose, and him flecking the back of Harvey’s shirt in retaliation.

From there it devolved into rough housing, into indignant giggling, and then they had to ruin an entire set of bedsheets, completely unable to wait long enough to clean up first.

“I guess we’ve really put our mark on the place now,” Harvey told him afterwards, petting his paint encrusted hair even as he eyed up the handprints all around the light switch, so that Jim could fall back on the kind of pretentious bullcrap people were always spouting at gallery openings, until Harvey was laughing so hard they ended up having to kiss each other silent all over again.

The problems started when things began to settle down into routine and normality. When the novelty began to wear off, Jim supposed, because Harvey - in usual circumstances one of the most laid back guys he had ever known - started stressing out over the stupidest inconsequentials. He snapped at him for leaving the lights on one night, then for turning the thermostat down the next. Had no comeback when Jim informed him he hadn’t touched them, choosing to demand instead if he had seen this knick knack, or that trinket, and sulked for three days straight when a family picture fell off the wall, glass shattering, as though Jim had deliberately chosen not to hammer the nail in properly.

It put him on edge in turn. Made him short tempered and prone to sniping, and he threw a half empty bottle of whiskey at the freshly painted wall one night when Harvey told him he was going to the bar - that he needed to get away for a few hours - because Harvey had promised him he was taking it easy on the drink, and because he was terrified that this was just a precursor to Harvey announcing that he was sick of him.

He determined to be the better man. To suck it up and apologize. Was debating the merits of dinner reservations over take out pizza, when three doors down from the house he was watching he saw Harvey disappearing over the threshold. It was nothing, he told himself. A lead Harvey was following up, or a quick visit to an informant. Harvey reappeared over an hour later, looking calmer - happier - and Jim felt so sick he had to bail out of the car and brace himself against the frame for long moments.

Because he knew that house, remembered it well from the early days of their partnership, back when Harvey was spending all his disposable income on professionals. Back when he had a whole array of regular haunts, dirty little boltholes frequented by men who had no self-respect and still fewer morals.

That was the way he framed his arguments when he got home that evening, frustrated and angered further by Harvey’s absence. He wanted an apology. He deserved an explanation. He thought, just for a moment, of taking a scissors to Harvey’s wardrobe, but settled for pouring Harvey’s drink stash down the sink and shoving his favorite snackfoods into the garbage disposal.

It was petty, ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself.

Didn’t want to help himself, he reasoned, and finally had to give up on the waiting and headed for the gym where he could take his humiliation out on the punchbag. Where he could exhaust himself, physically if not mentally, so that when he finally went home it was all he could do to collapse on the sofa and drift off into nightmares.

Harvey woke him in the early hours of the morning, hand gentle on his cheek as he asked him to come to bed, and Jim agreed because why should he be the one cramping up his back on the sofa? Threw a pillow at him, slammed the bedroom door shut, then wept hot angry tears into the remaining pillow that smelled so perfectly of Harvey.

“It’s this place,” Harvey tried in the morning, like it was his fault Harvey couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, and Jim sat fuming at his desk getting nothing done for hours until he told Harper he had to go out for an hour and found himself stood on the doorstep of some cut rate brothel.

Of some real shoddy affair he thought when the door opened, because the woman didn’t ask him any questions, and she didn’t check his credentials. Just ushered him in, her strange smelling perfume overpowering, and herded him down a long dark hallway to a chintzy room with a couple of plush armchairs and little crocheted covers hanging over the table lamps.

“You want to peer behind the veil,” the woman said to him, a statement rather than a question, and when he nodded anyway she held out her palm and told him it was cash, upfront, and no refunds. He grit his teeth together, reached in his pocket for his warrant card, and watched the frown furrow the woman’s brow as she looked at it and said, “Mrs. Opie never said you were a policeman.”

“I don’t know any Mrs. Opie,” he pointed out, patience wearing, and the thick European accent gave way to unadulterated Gotham as the woman stood up straighter and demanded,

“What the hell are you doing here then?”

He laid it on the line. Said he wanted to know how often Harvey had been coming here - how long it had been going on for. Who it was he saw, and how much he paid for the privilege.

“I hadn’t seen him in a while but he used to come by once a month, sometimes more. I know what your lot think of the business but I’m no charlatan. I don’t overcharge anyone who can’t afford it.”

The wave of hurt was disorientating, the anger debilitating, and he could only stare at her, dumbstruck, as she waved a dismissive hand and dropped into an armchair. Swept a Tarot deck into a neat pile on the table next to her and shrugged easily,

“I’m not out to prey on the grieving and the vulnerable. People just want some kind of comfort. Some reassurance that those they love are no longer suffering. That’s why I gave him all the patter about salt and sage - spirits only move on when they want to, and Bullock’s a nice guy. I don’t want to see him back the way he was.”

They both seemed to come to the realization about the same time, the reality of what the other was talking about, and she rounded angrily on him even as he sank slowly into the other armchair.

“He thinks our apartment’s haunted?” Jim interrupted a deserved dissection of his bad attitude and his jealous tendencies, still struggling to get his head around the concept. He knew Harvey was a believer, had teased him on more than one occasion about his aversion to disturbing resting spirits, and his outright refusal to touch the poppets he had brought out of Arkham.

Had laughed at his too obvious horror when Jim related tales of the Ouija board they had messed about with in the army, and really hadn’t bothered to do more than give the side of the dresser a cursory look a few weeks back, when Harvey was busy freaking out that his St. Benedict Medal had gone missing.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be judging!” She snapped, clearly less than impressed with him, and he was only saved from her full fury by a knock at the door and a nervous looking guy who was expecting a mysterious foreigner, not a blunt talking Gothamite. “Mr. Gordon was just leaving,” she said, glaring daggers, and Jim turned his collar up against the drizzle and tried to work out exactly where the revelation left him.

What it meant that he had been so quick to think the worst, and how they had any hope of making things work when he had never even given Harvey a chance to explain himself. He was supposed to have learned his lesson on that score. Knew what a disaster it was liable to lead to from the dark days after Pyg, and the Captaincy, and the Penguin.

It was late when he finally stopped procrastinating. When he quit hiding behind his paperwork and the shift rota, and worked up the courage to go home and face the music, knowing full well that Harvey would have been told all about his earlier visit. He could smell sage when he opened the door, thick in the air even over the second coat of paint that had had to go up over the whiskey sodden living room wall, and he loitered over hanging up his coat and untying his shoes. Felt like the worst kind of rat, the most awful lowlife, and held out the pendant he had picked up on the way back to the precinct like some kind of peace offering.

“I found mine already,” Harvey told him, subdued and tired sounding, “it had fallen down the back of the cabinet.”

“Have it as a spare then,” Jim offered, equally strained, because it had been bought as a gift and it wasn’t as though he was going to start wearing it. “Maybe you could hang it somewhere.”

If it made Harvey feel better, he didn’t care where he put it.

He didn’t care if they had to have crystals and charms all over the place. Would agree to move apartment again even, gladly, if only it would mean he was forgiven for being such a heel.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Jim offered, suddenly exhausted.

“Why didn’t you tell me you thought I was stepping out on you with a pro, huh?”

Jim looked away, ashamed, and Harvey sighed loudly. Took the medal from his hand and slowly pulled him in close, arms wrapping around him.

“Nobody wants to feel like they’re being laughed at, do they?”

“I wouldn’t have laughed,” Jim protested, even as he buried his nose in Harvey’s shirt front, inhaling deeply. Added, just a touch reluctantly, “Not much, anyway.”

Harvey pressed a kiss into his hair, helpless, and admitted, “I would have. In what kind of world would I be choosing anybody over you - how many times do I have to tell you, Jim?”

He couldn’t speak for the swell of emotion in his throat. Couldn’t look up for fear of losing control of the tears burning behind his eyelids. Just clung to Harvey for a long moment, struggling to maintain his composure, then managed scratchily,

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

Harvey sighed again. Nudged a finger under his chin until he had no choice but to look. Until Harvey could kiss him.

“Don’t make me sleep on the couch again,” he said when they broke apart, tone solemn but gaze soft with the assurance that everything was going to be all right, “I could feel it watching me last night.”

“I promise you I will protect you from the ghost,” Jim pledged, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “you just saw what I’m liable to get like if I think somebody else is touching you.”

“If it touches me you’re on your own here,” Harvey said, looking way too frightened, so that Jim could do nothing but kiss him possessively. Pour his heart into it, how truly sorry he was, and let Harvey clutch him tight in turn, and tell him breathlessly that he was such an idiot, and that he didn’t know what he was going to do with him.

“Teach me a lesson?” Jim suggested, hopeful, and Harvey only tugged at his hand and started leading him towards their bedroom, quipping cheekily,

“You’re lucky that I’m a very dedicated teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	201. Chapter 201

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Sequel to the[A/B/O MPreg chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30640308), maybe Harvey having the baby? Or if that’s not something you’d be comfortable writing, then maybe Jim loving on Harvey’s baby bump or him on diaper duty once the baby’s born?_

Jim had tried to keep his hands to himself. Had sat in one corner of the locked room they had ended up in, hands white knuckled around his knees, attempting to pretend that he couldn’t see Harvey losing it in another. That he couldn’t hear the keening whimpers pushing past his lips, nor smell the scent of a full heat, though his mouth was flooded with saliva and his dick was so hard it was physically hurting.

He thought of the outdated videos they had been made to watch on the subject back in health class, teenaged hormones having him squirming uncomfortably in his seat, the voice over advising them what to do if they ever found themselves in an emergency situation.

The breathing techniques and the things you could do with your fingers, if it really became necessary.

“Please,” Harvey all but sobbed, cheeks flushed and throat bared as he tipped his head back against the wall, fingers clenching and unclenching as he struggled not to touch himself, “you’ve got to help me out here, Jim.”

He was only human. He couldn’t take it any longer. He couldn’t stand to see Harvey in pain, desperate for relief, when all he had wanted for years now was to be the one Harvey turned to. To be the one Harvey trusted enough to let go of some of the swagger and the posturing for, and to let Jim take care of him the way he deserved to be.

The way Jim dreamed about doing, alone in bed at night, where nobody had to know just how bad he had it.

He was going to stick to fingers. Was just going to take the edge off, just make it so Harvey could last out until somebody came to rescue them - unlocked the security door at the very least - and then medical science could offer the assistance he had no right to. He knew it would never work from the moment he moved, clumsy on hands and knees, unable to stand with the waves and waves of want washing over him.

Harvey hauled him in close without hesitation. Kissed him like he was drowning, heated and desperate, and rocked up into him in a rhythm so perfect it had Jim on the edge before he even succeeded in working Harvey’s pants open.

The scent only grew thicker, more debilitating, and he lost all semblance of control. Sank a finger in deep, followed by another, Harvey begging him for more and harder. To make it stop, to ease the burning, and still Jim had to drop his head, wringing fevered cries out of Harvey with his tongue before he finally swiped a forearm across his mouth and pushed into him.

It was so good, so amazingly good, and Harvey encouraged his every thrust, hands clawing at his shirt even as he claimed his mouth in another frantic kiss. Jim couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop, and though he had been promising himself he was going to pull out, was not going to risk it, all he actually did was nip at the juncture of Harvey’s shoulder, shaking and trembling as their bodies locked together.

Harvey followed him over the precipice, noises like Jim had never dared dream of hearing pouring out of him, and Jim worried ceaselessly at the mark he had made, licking and kissing and nuzzling his nose along it. Made the most of every second, wishing he never had to move, and when the time came only moved away reluctantly, keeping his gaze downcast as he buttoned his shirt and righted his clothing.

As it hit him, full force, just what the hell he had done to his partner. His best friend. The love of his life, if all the chips were down. Because Harvey had been too far gone to know what he was asking for, had never once given him reason to believe he would want him to do this before he was lost to the heat of the moment, and now they were going to have to continue working side by side, both of them knowing that he couldn’t be trusted when push came to shove.

That he was exactly what his enemies said he was - an animal hiding behind a paper thin veneer of respectability.

The shame of it was crushing, the guilt sickening, and when one of Penguin’s henchmen finally came to let them out, too knowing smirk spread all across his features, Jim didn’t hang around to hear Harvey tell him thanks, but no thanks.

Things were strained between them in the days afterwards, only seemed to grow worse instead of better, and Harvey turned down his awkward suggestions they go for drinks in the evenings, only to turn up in the mornings paper pale with the effects of a hangover. To go kind of green at Jim’s peace offerings of coffee and breakfast, and to be physically sick across the way from one of his favorite food carts, like drinking himself into that state alone had still been preferable to having to spend any longer than absolutely necessary in his company.

Even back at the precinct Harvey kept slinking off somewhere. The rec room, and the rest room, and even the spine torturing bench in the locker room, skin ashen and expression pained when Jim found him actually sleeping on it one afternoon. Jim snapped at him later, didn’t know how else to deal with it, and the uncomfortable silences began to stretch between them, the knowledge of what he had done, and how impossible it was to fix it always hanging over their shoulders.

It couldn’t go on like that, not indefinitely. Harvey’s performance was suffering, their clean up rates falling, and Jim felt the worry start to churn in his gut when Harvey just gave up on a foot chase half a block in, shaking his head and slumping against the nearest wall. His heart just wasn’t in it, his faith in Jim’s judgement was shot to pieces, and Jim watched as Harvey outright refused to do anything but wait out a fire fight.

Disappeared the second it was over, as though Jim wasn’t yelling that he wanted everybody on scene reporting to him for a debriefing, and didn’t answer the door when Jim called by in the early evening needing to try and make things right between them.

The next morning Harvey actually approached him. Looked more put together than he had in weeks, a determined set to his shoulders, and Jim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at the sight of the HR forms he was clutching. Because things were bad, he knew. Things were in an awful mess of his own making. But they could fix it. They had to. They couldn’t fall apart for good - Harvey couldn’t transfer away from Central. Gotham.

Him.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“You don’t need to,” he begged, not caring how he sounded, “it was one time. I’ll never tell anyone. Haven’t I proven that to you?”

He had taken advantage, maybe, but he’d never humiliate Harvey by talking about it. He put a hand on Harvey’s arm, helpless, hyper aware of the way it was on the verge of trembling.

“I know I should have had more self-control. I know I had no right to do that to you. But we’re still partners, right? We can still work together?”

He was attempting to convince himself as much as Harvey, was desperate to hear some kind of reassurance, and then Harvey was just looking from the hand on his arm to his face, voice quiet but steady as he said,

“I’m not requesting a transfer. I’m going on light duties.”

It took a moment to sink in. A moment for his brain to make sense of what Harvey wasn’t telling him. Then he was staring at Harvey, dumbstruck. Looking him over for tell tale signs, and fighting back conflicting urges to freak out and to hug Harvey tight with happiness.

“I’m not expecting anything from you,” Harvey said, as though Jim wouldn’t hand him the moon on a platter, and suddenly it really hit that Harvey was carrying his baby yet had spent the bulk of the previous afternoon getting shot at. Had been on active duty the whole time, hadn’t even been eating properly, and he couldn’t help but fuss and fluster and come on entirely too strong, hovering anxiously over him every moment he felt he could get away with it.

Lee had told him he was driving her mad, that he had to back off and let her do things her own way, but he couldn’t help but feel that if he had tried harder - if he had done better - it might not have ended in heartache. That it was all his fault, for causing so much stress, and for not being able to shield her from it.

Harvey understood, he supposed. Was kind hearted enough that he didn’t call him out on it, and generous enough that he was still willing to let Jim attend appointments with him, and for his name to go on all the paperwork.

He tried to play it cool. Tried not to act like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Had to blink back tears at the hospital, clutching at Harvey’s hand as though they were a real couple, gazing awed at the screen and whispering,

“That’s our baby, Harvey.”

Harvey only looked away, expression set in a grimace, and Jim let go, his limbs numb with the cold icy dread running through them.

He had let himself get carried away. Had let himself believe that Harvey was, not happy, exactly, but accepting that he was in the picture long term. They needed to talk about it properly, he realized. Had to actually face up to what it was going to mean because he loved Harvey, adored Harvey, but he wasn’t prepared to bow out and not be part of his child’s life.

Not for anyone.

“I know I should be,” he said out in the car, chest tight with the need to get the words out, “but I can’t be sorry it was me. I wish it was the way you wanted, I wish I was who you wanted, but I’ll never be sorry that we’re sharing this.”

It was true, every word of it. He wished that Harvey had everything he wanted. Wished that his marriage had worked out, that he had been able to raise the huge family Jim knew Harvey had always dreamed of, and that his excitement over this baby wasn’t being tempered by the fact it was going to bind them together forever. On the other hand he was selfish, greedy, and even if he could turn the clock back he wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

Just like he couldn’t hide the state he was in. Couldn’t help the tears that escaped in spite of his best efforts, nor the way he flushed up to the tips of his ears at the memories accosting him when Harvey snapped,

“Who else would I want it to be, Jim? I begged you for it, or don’t you remember?”

He remembered, all right. Remembered every second of it. Every tremble and every whimper.

“Everybody begs for it in the heat of the moment. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Harvey just rolled his eyes and fixed him with a long suffering look. Used the tone that said he was being a total idiot, that he was missing the obvious, and said simply,

“You’re supposed to be the star detective.”

He opened his mouth to protest. Closed it again at the sight of the fond smile on Harvey’s face. Had his head racing to catch up with his heart, breath trembling out of him as Harvey took hold of his hand and pressed it over his straining stomach. He felt the baby kick, really felt it move under his palm, and his voice was so scratched up it was scarcely recognizable when he managed,

“I didn’t think I could get this lucky.”

“Can I quote you on that when you’re the one getting out of bed to go and change diapers at two in the morning?”

Jim just grinned, wide and stupid at the implication, and pledged that he’d appreciate the reminder. Kissed Harvey, just a touch frantic, and forgot all about any commitments to taking things easy. To not taking over completely, and spending way too much money, and doing battle with the flat pack crib in the nursery that still smelled overpoweringly of fresh paint, railroading all over Harvey’s protests that it was bad luck to count your chickens before they hatched.

“The baby’s fine,” he assured, not wanting to admit that it was kind of charming in its way, having Harvey looking to him for comfort like they were a picture perfect Omega/Alpha partnership, “everything’s going to be fine, I promise you.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Jim,” Harvey told him, not for the first time, and he ended up cuddled close behind Harvey, trying and quite probably failing not to let on just what the proximity was doing to him. How his hands itched with the need to reach out and touch - how the rest of him ached to explore his sensitive skin and swollen nipples.

He settled for pressing kisses into Harvey’s neck, sucking lightly until his breathing grew ragged. Until Harvey grabbed hold of his wrist, guiding and demanding, and panted out warnings every time his fingers were in danger of getting too rough or his suckling too enthusiastic.

“Anyone’d think you never get any,” Harvey groused, for all that his eyes were dark and his tone breathless, and Jim just felt drunk on having Harvey spread out before him, kissing him senseless before losing himself in the sounds Harvey made in response to the slick movements of his fingers, all over again.

Other nights Harvey told him straight out, tone brokering no argument, that he loved him fine but if he so much as thought about touching him he’d chop his hands off.

“I was just,” Jim tried, playing the innocent, and Harvey only raised an eyebrow in return and told him bluntly,

“I know exactly what you were ‘just’ doing.”

Jim blushed, nowhere else to go with it, and Harvey took pity and let him pet fingers through his hair, heart full to bursting with the idea that they were about to become a family. With the sincere pledges that he wouldn’t make the mistakes of his own parents - that he wasn’t going to mess this up. Not while there was breath in his body.

Not even if it meant pretending to be calm, to be in control, when the stress of it finally proved too much and Harvey told him brokenly that he had always known something was going to go wrong. That he should never have been so stupid as to hope otherwise, and that he should never have said a word to him - should never have put him through it all a second time.

“It’s all going to be fine,” he repeated over and over, like a broken record, and had to go press his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror in the restroom, relief overwhelming when the doctor agreed with him. Told them in the clipped professional tones Lee had always been so good at,

“Go home, get some rest. Come back in the morning if it hasn’t already started.”

He got right on that. Made food Harvey didn’t eat, and dozed intermittently while Harvey stared at the wall, still and silent, like they had been given bad news instead of good.

“I’m too old,” Harvey told him dully when his prompting finally got them somewhere, “this wasn’t supposed to happen. You have to accept God’s will, Jim.”

Jim swallowed back the response on the tip of his tongue. Really didn’t want to start a philosophical debate, nor a pointless argument, and made do with pulling Harvey’s head onto his chest and encouraging him to try and get some sleep. To think about how close they were to the finish line, how happy he would be this time tomorrow, before finally giving it up as a bad job and waiting for the hours to crawl by until they had to leave to make the hospital appointment.

This time the nurse wasn’t all smiles, and even the doctor’s professional façade was cracking at the edges. Harvey looked pale as a corpse, resigned like the whole thing had been some self-fulfilling prophecy. Like the outcome was already certain. Jim felt like dead weight, still more useless than he had trapped behind bars in Blackgate, and he was left standing there, helpless, as they whisked Harvey off to the OR and told him that they would be doing what they could do, given the circumstances.

That they would let him know what was happening, if one or both or neither had come through the other side, just as soon as they could.

He had to pace the confines of a sterile little waiting room, fear like he had never known constricting in his chest so that he couldn’t breathe for it. Couldn’t think for it, even, and he braced himself for the worst, knees scarcely up to the job of keeping him standing when somebody stuck their head around the door to inform him the baby was breathing.

Left him alone again to hyperventilate, to sweat like he had been out on a foot chase, and then finally let him go and sit at Harvey’s bedside, holding the baby like it might break while he waited for Harvey to come around from surgery. To tell him from his own lips that he was okay - that it wasn’t all about to fall apart in spite of everything.

Harvey was so out of it when he came around that he couldn’t really say much of anything. Squeezed at his hand, just a little, before passing out again. Woke up again later, still slow and drug addled, and only clung to him, no smartass comment forthcoming, when Jim told him that he had said everything was going to work out just fine.

It took a little longer, cost him all his leave allowance, but eventually he got them both from the hospital. Gave Harvey a smug smile when the crib didn’t fall apart the instant the baby was placed in it, and promised that he was more than happy with Harvey’s mother’s name, no matter how much ribbing he was going to get from certain quarters for it.

“Barbara Gordon - that’s the kind of name that says you’re going places.”

Harvey snorted with laughter, good natured but incredulous,

“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but we ain’t married.”

“We could be.”

His heart hammered a little harder, all too aware that this was right down there with the worst of his proposals. No ring, no fanfare. He wasn’t even wearing a decent shirt for the occasion.

“And you really think I’m going to take your name, do you?” Harvey asked, smile giving it all away, and Jim went down on his knees to press a kiss to Harvey’s hand, then Barbara’s forehead.

“I’d make it worth your while,” he offered, beaming so wide he’d have truly offered anything.

“That so?” Harvey said, considering, then handed over a wriggling baby and smiled right back at him, “Somebody needs their diaper changing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	202. Chapter 202

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock secret relationship fluff please?_
> 
> It's so secret, even Jim doesn't know about it... :D

“The color scheme is peach and ocean blue - don’t ask me why,” there was a pause where Jim was sure he could hear his mother shudder over the phone, “but Thelma seems to think it’s attractive and you know I would never dream of interfering.”

Jim gave his reflection a knowing smile and made what he hoped was a sympathetic noise. Understanding but non-committal. He wasn’t going to be the one telling Roger’s fiancée that her wedding plans weren’t up to standard. He had had more than enough of that with his own engagements. His mother carried on, none the wiser,

“So I want to make sure you’re not planning on wearing that horrendous suit you met me in last time. I really don’t know what you were thinking.”

“I really liked that suit,” Jim offered, taking a moment to mourn its passing, while his mother continued as though he had never spoken,

“I’ve bought you a tie, and a pocket square, and if you could have dragged yourself away from work to get here at a reasonable time I would have had you both fitted for a vest. As it is I’m going to have to rely on you to make sure your boyfriend’s wearing something suitable; I’ve emailed you over a color swatch -”

“I haven’t got a boyfriend.”

The words sounded kind of unsteady on his lips, all the low level outrage and long suffering resignation his mother’s phone calls usually inspired draining away to be replaced by a flare of panic.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jim, I thought we were past this nonsense. You can’t keep it a secret forever.”

“But -”

His mother sighed, a sharp put upon noise that signalled he was doing the opposite of the right thing, “You haven’t chased another one away, have you? I didn’t bring you up to be this disagreeable. You should have been settled by now - what was the name of that nice Lieutenant Colonel you introduced to us that time?”

“I don’t know,” Jim frowned, racking his memory for a suitable candidate and coming up with a total blank, “I never -”

“Nevermind that now, I have a busy day ahead of me. Why don’t you call him as soon as we finish and grovel a little?”

“Who? The Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Jim, you know that. Call your boyfriend - Harold, was it?”

“Harvey,” Jim whispered, numb and disbelieving.

“That’s it. You just ring Harvey and tell him you’re sorry for whatever it is you did. You’ll have to manage it somehow, I can’t change the seating plan at this juncture. Then make sure you’re both there by 7pm on Thursday.”

“I -”

“No need to thank me, Jim. 7, Thursday, ocean blue. I have to go now, darl-”

The call cut off and Jim just sat there staring at his cell for long moments, pale faced and wide eyed.

What the hell had just happened?

* * *

“My mother thinks we’re dating.”

He had been reworking that line all afternoon. Had spent hours attempting to think of a way to get that concept across without actually having to say it. In the end it simply tumbled out of him, helpless, and Harvey blinked at him a few times before managing,

“Dare I ask why she thinks I’m screwing her baby boy?”

“I was never her baby boy,” Jim grimaced, holding a finger up to signal that was his first point, “and I don’t know. She only met you for two minutes.”

It had been months ago, his Mom stopping off for a couple of hours on her way to some conference or other, wanting the rest and relaxation she only found while telling him what a monumental disappointment he was. Harvey had called him to ask where he was with the Reilly case, had offered his services to drive his mother to the airport, then turned up in his scrapheap of a Diplomat only for his Mom to say that, actually, she had decided to catch a cab anyway.

“I make an impression, what can I say? Once you go Bullock you never go back.”

“Please don’t say that again. Don’t even think it. In fact, swear to me right now that you won’t say anything remotely like that ever again. At least until we get back from this wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“Roger’s wedding,” Jim huffed, all too aware that he sounded exactly like his mother. “They think we’re together. They can’t change the seating arrangements.”

Harvey looked sceptical. As sceptical as he should have been - would have been, maybe, if he wasn’t so busy freaking out about the fact his mother knew he wasn’t strictly a ladies man, and believed him to be sleeping with Harvey into the bargain.

“You have to come with me. This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Jim griped, the panic back in his chest and screwing with his thought processes, “you were the one who _made an impression_.”

Harvey tilted his head to the side, looking at him over the rim of the glasses which were doing nothing to help his flustered heart rate.

“Is there an open bar?”

“Is there an… I’ll buy your drinks! I’ll order whatever you like from that pizza place the health inspector wanted closed down. I’ll let you cheer the Gotham Harriers in public.”

“All right,” Harvey said and held his hand out. Reached for his own when Jim just stared at it dumbly, and shook it firmly. “Deal.”

* * *

Jim gnawed his nails down to the quick on the flight out. Squirmed in his seat and thought of all the ways the trip could end up in disaster. Was bound to end up in disaster, really, and it was only when Harvey put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him backwards that he realized how far forward he had been hunched, fretting and panicking.

“You need to stop stressing, Jim.” He grinned. “Sweetheart.”

It made his heart falter, just a little, because, okay, maybe it wasn’t all Harvey’s fault that his Mom had assumed they were really partners. Maybe he had been crushing on Harvey for a long time now. Years, if you were talking specifics. Hearing Harvey throw endearments around like that - well. He hadn’t been prepared for it.

“Look,” Harvey soothed, “all you’ve gotta do is sit there and look pretty in that new suit you’ve bought. Wish the newly-weds well, eat a whole bunch of overpriced food, and then you can go home and tell your Mom you kicked me to the curb ‘cos you’ve had enough of slumming it.”

“I’m not - I mean, I wouldn’t be slumming it.”

Harvey shrugged easily. “That’s what your Mom’s thinking.”

It was, probably. She had always wanted him to marry well. To do well. To be better than he was, really, and he determined there and then that he wouldn’t let her get away with insulting Harvey. Roger neither. If this were real, if he and Harvey were really a couple, he wouldn’t stand for it.

There was no reason why he should just because their relationship was make believe.

It was easier said than done, all the same, because his mother looked Harvey’s rumpled suit and too long hair over with an expression that spoke volumes. Asked him pointedly where his family were from, and where he went to college.

“The Gotham slums - I graduated the School of Hard Knocks, full honors.”

His Mom pursed her lips, geared up for some insult or other, and Jim rushed to salvage the situation, asking her if the painting hanging above the fireplace was a new addition.

“Roger bought it,” his Mom said, tone fond in a way Jim was sure it never was when she was speaking of him, “it’s reminiscent of the Devětsil school, don’t you think, Jim?”

“It sure looks like something someone did in school,” Harvey said, mercifully pitched for his ears only, and Jim was torn between glaring daggers and stifling laughter. He settled for giving Harvey a small smile, appreciative of the way his suit was framing his shoulders, even if his Mom wasn’t.

Even if she caught him right in the middle of appreciating it, and even if she chose to embarrass him at the overly elaborate dinner she had organized by telling everyone that it would be his wedding they were attending next.

“I’m not sure weddings are really Jim’s scene,” Harvey tried, seeing the way his face fell at the explanations of what had happened to all his other engagements. “You don’t need a ring on your finger to prove that you love someone.”

“Is this a religious thing?” His mother asked, tone somewhere between fascinated and sympathetic, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a real believer in the family before.”

“What?” Harvey asked, clearly clueless, and Jim cringed into his smoked duck as his mother assured that it was charmingly quaint that Harvey wasn’t willing to marry outside the faith.

As Thelma’s father started in on some droning lecture about sociological constructs and the place of the placebo in the modern psyche.

“My point,” Harvey interrupted finally, when it became clear that it wasn’t going to stop unless somebody forced it to, “was that I wouldn’t railroad him up the aisle if he didn’t want it. Not that I’m some dumb Mick who needs to be told how to live my life. Not by the Church, not by you. Not by anyone.”

Jim braced himself for the fall out. Watched Harvey stare his mother down for two beats, three, and then, contrary to all his expectations, she raised her wine glass and inclined her head graciously.

“Touché.”

* * *

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Harvey asked him later, puppy dog eyes making Jim’s stomach flutter as Harvey apologized for arguing with his mother.

“I should be,” he said thinking of the ground rules they had hashed out, over and over again, “but no. It was kind of amazing.”

Harvey beamed, dropping down onto the double bed his mother had granted them - her prudishness apparently dissolved now he wasn’t actually engaged to the date he had brought home with him - and confessing,

“I know. It should have been my middle name.”

“What is your middle name?” Jim asked in turn, suddenly curious.

“Paul. For Pope Paul VI - but don’t tell your mother that!”

Jim laughed. Couldn’t help it, couldn’t quit it, and he figured it was either that or start hyperventilating. Panicking all over again, because he hadn’t brought any pajamas, and he had no choice but to strip down to his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, then clamber into bed beside Harvey. There was nothing but the blanket between them, Harvey still needing to get undressed, and Jim felt his pulse picking up in anticipation.

Watched through lowered lashes when Harvey hauled himself up and began getting on with it. Dropped his pants, and unbuttoned his shirt, and then disappeared into the en suite to clean his teeth and rifle through his Mom’s hand soap collection.

“You can never be too clean,” Jim quoted when Harvey re-emerged, and Harvey only raised an eyebrow as he got into bed with him.

“That where you got it from, is it? I never knew anyone so finicky as you - those little bottles of gel you carry around? My Ma, she just used to spit on a tissue and scrape it up the side of my face. Never did me any harm.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Maybe it was the extra bottle of red his Mom had cracked open at dinner. Perhaps it was just his horrified delivery. Either way Harvey simply beamed wide and said,

“Let me demonstrate.”

Leaned right in close, so Jim was frozen in place with the proximity, and braced a palm on the mattress beside Jim’s face. Was going to kiss him, Jim thought. Hoped. Prayed, to all the deities he didn’t believe in. Then he licked a broad stripe up the side of his face, right up to the edge of his eyebrow, and collapsed in a fit of undignified giggles.

“That - what - why would you do that!?”

“The look on your face. Plus you tasted kind of nice. Minty.”

“My face isn’t minty.”

“Maybe it’s your Mom’s soap. You can lick mine and check if you want to.”

God help him, but he actually considered it.

* * *

The entire night was an exercise in torture. In not pressing too close, and in not letting his hands wander. Because all he really wanted to was cuddle into Harvey and be held by him.

Kiss him, perhaps, just in gratitude. Take him up on the face licking, and the neck kissing, and all kinds of sucking. There definitely needed to be sucking.

Instead he lay there awake, stiff and tense, listening to Harvey snore softly. Thinking about how this was it - this was probably the closest he would ever come to knowing what it was like to be with Harvey. It was a depressing thought, left him tired and miserable, and in the morning he pulled a face at the dark smudges beneath his eyes as he knotted the tie his mother had bought him.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” Harvey asked him, all concerned frown, and when he didn’t answer quick enough added, “People always tell me that I’m a bed hogger. I should have warned you.”

“It wasn’t that,” Jim promised, too tired to think up a convincing sounding witticism, and he probably would have elaborated more if his mother hadn’t chosen that moment to knock at the door and tell him that breakfast was ready.

Harvey piled his plate high, leaving him to chew steadily on a piece of dry toast, and Roger emerged from wherever he had been hiding to tell him that police work was really ageing him.

“You’d never know I’m the eldest,” Roger said, preening over his own reflection, so Harvey swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg to say,

“I wouldn’t have even known you two were brothers. Genetic advantage, I think they’d call it.”

Jim hid a smile behind his orange juice, while Roger nodded sincerely, failing to notice anything amiss with the statement.

When breakfast was done, it was onwards and upwards. Onwards to the wedding cars, and up seven seemingly never ending flights of steps because Roger couldn’t do anything without turning it into a nightmare for everyone around him. His shirt collar felt too tight by the time they were out on the rooftop, Harvey panting lightly, and he spied his mother walking over to him without a hair out of place, sighing pityingly as she asked him why he hadn’t taken the elevator like the rest of the wedding party.

“Nobody said anything about an elevator,” Jim pointed out reasonably. “There were no signs.”

His mother had already moved onto the partner at Roger’s law firm, so he made so with finding a seat and getting through the ceremony. On trying not to imagine how it would have been if it had been him and Lee up there. Him and Barbara. Him and Mandy Simmons from high school, even, and then Harvey slid an arm around his shoulders like he knew how miserable he was feeling. Like they were the real deal, no question, and Jim played along by relaxing into his side a little.

They got the elevator back down, Harvey tugging him over the threshold before he could protest, and then kept hold of his hand, thumb stroking along it as though he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. Kept hold of it as they walked to the reception hall, and then only let go to pull his chair out for him.

“You don’t have to lay it on quite so thick. There are no marks out of ten at the end of this.”

“I’m a gentleman,” Harvey scolded, “I’ve got a reputation to think of.”

“I’m a grown man. I can pull my own chair out.”

Harvey only sniffed delicately and gave Thelma’s sister a hurt look. “And people wonder why chivalry is dead.”

She laughed. Dumped her purse down on the table and said things everyone was thinking but no-one was saying about the ocean blue and peach taffeta she had been forced into wearing. Asked Harvey to tell her how he and Jim had met, to spare her from having to make small talk with Jim’s mother, and Jim listened on incredulously as Harvey spun a tale that sounded like the plot of a bad Harlequin novel.

“I knew he was it for me from the moment I laid eyes on him. You gotta picture it - he still had the military buzz cut, this shirt that looked like it had shrunk two sizes in the laundry, and the bluest eyes you ever saw on anyone. And he’s stood there, pouting away because the Captain says there’s no way in Hell he’s getting the car keys, those calf lashes batting up at me. I was a goner.”

“You hated me on sight,” Jim countered, “you told me that you’d sooner work with a pawless monkey.”

It was the kind of line that stuck in the memory.

“I had to tell you that,” Harvey admonished, setting the first of many drinks down in front of him, “If you’d known I was ready to get down on my knees and worship you, you’d have been trying to get away with all sorts. Look where we are now. You took my desk stapler six months ago. I’m never gonna see that again.”

“I told Alvarez to give it back to you.”

“That spirit of romance,” Harvey said with a flourish, and pressed a kiss to his cheek before Jim could do a thing about it, “it’s just one of the many reasons why I love you.”

* * *

Harvey kept saying that. The more he drank, the more insistent he was about it.

Tried to feed him bites of food from his own fork until Jim hissed at him to knock it off, and then kissed his cheek again as he asked him if he could forgive him. If he really minded that he was so uncouth, and so clumsy, and so completely unable to keep his hands off him.

“How much have you had to drink?” Jim asked finally, suspicious of the freckles visible beneath the flush on Harvey’s cheeks and across his nose, and Harvey slurred another apology and told him that he had had to empty his hip flask for dutch courage.

That Jim just didn’t understand how difficult this kind of thing was for him.

He sobered up quick when Jim dragged him out to the balcony, at least, and looked suitably shame faced and embarrassed as he leaned against the railings and sucked in a few lungfuls of fresh air.

As he looked over at him, eyes dark and unreadable, and then shook his head as though some invisible audience had just asked him a question.

“Is it that I’m a guy?” Jim started, intent on questions of his own, “Or is it that it’s me? Which one’s the problem?”

He thought Harvey wasn’t going to answer. The silence stretched long enough, at any rate, and he was about to reframe it, to try another angle, while inside one cheesy love song merged into another.

“It’s that it’s not you,” Harvey said suddenly, “not really. How would you feel, Jim? Having everything you ever wanted dangling in front of you on a hook, but you know that if you reach for it it’s just gonna be yanked away again?”

Jim frowned, trying to make sense of the outburst, and Harvey just raked his hair back from his face and shook his head again.

“Forget I said anything. Chalk it up to the drink, it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Jim said, certain, and the look on Harvey’s face said it all.

The stupid stories he had been telling Thelma’s sister explained everything.

“Did you really want me right from the beginning?” He asked, remembering the way his own gaze had lingered a beat too long on Harvey’s backside. “Do you really think my pout is adorable?”

“That was artistic licence. Some days your pouting makes me want to tie you to a bed and never let you up again.”

“Seems kind of an extreme reaction.”

“I’m an extreme kind of guy. All or nothing. I don’t do anything by half measures.”

Jim got it. Heard the message loud and clear.

“I don’t like sharing,” he admitted. “I’ve always wanted to be the center of your attention.”

“You’ve no idea how much I love you,” Harvey breathed, soft yet anguished, like he couldn’t hold the words back any longer.

He felt it like a jolt of electricity. Like a lightening strike of certainty.

“As much as I love you, I hope,” he offered, nerves on edge and skin tingling, and Harvey just pulled him into a kiss that lasted until his shirt was half untucked and somebody came to tell them that the cake was about to be cut.

“I love you a lot,” Harvey whispered to him then, fixing his tie for him and straightening out his shirt, “but there’s cake being served now. I hope you can understand that.”

Jim just waved him off, grinning stupidly the whole while, and did a 180 on one of his longest held opinions.

He loved weddings.

* * *

“I’ll expect you both back for Thanksgiving,” his mother told him when the festivities were over. When she touched his arm, just for a moment, and bestowed him with the kind of smile he was hankering after as a child.

“It was nice,” he said in turn, wanting her to know that he meant it, “I’m glad we came.”

“I’m just glad you saw sense,” she said, and took them right back to square one all over again, “you’re getting too old to be choosy now. You need to hold on to whomever is willing to put up with you.”

“You heard the lady,” Harvey said when they were in the cab, putting a hand on his knee and squeezing, knowing just the same as usual how to make him feel better, “this means you’re stuck with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	203. Chapter 203

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ishipallthings prompted: _Jim overhears Harvey tell someone 'I'm so in love with him' and assumes it's about someone else. He decides to help Harvey woo his mystery guy so at least one of them can be happy._

He first knew something was terribly terribly wrong when Harvey turned up at the precinct with a freshly pressed suit and a haircut. It wasn’t that it was bad - wasn’t that he didn’t have to splash cold water on his face in the sanctity of the locker room in an attempt to pull himself together - it was just that it was a forerunner of all the things to come.

Because over the next few weeks Harvey seemed to be doing his utmost to morph into an entirely different person. He shined his shoes and cleared his desk of paperwork. Almost lost an eye in an attempt to switch from the glasses Jim loved to contact lenses, and stroked his fingers over the fedora before leaving where it was when Jim grabbed a ride with him in the morning. He picked up granola bars instead of candy from the rec room vending machine, and ordered salad when they met up over lunch, though he still couldn’t bring himself to do more than pick at it miserably.

“Here, finish mine,” Jim offered, his own plate full of meat and potatoes, but Harvey shook his head solemnly. Turned down the coffee, even, and pretended not to be wistfully watching the guy two booths over eating waffles with bacon.

Harvey never passed up free food, not unless he was at death’s door, and Jim tried for levity as he asked Harvey if he was feeling all right.

“Never better,” Harvey lied, like they both couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling, “You were right, I should have gone in for healthy living years ago.”

The problem was that that sounded exactly like something he would say. The kind of bullshit that tripped out of his own mouth 24/7, 365 days a year. Because the reality was that, yeah, he wished Harvey would take it a little easier on the booze and the chips and the donuts, but he certainly didn’t want Harvey caring more about what he was or wasn’t eating than the time they spent together.

He didn’t want Harvey overdoing things, literally running before he could walk, because you had to work up to that kind of thing. He knew - he had done a couple of stints as personal trainer in between the army and police academy. It came out all wrong when he tried to explain that to Harvey, flustered by the sight and the proximity of Harvey flushed and sweating in the precinct gym, and in turn Harvey glared at him and said that he wasn’t about to drop dead just yet.

“You think I’m past it - washed up and over the hill. But I can change, Jim. You’ll see.”

Jim took it out on the punch bag, on and on until it felt like every muscle in his body was aching. He didn’t want Harvey to change. He wanted Harvey just the way he was. He liked that Harvey was laid back and easy going. He loved Harvey’s appearance. Just loved him, period.

He took a long hard look at himself when he made it back to his empty apartment. Slumped against the closed door and wished he hadn’t been encouraging Harvey’s new found commitment to kicking the demon drink. That was some damn fine whiskey he had poured down his kitchen sink. He could do with it now. Really needed something right now because, sometimes, the obvious explanation was the correct one.

Sometimes, when your best friend was embarking on a complete personality transplant, it meant exactly what you thought it did.

Harvey had still been at the precinct when Jim emerged from the locker room, showered and changed and wishing he had kept his stupid mouth shut. Harvey was talking with Harper, the two of them hashing something deep and meaningful in the alcove by the vending machine. Something that had Harvey looking downcast, and Harper looking sympathetic.

Something that he had just had to eavesdrop in on, completely unable to help himself.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Harvey had told her, Jim’s heart cracking at the hopeless tone and the way Harvey’s hair was falling in his face. Had let her put a hand on his arm in comfort, and broke Jim’s heart completely, “I’m so in love with him.”

Jim didn’t hang around to hear any more.

He couldn’t take it.

Morning still dawned though, just the same as always. He arrived to an escalating crisis, just like usual, and Harvey sat in his regular seat for the briefing, watching him intently.

It wasn’t the same though. Everything was different.

His hopes had been crushed. All his stupid daydreams trampled into the dust. The pathetic little fantasies that got him through each day, imagining the distant day when he might convince Harvey to take a chance on him, were well and truly thwarted.

Instead he hid behind his emotional barriers and snapped at anyone who dared to speak to him. Came down like a ton of bricks on a poor uniformed officer who, in the grand scheme of things, had really done nothing wrong, and watched Harvey smile as he spoke to Lucius Fox outside Jim’s office window, the jealousy so all consuming he wasn’t sure if he wanted to sob or punch something.

It had been easy enough to work out, there was no denying it. The GCPD wasn’t exactly flooded with likely candidates, and Jim had had a front row seat to Harvey’s open admiration of Fox on more than one occasion.

Who wouldn’t want Lucius, Jim thought as the day crawled by. He was smart, funny, had excellent dress sense. He was a good guy - not a hypocrite of an impersonation - and he was popular with everyone. Nobody scrawled graffiti in the men’s room about how Lucius would be better off dead.

He could make Harvey happy Jim concluded finally, reluctantly. There were no doubts about it.

All he could do now, Jim realized, was attempt to help the course of true love run smoothly. He could be a sounding board for Harvey’s pining, and he could do his bit to make Lucius see what an amazing guy Harvey was.

“I’m swamped with this,” Jim bluffed the very next day, the self-sacrifice sticking like ashes in his mouth, “can you go through Lucius’ report with him?”

Harvey frowned, seeing through his transparent motives in all probability, but it soon turned into a wide smile and a promise that he’d make a good job of it. Jim didn’t say anything to that - he knew Harvey would. Just like he knew he was doing the right thing when he mentioned to Lucius that Harvey was keen to learn more about the science behind it all.

Knew he had to tamp down his frustration when Harvey took it out on him, the implication that they both thought Harvey an idiot, and lost his temper a little all the same, hands on his hips as he said that he thought Harvey would be thanking him. That he would be happy to have a reason to spend time down in the lab.

“I haven’t seen you all week,” Harvey said, defensive, and Jim wished that he wasn’t hyper aware of the length of each and every second.

They ended up shooting pool at a bar not far from the precinct, more sociability than Jim had had in a month or more, and as it grew late Jim couldn’t help but suggest that they order pizza and go back to his place. Lucius wasn’t going to show and there was no reason why they couldn’t still be friends, even if Harvey was gearing up to spend the bulk of his time with somebody else.

“I shouldn’t,” Harvey said, patting down the side of his suit like he wasn’t even consciously aware he was doing it. Jim watched the movement, too focused, and hated himself for the evidence of his own toxic nature. Encouraged and enabled regardless, and curled his fingers into his pants legs, back on his couch, because the sight of Harvey closing his eyes in bliss at the first bite of pizza was threatening to rob him of his reason.

“It’s good pizza,” was the best conversation Jim could manage given the circumstances, over eager and a touch breathless.

“Too good,” Harvey said. Brushed by his arm reaching for the soda and added, “I’m starting to get sick of feeling hungry.”

“You told me life’s too short to waste it being miserable,” Jim said in response, too earnest, because it was better than voicing what he was really thinking:

If he doesn’t want you as you are, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.

He tried to make up for his weak willed slip by rejigging the rota so that Harvey and Lucius had to spend more time in each other’s company. Sent them both on a two day training course, needing to tick boxes for the Commissioner, and drank himself into oblivion when he spied the pair of them sharing a joke out by the car pool. Sent a dumb text to Harvey about the pains of loneliness, and groaned aloud at his own stupidity in the morning.

Because it just needed the final push. Had to be so close to being a done deal.

He came to a decision in the morning, the hangover pounding in his skull even as his gaze fell on the hated date on the calendar. Today he was another year older. Today was the day to look back on all his failures during the previous year. The people he had hurt and the mistakes he had made.

“A few of us are going for drinks later,” he told Lucius mid-morning, as big an untruth as he had ever uttered, “I’d really like it if you could join us.”

There was nobody interested in toasting his continued existence. Nobody other than Harvey, at least, and Jim hoped that this would prove to Harvey once and for all that he truly did value him. His loyalty, and his friendship, and his ability to save him from himself over and over again.

He still went home to change before heading for the bar, some perverse part of him wanting Harvey to see what he was turning down by choosing Lucius. The same part that picked out the shirt Harvey had once complimented, and the tie Harvey had bought him one Christmas. He fixed his collar in the mirror and combed his hair back neatly. Gave his reflection one last maudlin look and left to go face the music.

Rehearsed the line he was going to give when he got there, about he wasn’t feeling too well. How he hoped the two of them had a good night without him.

“Jim,” Harvey said when he approached the familiar building, startling him out of his reverie, “I really need to speak to you before you go in there.”

He did his best to plaster a brittle smile on his face. Felt it falter when Harvey’s gaze fell on his neck tie, the recognition evident, and disappear completely when Harvey told him that it was going to be more than just the two of them. The three of them, even, because Lucius had been under the impression everyone was invited.

“I’m sorry,” Jim managed, because Harvey being happy would have been the best birthday present, and Harvey just fixed him with a confused look and said,

“What I’m saying is that I’ve got to get this out before we have an audience. I can’t keep quiet any longer.”

Jim nodded. Tried to look enthusiastic about the forthcoming confession.

“That course you sent us on - was bullshit, obviously. But there was something they said, Jim, about making the most of today because you don’t know what’s coming tomorrow. About going for what you want now because the chance might not be there when you come back for it.”

The trademark Gotham drizzle was making itself known, icy cold and catching in his lashes. Mingling with his own emotional outpouring, so that he was going to say something about how Harvey should be saying this to person he actually wanted. To anyone but the supposed friend who wanted nothing more than to be selfish, and to keep Harvey all to himself.

“I can’t be the guy you deserve,” Harvey said, knocking all the breath from his lungs. Gestured down at himself, at the weight that had started creeping back on and the mud clinging stubbornly to his trouser cuffs, “this is as good as it’s ever gonna get, and I know it’s not good enough. But you never need to sit around your apartment thinking you’re all alone. I love you, Jim. I just - I need you to know that.”

The rain started falling harder. Somebody pushed open the door of the bar for a moment, light and noise filling the air around them, before silence reigned once more. Jim just stood there staring, dumbstruck, until Harvey turned to leave, expression crushed like Jim had never seen it. That was the push he needed to move. To laugh, lost and stupid, and slide his fingers into the wet tendrils of hair hanging around Harvey’s face.

“I don’t need you to change everything about yourself for me,” he croaked out, lips numb from the rain even as he pressed in close enough for his tongue to steal into the heat of Harvey’s mouth. Harvey held his head in place. Kissed him hard and demanding, and smiled wide at the sight he made when they finally pulled apart.

“Likewise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	204. Chapter 204

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Could you please write a continuation for[chapter 142](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27972645). Angst, regret and maybe a happy ending?_

“You can’t just walk away. The GCPD needs you.”

“Is that what she said to you?” Harvey asked, derisive as he drained his whiskey tumbler. Snorted softly and added, “Did it get your dick hard, being told that nobody could save the Department but the great Jim Gordon?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jim countered, choking back the swell of emotion clogging in his throat, because he had been weak, sure. He had been monumentally stupid. But he hadn’t stabbed the very best friend he had ever had in the back just for the promise of getting his leg over.

He wasn’t that much of a bastard.

“Sure it was,” Harvey said easily, “you forget that I know you, Jim. I know you better than anyone. She stroked your ego, told you that she couldn’t cope without a big strong policeman to protect her, and you clung to that because the alternative was admitting to yourself what you really wanted.”

“What’s that?”

Harvey slid from the bar stool and shoved his hat on his head, deliberately jostling his shoulder as he pushed past.

“To get fucked.”

\--

Jim wasn’t good at a lot of things. Taking a hint, letting go, communicating. All he really had going for him was tenacity. The stubborn refusal to give up and move on.

It was that which had him tracking Harvey down, again and again, not willing to accept that it was really over.

For the most part Harvey was hostile and adamant. Told him bluntly that he had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. That the choice had been there, the offer had been on the table, but he had made it clear that it wasn’t good enough.

That it had only ever been a last resort because he was afraid nobody else would touch him.

“I was drunk,” Jim protested in explanation, “I was angry and lonely.”

“You don’t have to justify it to me,” Harvey shrugged, like they hadn’t been on the verge of ‘I love you’s and ‘Forever’s before his trip to Miami, “You’re the one who turned a mistake into a habit.”

Other times Harvey couldn’t hide the cracks in the disinterested façade he was presenting. Lost his temper a little and snarled at him as he demanded to know what he was getting out of this. If he would only be satisfied when he had destroyed him completely.

“I want a second chance. I want to make it up to you.”

“You want somebody to make you feel better. You want somebody to tell you that it wasn’t your fault. I can’t do it, Jim. I’m not going to.”

Once, when he turned up on Harvey’s doorstep, his suit worse for wear and the fresh stitches still stinging at his temple, Harvey dropped the act and said simply,

“You broke my heart. I’ve got nothing left to give you.”

\--

He responded by losing himself in the bottom of a bottle. By sobbing, ugly and helpless, and then by smashing his fist through the door of his cabinet.

It didn’t make him feel any better, none of it, and next time their paths crossed Jim promised that he would respect Harvey’s wishes and leave him alone.

Nothing lasted forever.

Except Harvey had to know even as he was saying it that he always broke his promises. That he couldn’t let go, couldn’t walk away, and it wasn’t long before he was falling off the wagon, texting when he was drunk and trying to impress Harvey with grand gestures that were little more than actions he should have taken a long time ago.

He came out to his Mother, the mantle clock ticking steadily while she looked him over impassively and asked what he expected her to say to news she had known since before he left for the army, and he came clean about the help he had received in ascending to the Captaincy.

The troops faltered but ultimately rallied around him, the Commissioner assuring him grudgingly that his position was secure, so that it was only Tuttle’s long service that gave him the right and the front to jab a finger in his chest and say that there was only one reason he had got to where he was.

That he ought to be ashamed of himself for the way he had treated his partner.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jim snapped, masking shame with anger, “Don’t you think I’d give anything to make it up to him?”

Tuttle stared him down for a long moment, seeing right through the cop and the crusader to the guy who just wanted to love and be loved, no strings attached.

“Some things just can’t be fixed, Gordon. Sooner you understand that, the better it will be for everyone.”

He really did break after that. Went home and stifled sobs into his fist, the finality of it more than he could handle. Thought of the way Harvey’s arms had felt around him, like he was exactly where he belonged, and then the look on Harvey’s face, when he told him that what they had was nothing serious.

That they had both known it wouldn’t last.

That he would end up ruining it, that was the implication, because that was what he did. All he ever did.

He scrawled it out on a piece of paper, anguished and desperate and nothing at all like the carefully composed missive Lee had once left for him. He told Harvey that it was his friendship that had kept him alive - had dragged him through the Hell that was Blackgate - and that it was Harvey he thought of every time he was convinced this was it, this was the time he was going to bleed out on the sidewalk.

Harvey he wanted when he lay alone and miserable in his hospital bed, and Harvey he wanted on those rare occasions when the sun was shining and so beautiful he needed to share the joy of it with someone.

‘I love you,’ he wrote finally, ‘I’m always going to love you.’

‘Not because I’m punishing myself. Because I think I can’t do better, or because I think you’re a pushover, or whatever other reason you’re dismissing this with. I love you because I know that nobody else is ever going to compare to you.”

He delivered it himself, sliding the envelope under Harvey’s apartment door at two in the morning, needing to perform the act as some kind of closure.

Afraid that he would never send it if he left it until morning.

He was just approaching the stairwell when a door opened, and the flare of hope felt like an explosion in his chest, even as he told himself ruthlessly that it wasn’t Harvey. That, even if it was, all it would mean was having the unopened letter returned to him with a warning never to step foot in the building again.

“Jim,” Harvey’s voice croaked, and Jim’s breath caught in his throat as he turned, taking in the rumpled suit Harvey had clearly been sleeping in and the exhaustion written into the lines of his face.

He moved almost without registering it. Pressed closer, fear and want shredding him apart from the inside.

“Why do you keep doing this to me? To yourself?” Harvey sounded pushed to his limit, expression pained, even as they stood there staring at each other, a faulty bulb flickering overhead. “I gave you everything I had. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

He didn’t say that he wanted another chance; he had been given too many already. And he didn’t say that he wanted to apologize. Sorry was never going to cover it.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered instead, the truth of it torn right out of him, and Harvey only shut his eyes, so that Jim couldn’t tell if it was in frustration or invitation. He leaned in carefully all the same. Put a hand on Harvey’s cheek and brushed their lips together. Kept at it, soft and tender, until his tongue swiped against Harvey’s bottom lip and then there was a hand clutched in the back of his jacket, Harvey taking over as he kissed him breathless.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Harvey said when he pulled away, awareness slowly returning that they were still stood in the middle of the hallway. That he hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and that he was shaking all over with the endless onslaught of emotion. “I don’t know if I want to do this.”

“I can wait,” Jim pledged, not willing to accept defeat at the final hurdle, “As long as it takes.”

“I should tell you to get lost,” Harvey said, the words carrying none of the strength he was obviously aiming for, and Jim knew it was true. Knew what a risk Harvey was taking, how little his own promises meant, and pressed their foreheads together, one hand tangling in Harvey’s hair. Clung close, their breathing becoming synchronized, until Harvey lead the way to his apartment.

Until they fell into his bed, fully clothed, and exchanged silent pledges in the darkness. Stroked fingers along the side of faces, the outlines of an ear, and breathed the same air, so close they couldn’t see each other. So close it was difficult to tell whose tears were whose, and who let out a shuddering gasp when their lips connected once more.

They were still wrapped around each other when the early morning light began filtering through the curtains, Harvey’s brow furrowed in his sleep but his arm possessive where it lay over him.

“This doesn’t mean things can be the way they were,” Harvey told him when they finally parted for the day, tone firm but eyes pleading, and Jim only blinked back emotion and nodded solemnly.

This time he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	205. Chapter 205

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Soooo.... Anyone up for Jim giving Harvey a lap dance? *g*_

Harvey didn’t know why he was feeling so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat in a club like this a thousand times before. Wasn’t like he hadn’t played back-up to one of Jim’s idiot schemes over and over again, even, and as that routine went the risks here were negligible.

Jim might look stupid, maybe. He would face a few days of mockery from the guys back at the precinct, no question. But the club manager wanted this killer caught just as much they did, and the guy’s MO was offering extra cash for private services, not drugs or guns in the middle of happy hour.

Still, Harvey couldn’t shake the unease prickling under his skin. Swallowed down his drink a touch too quickly and skimmed the crowd for likely candidates. Let his gaze linger a fraction too long on the trip legs of one of the dancers, then had a coughing fit that lead to a complete stranger thumping him on the back so that he gave up on the railings and retreated to a more private corner.

He had assumed that Jim would be working behind the bar. Mixing drinks and listening to punters, not… Well, not whatever the hell it was he was doing right there, undulating about with a hand splayed across his abdomen, fingertips just skirting under the waistband of the tight fitting boxer briefs he was wearing.

Jim wasn’t shy about nudity, Harvey knew that. He was typical ex-military when it came to stripping off and hitting the showers. But, for all that, Harvey had never had a legitimate excuse to stare before. Had never dared more than furtive glances, afraid that Jim would notice.

Afraid that once he started he would never be able to look away again.

The track changed, something faster, more of a beat to it, and he had never imagined Jim as the type to be willing to strut his stuff on the dance floor. He was holding his own though, had some over eager letch stuffing bills into his insubstantial underwear, and Harvey was just breathing through the urge to break all the guy’s fingers when Jim looked right at him.

Met his gaze and held it, so that the rest of the club began to fade away like something out of a cheesy romance movie. Jim would probably be wearing more clothes in one of those though, and he almost definitely wouldn’t have some scumbag trying to feel up his ass crack.

“Nice outfit,” he managed when Jim came to stand in front of him, looking over the work boots and the briefs, and the huge expanses of golden skin he spent pretty much every night dreaming about.

“I thought you’d like it.”

It was ridiculous, an entirely new low, but the words sent a thrill of want through him that he couldn’t help responding to. The music was thrumming through the heavy air, the drink was circulating in his system, and Jim was practically fucking naked, slapping away the hand he reached out without any conscious thought behind it.

Somehow it only made him more desperate, the press of his cock against the confines of his pants becoming rapidly obvious, and Jim just braced his hands on the cushioned back of the booth either side of his head and simulated riding his thigh, like Harvey had just dropped dead and been rewarded with something out of his own x-rated fantasies.

His hands began wandering again, helpless, and Jim only rubbed his back up against him, holding him still by the wrists, and arched his head back so he could whisper in his ear,

“Blue shirt, three o’ clock. Make it clear I’m willing to break the rules if the price is right.”

Because of course this was about the job. It was always about the job with Jim. Harvey tried to clear his head enough to think straight. Tried not to think at all, not about the way Jim was writhing in his lap, and not about the way Jim’s thigh felt as he slowly slid his hand up it. The way Jim ground back against him, just for a moment, when he tucked the money under the elastic, and let his fingers brush against places they shouldn’t.

Jim had expressly told him to, after all.

Encouraged him on a little, so that Harvey gripped at his ass, and brushed a kiss against the column of his throat, before pulling away again, and forcing his hands to his side and going back to no touching.

“I’m gonna try and arrange a meet,” Jim told him, under cover of breathing hot and heavy, “if I’m not back in twenty, come looking.”

It was going to take him that long to regain control of himself. To will away the worst of the erection he was sporting, and the weird knot tangled up in his stomach, worry and want and the absurdity of the idea that he had just had Jim rubbing himself all over his junk like it was a completely acceptable part of their working arrangement.

He caught his breath for a while, then nursed his drink for a while longer. Kept an eye on his surroundings, and pretended to watch one of the other dancers who had the moves but none of the essential It factor that made Jim so irresistible.

After twenty minutes he went searching. Blagged his way back behind the bar, out to the staff area, and found Jim trying to wrest a gun out of the hands of the blue shirted guy he had seen earlier. He pulled his own piece without hesitation. Gave the pervert the option of dropping it or losing something, and cuffed him roughly while Jim raked his hair back into place and gave him a nod that translated into ‘thank you’.

It was only later, when the arrest had been properly processed and Jim was back in his suit and tie, that Harvey finally had chance to question what exactly Jim had been playing at. Ended up touching his fingers to the fine smear of body glitter stubbornly clinging to Jim’s cheek, and Jim fixed him with a look so intense it set all his nerve endings on fire again.

“How do you feel about private parties?” He asked, voice confident for all that his insides were quaking, and Jim’s gaze just flickered to his mouth before a slight smile curled across his lips,

“For you, I could make an exception.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	206. Chapter 206

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I'm craving Jim with beard burn on his ass and the back of his thighs because Harvey gave him the rim job of his life and whenever he moves the sting reminds him of last night and how he desperately wants to drop his pants right then and have Harvey do it again. Preferably Help a sister out, pretty pretty please?_

Somebody had asked Harvey, back in the early days of their partnership, if he were into breasts, legs, or backsides. Jim had grimaced, faintly disgusted, while Harvey grinned all over his unkempt face and said that he really didn’t like to discriminate.

That he was all about equal opportunities.

In the years since Jim had had plenty of opportunity to judge that statement from experience.

Because at first he had watched Harvey. Saw where his gaze lingered, and where it didn’t, and pretended that he didn’t recognize the uncomfortable feeling in his own chest whenever Harvey found a new friend for the evening as burning jealousy. Claimed that he didn’t care what Harvey did, nor who he did it with, then went home at night and imagined what it would feel like, to have Harvey’s hand wrapped around him.

From there it wasn’t a great leap to thinking about how the rasp of Harvey’s beard would feel, scratching up the side of his neck, and how his mouth would taste, if he were to take the whiskey tumbler from Harvey’s fingers and introduce his tongue to the equation. What kind of noises Harvey would make, if he were to go down on him, and whether or not Harvey was joking, when he made boastful jokes about his stamina.

It all boiled over eventually, the simple lust having long ago given way to something that made his heart flutter in his chest at the mere thought of Harvey, and that was when he really started putting Harvey’s declaration to the test, because it was easier to gauge Harvey’s interest levels when he was actively participating.

Legs - Harvey was definitely into those. Toes and feet and ankles, and the spot behind his left knee that made Jim tremble all over like jello. The curve of his calves and the flesh of his thighs, Harvey intent on over sensitizing them before slicking them up and thrusting his dick between them. On groaning out odes to Jim’s gym routine, and even on convincing him to wear stockings one time, brushing his nose along the silken surface until Jim had to tangle his fingers tight in Harvey’s hair and beg for him to show some mercy.

When Harvey wasn’t busy convincing him that his kneecap was only ever a caress or two away from being an erogenous zone, he was lavishing attention on his chest and slowly stripping him of his sanity. Encouraging the spread of a blotchy flush down his torso, and suckling at his nipples though Jim had sworn before they fell into bed together that it was something he could never imagine being into.

They were too sensitive, the whole sensation was just too weird, and then Harvey just came along and pinned his wrists to the mattress. Teased them on and on and on, first one then the other, until he was shaking and shuddering, back arching up off the bed as his dick twitched and bobbed all over the place.

Because Harvey loved seeing him lose control, got off on the moments when he was completely undone, and it wasn’t as though Jim was going to complain about the situation, not when Harvey was sucking his nipple to a painful peak, and not when he raising a hickey at his throat or nipping at the ridge of his ear. Not when he was kissing him, desperately, hips grinding perfectly against his own, only breaking away to tell him yet again that he was absolutely gorgeous.

To tell him how badly he wanted him, needed him, and how if Jim would just roll on to his stomach, he would do his very best to prove it.

There was a time when Jim would have said that he wasn’t interested in that either. Not because he was prudish - though he probably was - and more because it might need the kind of communication skills he had never mastered out of bed, let alone in it. But if Harvey was into chests, and liked legs, Jim didn’t think it was out of order to say that, actually, Harvey was best categorized as an ass man.

Not when he kissed his way down his spine, palms soothing along his flank, murmuring filth about all the ways he was going to make him squirm. How Jim was going to feel it for days. How he was going to be so frantic and desperate he would say the words, describe to Harvey exactly what it was he wanted done to him, because then and only then would Harvey think about letting him come from it.

“Maybe it won’t be enough,” Harvey told him, licking at the juncture of thigh and buttock, “maybe I’ll decide that you can wait after all. Maybe you’ll be too swollen by then for me to get my tongue into you. I’ll have to work you open on my fingers instead. Get you so close you’re crying for it, and then - then I’ll fuck your pretty mouth and let you get some sleep.”

Harvey laughed as he said it. Slapped one of his cheeks so that the sound rang in the air, the blood rushing to both his dick and his face as he twitched and moaned, wondering what the hell had happened to the consummate professional who had walked through the door a couple of hours earlier and stated his intentions of getting an early night.

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you. Would I?”

He’d have answered, said something intelligent, but Harvey flickered a teasing lick against his hole and the ability upped and left him. It always did it for him, always reduced him to a pleading mess, and tonight wasn’t any different, his attempts to play it cool giving way to him rocking back into Harvey’s face, his own forehead pressed against the mattress as he sobbed out breathless odes to how good it felt.

“You’re so hot, Jim,” Harvey assured him, hands stroking up his back and down his sides, “Do you think you could come from this? Just from my tongue fucking you open?”

He couldn’t even describe the sound he made in response, only knew that he couldn’t restrain it, and then Harvey was cursing all over again, hands at his hips as his thumbs pulled at his cheeks so he could spear his tongue right into him.

It was so good, so desperately unspeakably good, and Jim was lost to the way Harvey was making sure he was okay just as much as to the overload of sensation. Was biting hard at his lip as worked his hips in little circles, the rasp of Harvey’s beard raising gooseflesh all down the length of his arms and his thighs. Harvey held him still then. Nipped and kissed and sucked, and finally worked in a finger alongside, so that Jim whined at the perfection of it.

Harvey had him roll back over. Was worried perhaps that he was going to suffocate himself, panting frantically with a mouth full of bed sheet, too far gone to do anything about it. Once he was on his back Harvey had him hold his legs open. Hook his hands behind his knees, at his ankles, absolutely wanton as Harvey palmed his own dick for a moment and told him that it ought to be criminal, how badly he wanted to fuck him.

“Please,” was the best he could manage, his entire body on edge with the need for it, and still Harvey settled back between his legs, driving Jim out of his mind with his lips and his tongue, wet and filthy, even as he sunk two fingers into him, teasing and teasing and never quite delivering.

Jim was a wreck by the time he hit his limit, flushed red and wild eyed as he clawed at Harvey’s back and demanded that he do something. As he hooked his ankles together and dragged Harvey forward, neck arched up for his attention as his dick slowly pushed into him.

“You are going to feel this tomorrow,” Harvey warned him, hips snapping harder and faster, and Jim only hissed out encouragement because that was exactly what he wanted. What he needed. What Harvey was going to give to him, harder still, until his hips were canted up from the bed, his every muscle shaking as Harvey pounded him closer and closer to orgasm.

He cried out when he came, Harvey panting hard as his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering. Then he was picking it right back up and fucking him through the aftershocks, wringing every last twitch and shudder from him.

“Oh, God,” Harvey groaned afterwards as he cleaned them both up, low and appreciative so that arousal sparked in his gut all over again. “There’s no way you could deny what we’ve been doing.”

Palms soothed along the prickle of beard burn, and fingers brushed along his crevice. Dragged a moan from his own lips, everything just as oversensitized and swollen as Harvey had promised it would be, and instead of backing off Harvey just dropped his head and worked him again until he absolutely couldn’t take any more.

In the morning he felt it everywhere. The ache in his muscles and the throb of his ass. The sting of irritation on the backs of his thighs. The potent mix of painful sensitivity and the memories of just how amazing it had all felt. The thought of how amazing it would feel if Harvey were to do it all over again, pinning him in place as he pushed him completely past his limits.

He thought about it in the shower, dick straining for attention as though he had time to actually deal with it, and he thought about it as he ploughed through paperwork in his office, every time he shifted in his chair and was reminded of why he was struggling to get comfortable.

Harvey called him at lunchtime, cheery and wisecracking, then lowered his voice after a few minutes of pleasant chit chat and asked him how his ass was doing.

“Sore,” Jim managed, little more than a breathy whisper though there was nobody around to listen in on what he was saying.

“So you’re not wishing I was there with you then? You’re not thinking about how good it would be if I put you over my knee and smacked you until your ass is really burning?”

“Harvey,” he warned, the word coming out as more of a plea, and Harvey just made a sympathetic noise and said,

“No, of course not. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to kiss it better. You wouldn’t want my tongue buried inside you.”

There was a sharp rapping at his office door, some new crisis needing his attention, and still he had to take a moment to compose himself, Harvey chuckling as he rang off and told him that he’d see him later. Sent him a few text messages throughout the afternoon, just in case he wasn’t already literally squirming in his seat in anticipation, and finally met him at the door when he got home and grinned wide as he said,

“I was thinking it would be nice to go out for dinner. We could catch a show, maybe. It would be good, don’t you think? The two of us sat there together all evening.”

If he could take it he would have agreed just to play Harvey at his own game. Just to give him a taste of his own medicine. As it was he could only growl out a definite no and start kissing Harvey frantically. Clutching at his shirt, and his hair, and stripping out of his own clothing as quickly as he could, until he found himself back on the bed, hands clenched tight around the headboard as Harvey held his thigh up and rubbed his beard back and forth until his every breath was ending on a whimper.

Until he was begging, past shame or censure, and then there was the slick slide of Harvey’s tongue, perfect and wicked and everything the finger he had tried to find relief with in the shower hadn’t been.

“Don’t stop,” he whined, the over stimulation twisting his stomach in knots and turning his heart inside out. “Please, please, Harvey.”

He had one hand fisted in Harvey’s hair, the other white knuckled around the rail of the headboard, and he could only imagine what he looked like, spread wide and face twisted in a grimace of anguished ecstasy.

“Been thinking about this all day,” Harvey told him, teasing, “been thinking about what I want you to do for me. You’re gonna come for me, Jim, just from this. Even if it takes you all night to get there.”

His dick jerked at the idea of it. At the sound of Harvey’s voice and the dark promise it delivered. Because Harvey wasn’t joking. Not when he stroked his whiskered cheek along his inner thigh, whispering filth about what a good boy he was being, and not when he held him firmly in place, tongue making him see stars as it finally pushed inside him.

He teetered on the edge for what felt like hours, the sensation so hot yet never quite enough to send him over it. There wasn’t enough force, not enough pressure, and his face was wet with tears, his limbs trembling, while Harvey just kept at it, until Jim looked down and realized that Harvey was jerking himself off, arm shifting with the rhythmic movements.

Knowing that Harvey was getting off on this, that this wasn’t solely for his benefit, was too much to handle. Was the final push that he needed. Had him twisting his fingers still tighter in Harvey’s hair, desperate, as his body clenched and spasmed, his climax finally - _finally_ \- overwhelming him.

Harvey swore as he came. Started stroking himself frenziedly, his own eyes dark and dazed looking, and then he was coming too, spurting messily over his fingers as Jim lay in a sweaty heap on the bed, trying to remember what his own damn name was.

“I’m guessing you’re planning on staying in bed tomorrow?” Harvey said when he slumped down beside him, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.

Jim couldn’t even lift his head. Just lay there, helpless, and scratched out,

“It’s my day off, I can do what I want with it.”

“So you won’t be wanting me to work you over again? Get you slick and wet and ready for me?” Harvey asked, so that he could hear the smile on his face.

Jim shivered and groaned in spite of himself.

One way or another, Harvey’s mouth was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	207. Chapter 207

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I've noticed you tend to write about Harvey being the one to pine more obviously while Jim is either oblivious or not as obvious with his pining, and while I love this dynamic beyond words, I think it'd be cool to see the opposite dynamic too, with Jim being the one who is more obvious with his feelings (as obvious as he can get, anyway) and Harvey oblivious or less obvious :)_

It was always going to end like this, Jim supposed. He had just never expected it to hurt so badly. Not the searing burn of his lungs as he struggled for breath, and not the certain knowledge that he was going to close his eyes and never see Harvey again.

“Stay with me, Jim,” Harvey croaked, one hand cupping his cheek and the other stroking his hair away from his forehead. “Come on, you’ve got to stay focused.”

Jim was trying, really he was. Harvey looked so upset, looked like he might cry, and Jim didn’t want to leave him like that. He didn’t want to be the cause of yet more suffering for the man in front of him.

“So - sor,” he attempted, the word devolving into a desperate coughing fit, and Harvey really was crying now. Was telling him that it didn’t matter, that it was all forgiven, and for the first time Jim was truly afraid of dying.

He wasn’t ready for it.

There was too much he still needed to do.

“I -” he tried again, his lips so cold he couldn’t get them to co-operate, but Harvey only pressed their foreheads close, so that their tears mingled together.

“You’re going to be okay, Jim. You’ve got to be.”

* * *

“Don’t try to speak.”

Jim swallowed, throat dry and painful, and glanced over at the source of the command.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” his Mother said, poker face perfect but tone strained around the edges, “I’ve arranged for you to come home while you recuperate.”

It had never been home.

Never.

“Har -” he tried, in spite of the warning, and she just rose carefully to her feet and pressed the call button.

“Concentrate on getting well, Jim. It’s not going to be easy.”

The doctors confirmed it. Delivered blow after blow, explaining the damage to his spine, and his legs, and the slim likelihood of his ever walking again. The limitations of physiotherapy, and how he was going to have to hone his fine motor skills all over again.

At first he was determined. He had done it before, perhaps not from as poor a starting point, but it had been sheer force of will that had him up and mobile in time for his father’s funeral. Resolute stubbornness that had him out of hospital and into the Police Academy, all within a twelve month.

He wasn’t going to let Gotham beat him.

As the days passed his resolve began to waver. There was no beacon of light at the end of the tunnel to encourage his recovery this time. No promise of honoring his father’s memory and living up to the faith the man had placed in him. No suggestion of a picture perfect life - a beautiful wife and cherubic children who waved him off to work in his patrol uniform.

Instead there was just him, endlessly alone even in the bustle of the hospital. Nobody to ask him how he was doing, not unless they were being paid for it. Nobody besides his Mother, at any rate, and it felt like she was only asking out of a sense of duty. Because they had never been close, had never understood each other, and when she walked in on him sobbing into his pillow she told him in clipped tones to pull himself together and stop acting like a child.

“I didn’t raise you to be a quitter. There are so many people in the world worse off than you.”

It was true, he knew. He had been told it since before he could remember. It didn’t feel like it though, not when he confined to a bed almost 24/7, and not when he had finally managed to get hold of a phone only to learn why his Mother had been so insistent he wasn’t to tire himself out with access to one.

Why she hadn’t wanted to break the truth to him.

Because Harvey’s cell number had been disconnected. His landlord didn’t know where he had gone, didn’t care once Harvey had paid up his rent arrears, and when he rang the precinct he had to repeat his name three times before the desk officer agreed to ask Harper to get back to him. She had too, polite but professional, and Jim realized in that moment that Harvey wasn’t busy, or waiting for the right moment.

He simply wasn’t coming.

There didn’t seem much point in trying after that. He had no interest in his treatment plan, and no motivation to care about anything else either. He slept, and he remembered, and he wept silent tears as he stared up at the ceiling. Pushed food around his plate when he was told to eat, and wished himself dead when the doctors signed his discharge papers.

Sat in silence with his Mother all the way to Chicago, and didn’t protest when Roger helped him up the stairs to his childhood bedroom. Curled onto his side, facing the wall, and wondered what the boy he had once been would have thought, to know that he would end up back exactly where he was so desperate to escape from.

He had no choice but to do things for himself, at least. His Mother didn’t believe in coddling. Left his meals on a tray down the hallway, and ignored the state it left him in, pale and sweating, hauling himself out of bed and into the chair and back again.

“You’ll get your job back,” Roger told him out of the blue one day, as though he wasn’t utterly exhausted from the effort of putting on clean clothes. As though he wasn’t watching Roger’s baby daughter crawl around, envious that he couldn’t move with such ease. “You never give up - that’s why you’ve always been Mom’s favorite.”

He choked at that, caught up in a derisive snort of a laugh, and it was only when Roger fixed him with a puzzled frown that it dawned on Jim that his brother wasn’t joking.

“Of course you are,” Roger countered when he protested. “You’re the one who’s set on making the world a better place. You’re the one who dropped out of law school to go feed orphans.”

“And then I joined the army,” Jim offered, all sardonic smile at the memory.

Roger shrugged. “You only see what you want to. That’s always been your problem.”

The conversation gave him a lot to think about. Had him re-examining events he had believed himself long done with. Had him making an effort with Roger like he hadn’t since they had both been sulky teenagers, and started to actually look forward to the time they spent in each other’s company. Focused his energies on keeping up with the baby, laughing aloud for the first time in months when they went head to head twisting and manoeuvring to get the shapes through the sorter.

“She knows you cheated,” Roger said of the pout on Barbara’s face and Jim voiced the protest that he never did before he could think better of it. Retracted it, awkward, and found himself admitting just what he had done to get his name on the door of the Captain’s office. Couldn’t stop, not once he’d started, and when he was finished, trembling and wretched with the strain of it, Roger just looked him dead in the eye and gave voice to the words his father would have said.

“You need to start making it right then.”

He wrote letters and made phone calls. Spoke to a journalist with the Gotham Gazette about the insidious creep of corruption, and slept well for the first time in years knowing some of his darkest secrets were out in the open. Public opinion was on his side, or so his erstwhile colleagues back in the city told him, and the Commissioner announced, after - so he said - careful deliberation, that the Department would still welcome him back if he ever regained the physical strength to take them up on the offer.

It gave him a focus, something to try and get better for, and still he faltered over and over again because the job might have taken precedence over everything else in his life, but that didn’t mean it was really what he wanted.

The letters of support didn’t ease the ache of knowing that if he were dead Harvey would have mourned him, but because he was alive he couldn’t stand to have anything to do with him.

Except one afternoon he made it through the front door, leaning heavily on the crutches, and heard his Mother and Roger in the middle of a blazing argument. Heard his own name being bandied about, along with lines like ‘I did what I thought was best’ and ‘he has a right to know’, so that when he pushed through to the living room they both fell stilted and silent, each wanting the other to deliver the explanations.

“You had to put your energy into recovery,” his Mother said finally, “I wanted you to get over it at the beginning, a short sharp shock, rather than going backwards and languishing when he decided he had had enough after a couple of months.”

“You don’t know that he would have,” Roger interrupted, clearly frustrated, and Jim could hardly breathe for the implication.

Had to sit before he fell, and then made a snap decision. He was going to find Harvey, no matter where he was, or what had happened. He was going to find him, and he was going to convince Harvey to take another chance on him.

To let him prove every day for the rest of their lives how desperately he loved him.

Roger helped him. Called in favors and chased up contacts. Gave him a lift to the train station and wished him luck, so earnest that Jim ignored the formal handshake and pulled him in by the shoulder, just for a moment.

Jim struggled to sit still on the journey, a stark contrast to the months he had spent laying in hospital. He took the business card out of his pocket again, tracing his finger over the block printed name and address of Harvey’s private inquiry business. He should have called ahead, probably. Sent a letter or an email and explained everything.

He couldn’t risk something getting lost in translation though. The tone of his voice, or some ill chosen wording, and he wouldn’t be able to see Harvey’s face to gauge how serious the problem was. Wouldn’t have any hope of changing Harvey’s mind about the wisdom of staying in contact.

The fear stuck in his throat when he reached the right stop, all the same, because he was still heavily reliant on the crutches, and his reflection in the mirror was pale and haggard. He had lost some weight, lost more muscle mass, and he could feel the weight of the pitying gazes people gave him as he slowly navigated his way out onto the sidewalk.

Harvey wasn’t shallow. Wasn’t the type of guy to throw someone over for not being as pretty as they once were. It hit at his confidence though, chipped away at his reserves, and by the time he was actually stood outside Harvey’s office door he was no longer certain he could go through with it.

Didn’t know how he was supposed to get over it if Harvey took one look at him and told him he had had a wasted journey.

He stood there for a long time, paralysed by indecision, and then somebody was saying his name. Calling it, really. Dropping a couple of bags of groceries to the floor like they didn’t care what broke, or what bruised, and only came to a halt at the very last moment, fingers hovering in the air just above the skin of his face like there was some doubt that they would be welcome.

Jim closed the gap for him. Dropped one crutch to lean it against the door, forgotten, and clung to Harvey instead, balance off enough that Harvey had to hug him back to counter it.

Worried suddenly, visibly, that he might be clutching too tight, might be causing him some injury, and Jim couldn’t even speak for how happy he was to simply be in the same dimly lit hallway as Harvey.

“Let me help you,” Harvey said, and it was force of habit that had the words out of his mouth before he could stop them,

“I can do it myself.” Jim sucked in a breath, felt his smile wobble, and added quietly, “But I’d like your help, thank you.”

Harvey didn’t say anything in response. Eyed him curiously, all the same, and Jim thought of the things he had talked about in therapy, and the methods he was supposed to be utilizing to deal with things more positively. Gave it up in favor of thinking about how good Harvey looked, his hair a little longer and the beard a little tidier, and then haltingly delivered his master plan.

Described how they would take things slow, how he would prove himself deserving, and how he wouldn’t push for more than Harvey was willing to give.

Not now and not in the future either.

“I thought you’d hate me,” Harvey said like he hadn’t been taking in a word of it. Looked almost as broken as he had that night, pleading with him to stay focused. “I sat there, holding your hand, day and night. Then your Mom laid it on the line. Told me that you needed a fresh start, that you needed to get away from all the reminders of Gotham if you were ever going to get better, and -” he shrugged, composure slipping, “I didn’t fight for you, Jim. I walked away and turned my back on you.”

Jim shook his head. Gave himself a moment to reign in the worst of the emotion, then said carefully,

“You did what you thought was best for me. It just wasn’t the right thing. I know all about that. I’m an expert at it.”

He tried for a smile, weak and lopsided though it was, and before he could say any more Harvey was out of his chair and leaning in close to him. Was searching his face, in case he was reading all the signals wrong, and Jim had to reach out for him. Tipped his head up so Harvey could kiss him, and had to remind himself of all his good intentions to be able to pull away when the time came.

“You’re right, Jim,” Harvey said when they broke apart, “you never did know what was best for me.”

His stomach dropped, icy dread clawing at him, but Harvey was smiling softly at him. Cupping his jaw and stroking a thumb over his cheek.

“I don’t want to take things slow. I want to take you home with me and never let you out of my sight again.”

“I could get behind the idea,” Jim conceded, grinning and goofy with the relief and the implications.

“Good,” Harvey grinned back, apparently just as delighted with what was happening, and pulled him carefully to his feet. Kissed him, to seal the deal. “Because I vote we don’t waste any more time then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	208. Chapter 208

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seraphyne said: _I hate when Harvey is hurting. Poor soul deserves all the happiness. I’d like to see a fic where it is too late and Harvey does find someone else. Jim having to cope with that but still happy that Harvey is happy._
> 
> I had to write a ficlet based around that! This is just angst galore.

It was too little too late.

Him unable to get the words he wanted to say out of his mouth, and Harvey frowning like he had never expected him to be able to deliver on the promise anyway.

Like he was always destined to be a disappointment.

That was when he had gone for action instead. When he crushed their lips together, clumsy and desperate, so that Harvey pushed him off and away and suddenly the words were tumbling from his lips. How he had never seen what was in front of his face, and how he would do anything to make it up to him.

“I can make you happy,” he choked out, “if you’ll just let me try.”

“You can’t,” Harvey told him, the belief in his tone so evident Jim had to swipe at his eyes and protest all over again.

Felt sick with the importance of it, the make or break nature of this attempt to convince Harvey.

“You _can’t_ ,” Harvey reiterated and there was something in his tone that made Jim fall silent. Something soft yet pitying and Jim swallowed back a tidal wave of emotion as somebody else appeared in the doorway behind his partner. Looked him over like the scum he was, and asked Harvey quietly if everything was okay.

“Jim was just leaving,” Harvey said and Jim barely made it to the entrance of Harvey’s new apartment building before his legs gave out on him. Before the implications of it all really hit him, and he attempted to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle, the pain of it so raw part of him hoped that when he passed out he wouldn’t wake up again.

It was the buzzing of his cell phone which woke him, and when he pressed it to his ear and snapped ‘Gordon’ his heart stuttered in his chest at the voice on the other end of the line,

“I had to make sure you were still breathing. I know how you can put it away when you really want to.”

He sounded light, almost jovial, and Jim had to press his knuckles into the bridge of his nose, just to provide enough pain that he didn’t lose himself to the agony of Harvey not wanting him.

“Just tell me one thing,” he managed, eyes clenched tight shut, the heat of tears fighting free of his lashes, “are you happy?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to inspire hope - just short enough to ensure it was crushed into nothingness.

“I am. More than I ever thought I could be.”

It hurt worse than anything he had ever known. Worse than being shot and worse than being stabbed. Worse than being left for dead six feet below ground, even, because then he had known that Harvey was looking for him.

That some way, somehow, Harvey would make things all right again.

Now Harvey only made everything that touch more unbearable. He was happy for Harvey. He wanted to be near him, any way he could, no matter in what capacity. But every time they met to discuss a case was still torture. Every step they made towards mending their relationship was tinged with misery.

Every time he had to say goodbye, had to watch Harvey turn his back and go to the guy who was everything he wasn’t, he died a little more inside.

“We don’t have to do this, Jim,” Harvey said once, too knowing, dropping all the jokes and the banter as they sat ensconced in a corner booth, the world reduced to just the two of them, “You’re my best friend. We both know that I can see what it’s doing to you.”

“What’s the alternative?” Jim asked, tears misting his eyes as he focused on his hands, on fidgeting with the beer mats on the table, “I lose you completely?”

The thought of it was more than he could handle.

“I’m just saying that I’d understand, if you wanted me to back off for a while.”

He was quiet all evening. Had to be, lest the emotion overflow and he get on his knees and beg for Harvey to reconsider. He wasn’t going to do that though. He wasn’t going to risk what Harvey was willing to give him.

At least until he did it anyway, pushed beyond breaking point as he buried his nose in Harvey’s shirt front, floating high on the scent of him.

“What can he give you that I can’t? How can he love you any more than I do?”

“He doesn’t ask me for more than I can give. He doesn’t make promises that he can’t keep.”

Jim sobbed. Couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t control himself, and Harvey just held him close and petted at his hair until he could almost breathe normally.

“I want to be your friend, Jim,” Harvey said then, unshed tears blurring his own gaze, “but what am I supposed to do when you keep making it so damn difficult?”

Because he saw the situation for the first time with perfect clarity. He was still hurting Harvey. Was still doing everything he said he wouldn’t, putting his feelings before those of the man he professed to love.

He stopped calling, and cut back on the texting. One less every few days until they hadn’t spoken for a week. Until Harvey stopped reaching out to him, not unless it was strictly business, his personal questions going unanswered, and his invitations unacknowledged.

They still ran into each other sometimes, and when they didn’t Jim kept tabs on what he was doing and how things were going.

Harvey delivered the wedding invitation in person, looking so good that Jim already knew his answer.

“I’ll do my best,” he said, and had his secretary send a card and a suitable present.

Drank a toast to the happy couple in his own empty apartment and finished filling out the paperwork that would net him an interview for Deputy Commissioner. From there it was only ever inevitable, only ever a question of timing, and Harvey sent him a card when he made Commissioner, complete with his contact details.

Sometimes he wished he had risked it. Wished he had wheedled himself back into Harvey’s life, and then worked on coming between them. On breaking the relationship apart, never quitting until Harvey was in his arms.

Until he had what he wanted.

“You didn’t have to stay away,” his love rival told him when it was too late either way, “I’m not the jealous type; I’d never have stopped him seeing you.”

“I did,” Jim countered, voice gruff but mercifully steady, as the finality of it all settled in around him, “because if I stayed away I knew he was happy. And -” he broke off, couldn’t finish. Couldn’t admit to this man who had had everything he ever wanted just how empty his life was.

Knowing Harvey was happy was the closest he came to actually feeling it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	209. Chapter 209

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _I fell in love with you while I was undercover and i know you’re mad at me for lying but I have to go back to my old life (and I want you to be in it) AU_
> 
> Jim was badly injured in the car crash - but Uncle Frank still has high hopes for him.

The weakest link in the chain, that was what their intel said. Harvey looked through what they had accumulated and had his doubts that Jim Gordon could be described as part of the chain at all.

“He’s family,” Danziger countered when he voiced his concerns, tone defensive, “He must hear things.”

“He’s all we’ve got,” Simmons shrugged, apologetic, “If we don’t go for it now who knows if we’ll ever get this kind of chance again.”

Harvey let it sink in. Looked back over the sparse briefing notes - Jim’s academic results from residential school and how he was related to all the major players - and asked finally,

“Why me? Kid’s clearly hurting for a friend, why not go for someone more his own age?”

Danziger grinned, all shark teethed and nasty.

“Because, Bullock, you’re going to be playing substitute daddy.”

That was the kind of line that wasn’t going to be minuted, was never going to form part of the official record, but it rolled around in Harvey’s head all the same, making him feel like even more of a skeevy old man than he already was, sitting in the central library and staring at Jim over the top of Gotham: A History.

He had never been one for studying. Had truthfully kind of balked at what tailing Jim was going to mean. Then he had set eyes on something other than an out of date school photo and had all the breath knocked from his lungs. Had had to roll his tongue back in his mouth and remind himself that he was supposed to be a professional. An undercover police officer with almost a decade of experience, not a lovesick teenager.

Jim really was a vision though. Blond hair and big blue eyes. Strong biceps that shifted under his shirt as he took copious notes from the textbook in front of him, bottom lip a little swollen where he kept chewing on it in concentration.

It was a relief when the opportunity finally revealed itself, not least because Harvey didn’t know if he could have stood still and done nothing, seeing the slight flush color Jim’s cheeks as he strained to get closer to the book he was reaching for. Harvey had been loitering since a few moments after Jim had left his table. Had been waiting for some kind of in, and now he simply stepped up behind Jim and pulled the book out for him.

“Criminal Law and Its Processes - I hope you’re not the one with the court date!”

Harvey cringed even as he said it, feeling like some middle aged sitcom character trying to sound down with the kids. Jim just gave him a shy little smile, putting him in mind less of prime time and more late night PIN protected, and said,

“Hopefully I’ll be the one defending, in a few years.”

He weighed his options quickly. Didn’t want to come on too strong the very first time he spoke to Jim but, by the same token, if Jim wanted to talk he didn’t want to rebuff him.

“Yeah?” was what he went with, “You sure you want to go criminal? It sounds exciting, sure, but contract’s where the money is.”

“Are you an attorney?” Jim asked, so earnest and eager it had him wishing he could change his cover story.

“Me? I wish - I was never smart enough for all that. I’m a writer, researching a book on the history of Gotham. Murder, intrigue, secret societies. You know, all the good stuff.”

“That sounds so cool,” Jim told him, no hint of either suspicion or irony, and later Harvey would look back on that as the moment his heart decided it belonged to the little brother of one of Gotham’s most dangerous rising stars.

At the time he only smiled, wide and helpless, and exchanged a few more lines of chit chat. Jim divulged that he was studying law at college, that he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps, and Harvey wished him luck with it before returning to his spot and pretending to read up on nineteenth century immigration patterns for another hour or so.

They nodded in acknowledgement the next couple of times their paths crossed. Shared a few words on progress at the returns shelf, and he held the door open for Jim one afternoon, having moved like the wind to pack up and make it through the check out desk before Jim did.

“You didn’t have to,” Jim said, obviously torn between self-sufficient pride and the fact that he was lonely and wanted somebody to pay him some attention.

“It was self-interest. I’m hoping you’re gonna remember me when you’re some hot shot lawyer.”

“You planning on committing a crime?” Jim asked, smile returning, and Harvey wished he could take a picture to save the image for later.

“Not planning, exactly, but you never know, do you? I always got a couple of unpaid parking tickets hanging over me.”

Jim shook his head a little, smirking, and Harvey reported back to base that he was making headway. Had established a rapport and was working on gaining some real trust. It happened quicker than he was expecting, the very next week finding Jim exhausted looking and soaked through to the skin, the weather outside only growing more horrific.

“My Mother was supposed to be meeting me,” Jim admitted, albeit reluctantly, “but she can’t get away.”

Something big was going down, that was what all the little birdies were saying, but Harvey played dumb. Asked Jim if he had far to go as though he didn’t know exactly where Jim lived. Kept it low key, assured it would be no problem, and suddenly found himself with an armful of dripping college freshman, desperately trying to think about anything other than how good Jim felt as he helped him out of the chair and into the passenger seat of his beat up Diplomat.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he said once he had Jim’s books and chair stashed, dropping into his own seat and pouring the rain water from the brim of his hat into the footwell.

“You don’t look much better,” Jim said pointedly, and they both ended up laughing. Grinning stupidly at each other so that Harvey had to forcibly remind himself he was going for paternal mentor figure, not the kind of guy who came on to vulnerable youths stuck in his proximity.

It was tough going, all the same, and when Jim invited him in for coffee to say thank you he hated himself for the thoughts that sprung immediately to mind.

“I wanted to live on campus,” Jim said, unlocking the front door Harvey was willing to bet good money had never seen a cop actually welcomed through it, not unless they were corrupt to the core, “but my Mother said it was a waste of money.”

Money wasn’t exactly a problem, Harvey thought, looking about the place as Jim lead the way into a rather grand kitchen. No problem at all, not if any one of those pretentious looking prints on the wall were the real deal.

“She worries, I think, that I wouldn’t cope on my own. I’m an adult now though. If it wasn’t for this,” he drummed his fingers along the arm rest of the wheelchair, “I’d be making a real difference - joining the army, or applying for the police force.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Harvey said without thinking, and Jim looked up at him curiously. Had him focusing on the towel Jim had thrown over to him for his face and hair, and deflecting as best he could with, “you know, until 1926 all unmarried GCPD officers had to live in a section house.”

Nobody could say that he didn’t do his homework.

They chatted easily - too easily - and Harvey jumped out of his skin at the sound of the front door closing, realizing with a start that it was dark outside and Jim was like something off a movie set with the lamplight glittering in his eyes.

“Who’s this?” a voice demanded and there was Roger Gordon in the flesh, two other faces Harvey recognized well from the persons of interest board flanked either side of him.

Jim made the introductions. Told Roger enthusiastically of the book Harvey was supposedly writing, and how Harvey had driven him home from the library. Roger looked him over, taking in the glasses he was wearing and the elbow patches on his jacket.

He smirked, finally, and shook his head derisively.

“Only you, Jimmy. Only you.”

* * *

“Roll with it,” Danziger laughed when they had a full debriefing. “Nothing in the rule book that says you can’t lead him on a bit.”

“You wouldn’t know,” Harvey snapped, angry, “you’ve never read it.”

It was for the greater good, he got that. It was about keeping innocent people safe, that was why he kept getting out of bed in the morning. This was something else though, using someone who hadn’t done a thing wrong. Even joking about it made him feel sick to his stomach.

At least it was a joke, he hoped, because the honest smiles and genuine interest Jim was bestowing on him was tempting enough already. If he really believed they stemmed from Jim wanting more than friendship from him, Harvey wasn’t sure how long he would be able to cling to his willpower. As it was Jim met him for some lecture on Gotham’s old slum districts Jim had seen advertised on a campus notice board, all smiles, and apologized yet again for his brother being an asshole.

“Inflicting embarrassment is what older brothers do,” Harvey said, as though he were some kind of expert on the subject, and then he had to nod along and pretend to be an expert on another topic entirely. It wasn’t too bad, truth be told. Was really kind of interesting, and he nudged Jim and pointed out one of the tenement blocks he had spent his own childhood in when it was brought up on the overhead projector.

Jim quizzed him about it later, seemingly torn between horror and fascination, and Harvey laughed as he bought them both coffee and pastries.

“It wasn’t that bad. Rats in the stairwells, maybe, but a much more civilized one family per apartment by that time.”

That made Jim blush, right up to the tips of his ears, and Harvey imagined, just for a moment, what sound Jim might make if he leaned in close and sucked one of them.

“Nah, seriously. It was all I knew and I didn’t mind it. There were loads of kids. A good sense of community. Everybody knew everyone.”

He thought about that, a little wistfully. Contrasted it with his current apartment building - the neighbors he wouldn’t be able to pick out of a line-up, and the fear that if anything happened to him he would lay there rotting for weeks before somebody noticed the smell and reported it.

“Sounds like something out of a story book,” Jim commented, sounding wistful in his own right, and Harvey steered the conversation around to Jim’s own childhood. To how close he and Roger must have become, after the awful accident Jim stiltedly confided in him about, the one that killed their father and left Jim in a wheelchair.

He felt like the worst kind of pondlife when Jim’s face fell, obviously unable to control the reaction, for all that it needed to be done if he were to prove to his superiors that this operation wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

“Roger blamed me. Blames me, maybe.” Jim was focusing on the dregs of his coffee cup, shoulders tense. “I never shut up as a kid, was always asking questions, and they thought at the inquest that Dad might have been distracted.”

“The other guy went into you. There was no question whose fault it was.”

He had read the background report and the press clippings enough times.

Jim just shrugged a little. Visibly made the effort to plaster a happy look across his face.

“Anyway, I wasn’t a lot of fun afterwards. It was all hospitals and operations, and then Mother sent me away to school because I could never have caught up in mainstream. We’ve just never spent enough time together to be close, I guess.”

The revelation wasn’t enough for those in charge, far from it.

“He’s living under the same roof,” Simmons pointed out reasonably. “We’ve had an officer working the inner circle for eight months now and they’ve never made it onto the driveway. This isn’t even your primary case and you’ve got a standing invite.”

That was how he found himself spending his Saturday traipsing around Gotham Museum, Jim Gordon in tow. Except that was the way he was trying to describe the event in his own head, downplaying everything about it. The reality was that it felt more like a date than most dates he had ever been on. He was having a better time than he had had on any of those over the last few years too, helped along by Jim’s dry commentary and the way Jim laughed at his own stupid attempts at humor.

They went for dinner afterwards, Jim talking about the assignments he was working on and which of his classmates were more interested in girls and beer pong than maintaining their GPA.

“Why aren’t you out partying every night then?”

“My Mother would kill me?” Jim shook his head, picking at his fries, “I worked too hard to get where I am.”

Harvey didn’t doubt it. Was quickly coming to consider Jim the single stubbornest person he had ever met, because it wasn’t enough for Jim to do something - he had to be the best at it. Had to go above and beyond, and fill every second of his day with something productive and worthy. He was writing for the student papers, about all the injustices they could be doing more to counter, and he was volunteering with the campus nightline and one of the legal advice services operating in The Narrows.

“You have to do the right thing,” Jim told him intently when he questioned it, and for the first time Harvey understood why it was that the family had vetoed the idea of Jim living independently. It wasn’t for his protection, or because they worried about his ability to cope with it. It was because they wanted to keep an eye on him, and monitor exactly how much he knew about what was happening.

Not a whole lot, that was still Harvey’s verdict. Not just because he suspected Jim would be plenty vocal about how much he disagreed with it, and because when he talked about his own fictitious projects Jim only listened, captivated, then suggested he talk to his Uncle Frank about Gotham’s secret societies.

“I don’t know what it is exactly, some offshoot of the Masons, maybe. They’re always having fancy dinners and secret meetings though. It’s silly but I suppose everyone needs a hobby.”

If Jim knew anything at all about the high profile murder cases and the money laundering - the trafficking and the corruption - Harvey was certain he would never say such a thing. Harvey had to fight to play it cool, even so, because this could be the kind of lead that the investigation had been waiting for. Nobody had ever succeeded in getting mud to stick to Frank Gordon.

When he reported that back to headquarters the decision was made to pull him off most of his other cases. To tighten up his cover story and make sure the paper trail was in place should anybody decide to go looking.

“This could be huge,” Danziger said and clapped him on the shoulder like they were long-term buddies. “Nailing that bastard would be the highlight of your career.”

Harvey wasn’t so certain about that, but he worked diligently at getting closer. Started spending time at the Gordon residence, supposedly helping Jim with a couple of assignments. Told Jim that he had worked as a PI for a while, his usual cover story to explain away anybody who associated him with a badge and too many questions, and helped him unpick the logistics of getting a case from arrest to conviction.

He met Jim’s mother, as cold a character as he had ever encountered, and fronted out the raised eyebrow she sent his way at the treacherous hand which had latched on to Jim’s shoulder.

“You must be so proud of him,” he said, reaching for responsible grown up, even as Jim’s cheeks pinked at the praise, “it’s been an absolute privilege working with him on this.”

Mrs Gordon didn’t return his smile, gave him the terrifying impression that she could see right through him, and when she was gone Jim compounded matters by looking up at him through his lashes and saying,

“She thinks that everyone’s out to take advantage of me. I’m forever ten years old in her eyes.”

“Moms worry,” Harvey said, too casual, and ignored the guilt in the pit of his stomach that knew in this instance, at least, it was for good reason.

Because the more he saw of Jim the more he wanted to see him. They got on well, better than he would ever have imagined, and soon it wasn’t just Jim divulging personal information. He couldn’t seem to help himself around Jim, telling him about his own mother, and his failed relationships, and his naive dreams of making the world a safer place.

“It’s only by learning the mistakes of the past that we have any hope of avoiding them in the future,” Jim said, because to him he was an academic not a cop, and rather than it shame him into pushing such ideas from his mind, all Harvey could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss him.

How he wanted to hold Jim in his arms, and soothe away his unnecessary worries that he was ever going to find himself approaching middle age single.

“You only gotta look in the mirror to see the difference between you and me on that score,” Harvey told him over one of the lunch dates that had become a regular habit, “you’re never going to be stuck for company.”

“It’s not that simple though, is it?” Jim pushed, glancing at him intently before picking at his food. Before forcing the maudlin expression away, so that Harvey only admired him all the more for his drive and his ability to get on with things. For the way he refused to let any of it break him, not the frustration when half the places he wanted to go had no access, and not the way it had to hurt, when the blind date some of his classmates set him up on took one look and told him she wasn’t prepared for all the implications.

“It was a first date,” Jim groused, tone light hearted, “I was only going to suggest we get coffee or something. I have manners.”

“That’s obviously where you’re going wrong. You’ve gotta bust out the whips and the chains these days, right from the get go.”

Jim laughed, a gorgeous sound Harvey didn’t think he could ever get tired of, and then shot him a kind of reluctant look and told him he’d have to go or he’d be late for class. Harvey offered to walk him to it, got told to finish the mid-morning snack he’d already paid for, then ended up going over to see what all the commotion was about when he was done, feeling his blood run cold.

Somebody was already crouched beside Jim, people gathering around as they waited for an ambulance, and it was like he couldn’t quit noting all the spurious details of the scene - the smell of rain in the air, and Jim’s books and color coded notes strewn down the central campus stairwell. He barrelled his way through the crowd to get to Jim. Stroked a thumb through the blood trickling from his temple, and mentally catalogued the grazes and abrasions where Jim had tried to halt the fall.

The worst thing, the most horrendous thing, was the sheen of tears in Jim’s eyes. The tears that escaped down his cheeks though he was obviously doing his best not to give in to them, too overwhelmed by the shock and the pain, and the humiliation of being unable to do a thing about the puddle he was laying in.

Harvey simply hauled him in close. Let him bury his face in his shirt front, arms around him to shield it from view, and spoke platitudes to the top of his head about how it was okay, and how he wasn’t going anywhere.

Later, at Gotham General, when Jim was cleaned up and bandaged, quiet and subdued like Harvey had never known, the heretofore oft mentioned but never seen Uncle Frank came to collect his nephew. Held his hand out formally and thanked Harvey for everything he had done.

“It was nothing,” Harvey assured, “it was no trouble.”

“You’ll have to come to dinner one night,” Frank went on as though he hadn’t spoken, “Jim speaks so highly of you.”

Just like that he was on first name terms with, so rumor had it, the next elected Mayor of Gotham City.

It wasn’t the job that had him calling in on Jim the following day though, and it wasn’t the job that had him gently touching Jim’s forearm as they spoke, needing the assurance that Jim really was okay.

“I’m fine,” Jim said, though he looked deathly pale and exhausted, “it was probably somebody playing a prank. People don’t realize the damage they can do.”

Harvey had no idea where Jim had got that story from, and for the moment chose not to pursue it. They already had a body in the morgue, a member of one of the leading street gangs - a gang, incidentally, that had been taking warning shots at Roger Gordon’s interests for some time now. A gang that were stupid enough to think they could send a threat via Jim and get away with it.

There had been no getting away with it. Just the memory of the state of the corpse was enough to turn Harvey’s stomach.

“You’re not fine,” was all Harvey said aloud, gaze travelling from the stitches just below Jim’s hairline, to the left arm he had in a sling, to the tension bandage around his sprained ankle.

“At least I can’t feel all of it,” Jim offered, following his gaze, and Harvey huffed out a pained little laugh.

The kid was going to be the death of him.

Especially when Jim’s mother, apparently softened somewhat by his playing the white knight, told Jim he ought to lie down, and that it wouldn’t hurt any if Harvey wanted to sit with him for a while in his bedroom. It was the first time Harvey had been in there, at least for longer than it took to grab a book or a folder, and the impact of the extra intimacy it afforded over the prim and proper sitting room was immediate.

“Let me help,” he breathed, powerless to stop himself, and Jim only hesitated for a moment before nodding his assent. Wound his good arm around his neck, fingers tangling in the back of his jacket, and Harvey pulled the bedsheets back with one hand before lifting Jim out of the chair and onto the bed. He tucked the blankets over him, hands lingering ever so slightly as he smoothed it out, Jim watching him silently.

He read to Jim for a while, some dry assigned text, from the chair beside the bed. Placed the book down carefully when Jim’s breathing evened out into sleep, and then dared to reach out and stroke the rebellious strands of Jim’s hair back from his forehead. Kissed it even, chaste but tender, and had to steady himself against the upswell of emotion before he could go and face Jim’s mother.

A week later he was back at Jim’s side, sipping obscenely expensive red wine as Frank Gordon expounded on the glories of Gotham. Jim shot him a long suffering look, clearly having heard it all before, so that Harvey had to struggle to school his face back into something approaching neutral when his uncle turned to look at him.

“I’m proud of both the boys, obviously,” Frank went on as the main course was served, “but it’s Jim who is destined for greatness. Jim is going to change this city’s history.”

“I don’t think I am,” Jim countered, reaching for his own wine glass to hide his exasperation. Explained for Harvey’s benefit, “Uncle Frank is always saying stuff like that. He thinks I’m some kind of genius.”

Harvey glanced at the look on Frank Gordon’s face, self-satisfied and cunning, and felt a shudder of unease work through him.

“I just know that you are going to make us all so very proud, Jim. You’re going to achieve things the rest of us could only dream of.”

There was something about the statement that made his skin crawl. Something about the ‘us’ that made him think Frank was talking about a wider circle than Jim’s immediate family.

The ramifications were hashed out endlessly back in the briefing room, Simmons speculating aloud that they were looking for some squeaky clean new defence lawyer. Harvey shook his head,

“It goes deeper than that. It was the way he said it, like - like they were fattening him up ready for the sacrificial slaughter.”

“I think you’re picking up on undertones that don’t even exist,” Danziger said pompously. “I think you’ve always been a soft touch when there’s a pretty face involved.”

“You insinuating something?” Harvey demanded, voice low and fists clenched, and rather than back down Danziger only went for the jugular,

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying that your judgement is compromised.” He sighed, held his palms out in supplication, “I still say the kid is giving you the run around. No way is he as clueless as you make out he is.”

“You don’t know him,” Harvey snapped, anger rising. This was the first he was hearing of this, at least laid out so plainly, and it pissed him off on so many levels he wanted to punch something. “You don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”

Somebody else intervened then. Told them both to sit down and shut up. Try acting like adults. Danziger had to get the last word in though, just the same as always, Harvey glaring at the note he passed to him as they left the room.

‘Time will tell.’

It would prove him right, Harvey knew, but still he watched Jim more closely for signs that he was making a fool of him. Succeeded only in noticing things like how very blue Jim’s eyes were, and how very long the lashes framing them. How dismissive Jim was of his own achievements, yet how flustered he got at the slightest word of praise from him.

How happy he seemed that Frank Gordon had taken a shine to him - had offered him access to his private library no less - and confessed to Harvey unguardedly,

“Frank’s the only one who didn’t treat me differently, you know, afterwards. Mom, she pushed me harder, wanted to control everything I did, and Roger didn’t know how to be in the same room as me. But Frank just said it didn’t change my destiny.”

Harvey had to force a smile, the words only producing the now familiar thrill of unease, but Jim knew him well enough by now to recognize the strain. Asked him if he liked Frank, if his uncle had something to give him reason not to, and Harvey fell back on lesser truths to admit,

“I don’t think he trusts me. I think he believes there’s something inappropriate going on between us.”

“He doesn’t, trust me,” Jim countered immediately, so adamant it surprised him a little. Had him wanting to ask questions, to delve deeper, but Jim was asking him about his dumb cover of a book instead so he had to make all the right noises, and concentrate on sounding like he had some idea of what he was talking about.

To make things easier he said that he was researching a couple of old cold cases on the side, somehow talked for three hours on one of the open files he had worked on intermittently since he had puked over his own shoes at his first ever murder scene, and that weekend sat too close to Jim in the Gordon’s sitting room as they pored over yellowing press clippings and piles of photocopies.

Jim had a good eye for it, picked up on all the little inconsistencies, and made comments that had Harvey rifling through paperwork to cross-reference what had and hadn’t been chased up.

Roger turned up in the early evening, when they had a couple of pizza boxes and half a dozen soda cans in among the debris, and frowned at the pair of them.

“I didn’t think you’d be here. Mom said you were going to go visiting with her.”

Even in the lamplight the flush in Jim’s cheeks was obvious, the implication that he had lied about having no plans clear, and Roger just heaved a sigh and lead a couple of guys who kept their voices carefully lowered through to the kitchen.

“I told her I was swamped with coursework,” Jim admitted, still looking a little guilty, and rather than try to go eavesdrop on what could be a major deal going on a few feet away, Harvey simply smiled at him and said,

“I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.”

It wasn’t so far off the mark, not really, because over the next few weeks they only spent more and more time together. So much time that it was a physical effort not to reach out and touch, or sit too close, or any number of other inappropriate behaviors. Jim didn’t seem to have a problem with it, started touching his arm whenever they were speaking, and when he handed over his revised timeline of the Reilly murder to the Cold Case team they came back to him a couple of weeks later to say that they had a potential lead for the first time in over half a decade.

He couldn’t help but relay that to Jim, as though he had heard it third or fourth hand, and Jim insisted they go out to dinner to celebrate. Introduced him to a severe looking blonde seated at another table, then informed him in an amused whisper that she was one of Uncle Frank’s secret society brethren. Harvey didn’t recognize her, couldn’t recall ever hearing her name before, but when he fed it back to those in charge of the investigation everything ramped up a little.

Her name was being traced back to all kinds of transactions, was leading in all sorts of directions, and Harvey only hoped that when the dust settled Jim wasn’t going to end up hurt too badly.

Started to feel devastated by the idea of Jim getting hurt at all, and maybe it was the pressure of the job, maybe he really had lost his marbles, but he started dropping heavy hints to Jim in the hope he would piece the puzzle together.

All Jim asked him in response to an article about a high profile murder case, one they suspected was the work of some secret order he left on top of his notes, was whether or not he could have Harvey’s home address.

That was right up there on the list of things not to do. A request he ought to fob off in any way possible.

“I want to send you a postcard on vacation,” Jim told him, smiling so sweetly that Harvey simply pulled a ballpoint from his pocket and printed it out for him.

“Have a good time, won’t you?” He implored when they parted ways, genuinely hoping Jim had chance to be a regular college kid for a couple of weeks, and went home to wait for somebody to call by and put a bullet in him.

It would be karma, he supposed. Divine justice. Exactly what he deserved for the filthy dream he woke up from that first night, and the things he went on to do, still hard and straining with the ghost memory of Jim’s skin beneath his fingertips. He lay breathless and sated against his pillows when it was done, and wished he could turn back time and refuse to take the case on.

Changed his mind almost instantly, belatedly acknowledging the hollow ache in his chest for what it was.

He would never regret meeting Jim, for all that the circumstances behind it were going to end in Jim hating him. He’d never regret it because he couldn’t. Because it wasn’t the job that had Jim on his mind constantly. It wasn’t lust, or even simple infatuation.

Jim was always in his thoughts because he had gone and done the stupidest thing anyone in his position could do.

He had fallen in love with him.

Two days later a picture postcard arrived, a sunny beachscape of Miami professing that Jim wished he were there, and Harvey stared at Jim’s handwriting for a long time, wondering what the Hell he was supposed to do now.

He was still no closer to a conclusion when a knock sounded at his door that weekend, though he tensed and panicked, and wished his gun wasn’t in the lock box. He peered through the peep hole, heart hammering, but there was no assassin stood on the other side. Nobody stood there at all, in fact, and he pulled the door open, apologizing profusely even as he tried to shift the worst of the clutter so it looked like he was something approaching a functioning adult.

The place was a tip, an absolute state, and he was heaving debris from the sofa to the side table when it hit him that Jim probably wasn’t going to want to make use of it anyway.

“It would be kind of nice to get out of this,” Jim said, like he could read his mind, and Harvey was glad to have something to do other than freak out over the fact Jim was in his apartment.

Offered him a drink, and food he was almost certain he didn’t have, and then sat down at Jim’s urging, heart kind of seizing up at Jim’s proximity and the golden tan the Miami sun had given him.

“I hope you don’t mind me just turning up here,” Jim said, “but I really wanted to see you.”

He didn’t mind at all. He ought to, no question, but that ship had already sailed.

“How was it?” He asked instead, “I’m expecting tales of drunken debauchery.”

“It was amazing. I went in the sea everyday.”

Jim went swimming regularly anyway. Hit the gym more often than Harvey ever had, even way back in the distant days of the academy, but there was something about the way he said it that really captured Harvey’s attention. It was sort of breathless, overawed, and Harvey couldn’t look away from the intensity in Jim’s eyes as he carried on talking,

“All the time, every day, I’m telling people that the accident isn’t going to stop me living the life I want. That it’s not going to mean I miss out on the things I want to do. For the first time I really believed it.”

“Are you trying to tell me you pulled?” Harvey joked, trying to dispel some of the tension sparking between them, and Jim only reached for his hand. Searched his face, expression so painfully earnest, and said,

“I’m trying to tell you something you must already know. I lo- like you, Harvey. I like you so much you’re all I can think about.”

Harvey froze. Steeled himself in readiness for doing the right thing, the noble thing, and it must have shown on his face because Jim let go of his hand. Looked like he might be sick, like he wanted the ground to open up, and stuttered out a resigned sounding apology that broke Harvey’s heart clean in two.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he heard himself saying in place of the unambiguous no he had planned to give.

Jim nodded, eyes damp, as a bitter smile curled his lips.

“It’s just that I’m a paraplegic.”

“No.” The word came out more forcefully than he had intended, softened only by the fingers he touched to Jim’s cheek, urging him to look at him. “It’s that I’m too old for you. That you can do a thousand times better than me without breaking a sweat. You don’t even know me, Jim, not really.”

“But that’s what I’m asking for. A chance for us to get to know each other properly. To find out if we can be more than friends.”

If Jim had said something - anything - else there was a chance he could have withstood it. But Jim was there in front of him, saying the exact words he most wanted to hear. That he didn’t need to know about every skeleton in the closet. That there was a chance, however slim, that when they were dragged out into the light of day he would forgive him for them.

“How am I supposed to refuse you anything?” was what he actually murmured, his hand still on Jim’s cheek as he pressed their foreheads together. As Jim slid a hand around the back of his neck, slowly brushing their noses together.

It was too much, more than he could take, and Harvey had to kiss him.

Had to taste the sweet heat of his mouth and caress the ridge of his ear. Trail fingertips up and down the nape of his neck, feather light and teasing, until Jim was panting. Until he pulled away to find Jim dazed and drunk looking, face flushed and eyes so blue Harvey understood what people meant when they said they could drown in someone’s gaze.

“We’ve got to take this slow,” he told Jim, fighting to regulate his own breathing. “I don’t want to risk our friendship.”

He didn’t want to lose his job either. Nor sign off on his immortal soul completely. Hoped he would come up with the requisite willpower before things went too far, then knew it was too late for that already when he spent hours that night trading text messages back and forth, gut lurching with excitement every time his cell vibrated.

In the cold light of morning he tried to look at things objectively. If he did this he would be risking everything. Throwing it all away on something that probably wouldn’t work out anyway, even if he wasn’t a lying scumbag and Jim didn’t throw him over as soon as he found someone more his own age and with better prospects. He didn’t know how it would work, had no idea how much further than kissing they’d be able to get, then Jim sent him a text message from a break in his first class of the morning claiming that he had explained the criminal booking procedure so much better than his Professor.

None of it mattered, Harvey realized. He needed Jim - there was no way he could go cold turkey.

He kept it quiet at debriefings, at least, and assumed that Jim was planning on doing likewise. Had that assumption turned on its head when Frank Gordon turned up at his favorite diner, just to put the fear of God into him, and told him how happy he was that he had seen sense. How Jim was so mature and responsible, and how he’d always known that Harvey would see how ridiculous it was to have hang ups about the age difference.

“I expect to see more of you now,” Frank said, and left Harvey stood there gaping a few minutes later, with an invite to some swanky dinner party and a thinly veiled warning that he ought not to try and wriggle out of it.

He had no choice but to call it in, being as vague as he could about why the invitation had been extended. He and Jim still hadn’t really done anything. The Department would have a tough time sacking him for a kiss or two.

Except that night the elevator in his dive of an apartment building broke down and when he offered to carry Jim down the stairs, trying not to think of the number of steps involved, Jim gave him a hopeful smile and said,

“Or I could just stay the night?”

“Yeah, that could work,” he managed, and let Jim go and get ready for bed in the bathroom while he hurriedly stripped the sheets and changed the bedding. Shoved all the dirty laundry in the bottom of the closet, and found a t-shirt for Jim to sleep in if he wanted it.

It was big on him, slipped down to reveal the dip of collar bone, and Harvey had to resist the urge to lick across it even as he helped Jim settle back on the mattress. Couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of him laid out before him, legs bare and still holding a hint of a tan from the trip to Miami.

“You’re sure this is okay?” Jim asked, pulling him from his reverie, the sudden attack of nerves audible in his voice, just in case it wasn’t coming across loud and clear in the way he plucked at the hem of the t-shirt. Smoothed out the leg of his boxer shorts, like the motion would hide the crisp white fabric of the leg bag holder extending down the length of his thigh.

“The first time we spoke, you know, that wasn’t an accident. I was loitering around all afternoon, trying to find some excuse to talk to you.”

It was true. Missing some context, perhaps, but true nonetheless.

Jim relaxed a little. Smiled at him as he moved to get into bed beside him, and confessed,

“That wasn’t even the book I wanted. I was just so happy you were talking to me that I didn’t care.”

He laughed, couldn’t help himself, then leaned in and kissed Jim in gratitude. Tasted toothpaste and smelled soap, and didn’t understand how either could be such a powerful turn on. Jim kissed him back, fingers tangling in his hair, and it was like a switch was flipped in his head. He had the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen in his entire life in his bed. A gorgeous guy who wanted him, needed him, and he couldn’t even begin to deny him.

“What can I do to make you feel good?” He asked, fingertips trailing the length of Jim’s arm, pulling a breathy whimper from him at the sensation. “Tell me where you want me to touch you.”

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, like he needed the time to compose himself, then he was looking up at him like he was everything Jim had ever wanted. Like he was something special. It made his heart ache with the idea. Made him want to pledge himself to Jim, forever and always, so he could spend the rest of his life worshipping at his feet.

“My neck,” Jim managed. “I - when I. Like this.” He demonstrated with his own fingers, touch barely there as he started at the edge of his jaw and traced down. It was obviously sensitive, shifted the quality of his breathing almost immediately, and Harvey felt his own pulse race at the idea of Jim laying in his bed at night, working himself until he was shivering.

Harvey copied the movement. Watched the way Jim squirmed and bit at his lip, his own fingers teasing along his sides, rucking up the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You are so hot,” Harvey told him, wishing he had the kind of vocabulary that could really capture the scope of it. “You’re beautiful, Jim.”

Jim looked dubious but didn’t argue. Took off the t-shirt at his suggestion, then told him shakily that it was good manners to return the favor. Reached for him to help with the buttons, and then kissed and nuzzled at his chest. Skimmed fingertips over his skin, the same way he had been doing to himself, so that Harvey tingled all over with the sensitization, from the tips of his toes to the top of his scalp.

He was shuddering, helpless, by the time Jim started tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. Felt like he was floating, like the world was some heavy haze reduced to the two of them, so that all he could do was try to make Jim feel as wonderful. Stroked and touched and teased, and finally started brushing kisses over the skin of Jim’s throat. Licked at it, devoted, when Jim started moaning, and then worked on sucking a hickey into the sensitive flesh, Jim desperately holding his head in place as he shook and trembled.

It was so good, so achingly good, and Harvey couldn’t help but roll his hips when his cock made contact with the heated skin of Jim’s leg. Did it again, and again, until Jim pushed up onto his elbows and begged him to let him see.

“Can I?” Jim asked after a while, breathy and eager, and touched him so gently it felt like torture. Like the sweetest agony he had ever experienced, until he couldn’t bear it any longer and had to use his own hand to show Jim the kind of pressure he was used to. Guided him through it, for a few strokes, and then went back to the mark he had been raising on Jim’s throat, suddenly frantic with the need for Jim to feel the same kind of pleasure he was.

Jim’s rhythm fell apart, grip alternating between too tight and not enough, and Harvey just pushed into it, lips and tongue working at Jim’s throat until Jim was keening with the sensation. Until he was coming apart in his arms, clutching at him like an anchor. He gentled it up. Wrung a few more tremors out of Jim, just because he could, and when Jim groaned his name, overwhelmed and a little fevered, Harvey reached his own peak, capturing Jim’s mouth in a messy kiss as his body pulsed and shuddered.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Jim said later, when they had cleaned up and he had his head resting on Harvey’s chest, “but I love you. I want you to know that.”

It was the same matter of fact approach Jim used with everything. Setting out what he could do, and what he couldn’t alter. It still filled him with equal parts elation and terror, because he loved Jim - loved him like he had never loved anyone - but it was only going to end in heartache.

Sooner rather than later.

“Of course I love you,” was the best he could manage, “do you think I’d have put fresh sheets on the bed for just anyone?”

In the morning Jim looked adorable, groggy with sleep and hair everywhere, and Harvey lost the battle to keep his hands off him, stealing kisses right up until the moment they really had no choice but to leave the apartment.

Everything was perfect that morning, the sun shining and the birds singing. His bank balance not in the red for once, and his favorite donuts still cooling on the rack, when he called in at his favorite coffee place. Life was good, life was only going to get better, then he answered his cell phone to Frank Gordon and everything went to hell in a handcart.

Because he knew - they all knew - and now he was going to have to be punished for it. Plans were being brought forward, details swapped around a little, and if he was quick maybe he’d get a mention in the newspapers for his attempted heroism.

Harvey dropped the coffee and the donuts. Ran like he hadn’t since he was 15 and old man Tschetter’s Alsatian was after his ass. Panted in a barely intelligible call to headquarters, requesting back-up, and still arrived on campus to the sounds of screaming and panic. There had been gunfire, one kid down on the ground clutching at their leg, and all Harvey could think about was finding Jim.

Felt his heart falter in his chest at the sight of him, painful and debilitating, and pushed through it regardless, his lungs burning so hard at first he didn’t even notice the shot. Didn’t register and didn’t react, too busy covering Jim like a useless human shield, and then it didn’t really matter, because Jim was safe - Jim was going to be alright - and when he passed out it was with the parting memory of Jim’s big blue eyes fixed on his own as he told him he loved him.

* * *

He came to in the hospital, every muscle in his body feeling like it had gone ten rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson.

“I told you your judgement was shot to shit,” Danziger said, voice disembodied as his vision slowly swam into focus, “damn kid nearly killed you twice over.”

“J-” He tried, throat aching and swollen, and it was Simmons this time who picked up the slack,

“Is fine. You want to hope your insurance premiums are in order though. Three shots, one through the lung. You’re lucky you’re still here to tell the tale.”

She filled him in on the rest quickly. Confirmed what he had already suspected - that Jim was being groomed to be the perfect sacrifice. The perfect innocent who would lose his life and catapult Frank Gordon, and the shady characters funding him, to the Mayoral victory on the back of a sympathy vote. A promise to clean up Gotham, starting with Roger taking out swathes of gang territory. They’d probably stab him in the back when that was done, another sacrifice to the greater good.

“They’re both in custody,” Simmons said, “nothing watertight yet, but we’re following the money.”

Jim’s mother wasn’t implicated in any way and Harvey had nothing more to offer on that front. He wouldn’t be surprised either way.

“I don’t understand why they brought it forward,” Harvey rasped out eventually, because they must have always known he was a cop. It wasn’t news to them. They had been planning to use him for something, because why else would they have given him the invitations.

“Danziger told you,” Simmons chided softly, “you’ve got a blind spot. The kid worked the bulk of it out somehow. Decided there was nothing to be done but report it to the police - he had an appointment to speak to a detective that afternoon.”

The thought filled him with pride even as the tears brimmed and fell. Jim was committed to doing the right thing, the just thing, even if it was going to tear his family apart. Even if meant believing that his beloved uncle could be so cold and heartless. He was still struggling for composure when Simmons told him that she had to go because there was someone else who wanted to see him.

Someone who had been at his bedside the entire time, and who she was sure was smart enough not to jeopardise any case they might be building on the back of his evidence.

He wasn’t even listening, just nodded dully, eyes clenched tight shut against the sting of further tears until a hand took his own and he turned his head to see the face of the one person he figured would definitely not be visiting.

“I’m not an idiot, Harvey,” Jim said quietly, “I might not have worked it out straight away, but you couldn’t keep making no progress on the same book forever. You had to be paying the rent somehow.”

“I wanted to -” he tried, voice failing him. Cleared his throat painfully and attempted again with, “If I’d known you were in that much danger -”

“I feel like it happened all over again,” Jim whispered, clutching tighter at his hand, “like I woke up and lost everything. Please don’t disappear on me too. Not yet.”

“I never lied about loving you,” Harvey croaked, “I didn’t want to lie to you about anything.”

He reached for Jim’s face. Swiped away moisture with his thumb and wished he was well enough to pull Jim into his embrace. He had no choice but to settle for bringing Jim’s hand to his lips. For kissing Jim’s knuckles and clinging to his hand like a lifeline.

“Tell me how I can make it up to you?” He begged finally, pushed past common sense and fighting against the pull of the exhaustion and the painkillers, so he couldn’t be sure if he was imagining it when Jim gave him a sad smile and said,

“Help me try and pick up the pieces.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	210. Chapter 210

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _We’re best friends and i’ve been in love with you for forever but i’m 3000% sure you just see me as a friend except why is this sexual tension happening rn_

“It’s enough to put you off your dinner,” Harvey complained, relish dripping from his sandwich and down his cheap poly-blend tie, “I don’t know why we drew the short straw.”

Jim glanced at the couples from the club opposite, busy making the most of the lull in the rain beyond the car window, and hid a scowl in his take-out coffee. Failed to wash away the words gathering on his tongue and ground out,

“I don’t know what gives you the moral high ground. There probably isn’t a girl working the streets tonight you haven’t stuck your dick in.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He could drop it now. Shake his head and mutter under his breath while they each pretended they had won the argument. Storm off and let the fresh air clear his head, or a drugs arrest or two soothe the urge to punch something. He was sick of it though.

Beyond done with the snide comments and the sly insinuation.

“It means that you’re the one with the problem. Why don’t you try saying it to my face instead of hiding behind the stupid jokes? We both know why we were given this job.”

Everyone knew, Jim had no doubt of it. Had heard some of the other guys sniggering back in the precinct locker room, the gossip that had preceded him from the 21st only bolstered by the transfer of a couple of the guys he had really clashed heads with.

“Yeah,” Harvey countered, frowning at him like he couldn’t work out where he most wanted to swing for him, “because I went to school with the manager. Anybody else would have been moved on by now.”

That wasn’t what Jim had expected, really wasn’t something he had a response prepared for, and Harvey just screwed up the rest of his food and dropped it onto the clutter on the dashboard. Twisted in his chair to signify that there was no way they were simply dropping this, and looked him over like he was reconsidering everything he knew about him.

“I don’t care a damn who you screwed in the army, or who screwed you. I don’t judge people for something that ain’t any of my goddamn business. Maybe you should give it a try sometime. It don’t cost nothing.”

They spent the next 40 minutes or so sitting in silence, tense and awkward, the indignant rage radiating off Harvey in waves, and the guilt churning around in his own stomach. A better man would have apologized. A good man wouldn’t have ended up in this situation in the first place.

“Why were you going to lose your dinner at the sight of two guys making out then?” the man he was asked finally, unable to simply drop the topic, and Harvey swore a blue streak that made him wince. Had him bracing for a blow, for the kind of scuffle he was more than familiar with inciting, but Harvey sucked in a calming breath and counted out five beats.

Spoke plainly and calmly,

“It’s a figure of speech. It’s something you say when two people - neither of which are you - start sucking the face off each other. Is there anything else you’d like me to explain about the human race now, or has this been enough enlightenment for one evening?”

Jim didn’t answer. Stared silently out of the window until they had no choice but to agree that the guy they had been waiting for was a no show.

“Look, I -” he tried when they made it back to the precinct, ready to sign off and be done with the shift, but Harvey interrupted him before he could get any further.

“Don’t mention it, Jim. Seriously. I never want to have a repeat of this conversation.”

So they didn’t. Not when the juvenile whispering behind his back slowed and then disappeared, and not when Barbara made the decision to up and leave him. Not when the way he looked at Harvey started shifting, and not when the curiosity burned so intently he felt like it would kill him, his head full of questions he knew he could never ask his partner.

Because Harvey never gave any indication he might be interested, for all that he assured him that they were the best of the friends.

For all that he held him close like a brother.

Jim tried to bring it up occasionally. Asked Harvey how it had been the first time, and flushed to the tips of his ears with drink and embarrassment when Harvey told him if they started down that road, it would be a quid pro quo arrangement. He couldn’t do it, would need more than a few snifters of whiskey to describe the way he had got his knees wet and muddy for a declaration that never meant anything, and he went home that night without pushing it any further.

He stuck to watching instead. Wishing and wanting, and imagining how things might be if it wasn’t paid company Harvey chose to take to his bed.

If he wasn’t so toxic literally anybody else was preferable.

That was what he thought when a case called them both out of bed one night, and he reached Harvey’s apartment in time to see his latest find leaving.

“Don’t give me that look, Jim,” Harvey warned, pulling on his coat and shoving his wallet back in his pocket, “I told you before about judging people.”

It was the first time Harvey had alluded to that night and all the baggage that came with it. But now the floodgates were open and Harvey was still talking as they made their way down the stairwell of his apartment building, and out to the car.

“I’m not like you. I get lonely.”

“And you think I don’t?” Jim questioned, harsher than he had intended. Sometimes he thought he’d succumb to it, unable to keep his head above the surface, all those long empty nights stretching on and on into the future.

Harvey stopped and looked at him. Frowned at him like he had all those years ago, like he couldn’t even begin to make sense of him, and said finally,

“Maybe you’re just better at hiding it.”

He should drop it, he knew. Knew it just as certainly as he had known it back then. It hadn’t stopped him then and it didn’t stop him now, though they had a crime scene to be at and a friendship he shouldn’t be jeopardising.

“Maybe I just want more than a couple of hours with someone who won’t remember my name afterwards.”

The tension stretched, the eye contact unbearable, then Harvey was getting in the car and resolutely avoiding his gaze. Playing the fool, turning everything into one big joke, and Jim only swallowed down the lump in his throat and let Harvey’s words wash over him.

“Couple of hours? I always knew you had a high opinion of yourself.”

Something had shifted between them though, no matter how many jokes Harvey cracked on the subject, and the very next weekend they were eating take out on Harvey’s poor excuse of a couch when the other man started answering a question he had almost forgotten asking.

“She was older than me - I never asked how much by - and said we had to make it quick because her old man was due home any time. It was all over in minutes. I don’t know what else you were expecting.”

Jim shrugged, focus on the food he was pushing around with his fork. Wished that he could put into words why he had wanted to know - what he had wanted to come out of it. Squared his shoulders in determination and admitted stiltedly,

“He told me he loved me and I’ve always been stupid.”

Harvey was silent at that. Considering, maybe. Indifferent, perhaps.

“I’ve never tried it,” he said when Jim had convinced himself that they were dropping the topic, “for a long time I never thought I’d want to.”

The air felt thick and heavy around them, Jim’s pulse picking up with the effort of maintaining regular function. With drawing in breath after breath, and not giving in to the anxious fluttering in his stomach.

“What changed?” Jim asked carefully, his food relegated to the coffee table as he waited for an answer.

His heart was hammering now, breath coming in sharp staccato bursts, so very aware of the way his knee was almost touching Harvey’s.

Of the way Harvey was looking at him, so intense Jim couldn’t have dragged his gaze away if he had wanted to.

“You. You turned up with your drive and your deathwish, and I’ve never been the same since. Nobody ever made me feel the things you do.”

That wasn’t a good thing, not necessarily, but Harvey sounded kind of lost with it. Like he hadn’t intended to say it, like he simply hadn’t been able to help himself, and now he was looking to Jim for reassurance that it was okay. That they were going to be okay.

All Jim could do was take the food carton from Harvey’s lap. Throw it to the floor, out of the way, and surge forward to take its place, his hands framing Harvey’s face as their mouths found each other.

Harvey took control of the kiss as easy as breathing. Pushed a hand into his hair and drove him half mad with wanting, the slick heat of his mouth so perfect that all he could ask for was more. Tugged at Harvey’s hair and nipped at his lip, and got all his hopes fulfilled when Harvey pinned him down to the sofa and started grinding against him.

Rolled his hips, the weight and the friction so hot it made him see stars, and carried on kissing him and kissing him while they moved together, so that Jim could only kiss back eagerly and grab at his ass and his belt, desperate to get him closer.

He thought, for a moment, of calling a halt long enough to get some clothes off. To get on his knees, or move things through to the bedroom. But then Harvey started kissing at his throat. Licked and sucked and tortured, hips still grinding against him, and Jim couldn’t think of anything beyond how unbearably good it felt. He whined, helpless, when Harvey licked down beneath the ridge of his collar, and suddenly Harvey was tearing at the knot of his tie and the buttons of his collar.

Pressed his mouth to the newly revealed skin, the very first moment he could, and Jim just arched up so that their bodies touched at every point he could manage it, fingers twisting tight in the back of Harvey’s shirt as he held on for dear life. Because in his fantasies he was suave and sophisticated. Confident, above all, and able to blow Harvey’s mind with the way that he touched him.

In reality he was a mess. Fevered and desperate, and so hot for it that though Harvey scrabbled at his belt buckle, attempting to get to him, he couldn’t last long enough, shaking and shuddering and pushing up into the heel of Harvey’s hand, the sensation so good even through the layers of clothing between them.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey groaned, eyes dark and dazed where they met his own, so Jim kissed him again, deep and filthy. Pressed his thigh into the hardness of Harvey’s erection, and at least managed to get his pants undone and his dick free, even if it was only to squeeze his fingers around it a few times. To rub his thumb through the gratifying slickness at the tip, loving the sound Harvey made in response, and then the way he begged him to stop before he came off on how good it felt.

“Do it,” Jim urged, encouraging him with a few slick strokes before returning to what he had been doing, watching Harvey’s face closely as he gave into it. As he grimaced and gasped, and groaned out his name, jerking against him as he spilled over his fingers.

They lay together in the aftermath, Harvey’s weight spread over him like a blanket, both of them needing to catch their breath, clothing sticking uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be like that,” Harvey said when one of them was really going to have to move, for the sake of the cushions sprawled half over the floor if not any other reason, and Jim tensed up instinctively.

Opened his mouth to promise that it could be better, that he could do better, but Harvey simply kissed him, soft and tender, and hauled them up into a sitting position, so that Jim was cuddled in against him.

“I was worried it would be awkward. Weird. I don’t know. I should have known it would make my brain melt out of my ears - you’ve always got to be an overachiever.”

From where he was sitting, he hadn’t done a lot of anything. Had writhed and clutched and begged, and not a lot else, but the look on Harvey’s face made it clear he wasn’t joking. The praise in his tone had him glowing with pride, with everything he felt for Harvey, and he settled for telling him that he had some excellent motivation before kissing him heatedly, the flush burning down the back of his neck as he plotted out the potential for the rest of the evening.

Because if Harvey thought that was good, Jim was going to see to it that he never so much as looked elsewhere again, not while there was breath in his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	211. Chapter 211

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from angryangryowl: _Can I maybe prompt Gordlock and Harvey rescuing Jim from drowning? Maybe Jim is knocked out/incapacitated somehow? I just really love Harvey being Jim's knight in shining armour..._

It made sense, dark and twisted sense, that it should end where it had all started. Where he had planted the seed of corruption in Jim’s breast, uncaring of what it would do to the man in front of him. Uncaring of anything beyond fulfilling his obligation to Falcone and waking up to greet another miserable morning.

This time it was Jim with the price on his head, gagged and bound, with blood trickling down his temple. That was how he had looked when he was shoved into the trunk of the car, Harvey’s cries of his name falling on deaf ears, and all Harvey could do now was pray that it wasn’t already too late.

Put his foot to the pedal and drive like a madman, leaving tire tracks on concrete as he rammed the safety gates and threw the car around corners.

He could see tail lights in the distance, car doors left open as a figure was walked down the length of the pier, slow and shuffling.

Cursed a blue streak as the engine faltered and stalled, life draining away, and then abandoned it to leg power, lungs burning as he pushed through the dim light and the pelting rain, frantic with the need to get to Jim.

He heard the splash rather than saw it. Heard the peals of manic laughter, and the mocking cheer of voices imploring Jim to have a nice trip.

To not fight the inevitable.

Harvey didn’t waste time on accusations or procedure. Didn’t even shed his jacket or worry about the papers he was carrying. He simply threw himself in, the icy water like a shock wave to the system, and sucked in a desperate breath before searching beneath the murky surface.

It was too dark, too polluted, and when he broke water the first time it was without any sighting of his partner. He tried again, fuelled by nothing but fear and adrenaline, and when he finally succeeded in grabbing hold of Jim’s arm the relief was so great he was terrified that it was some cruel trick of his imagination.

Jim was too far gone to be of assistance, a dead weight beyond awareness, and when Harvey kicked and struggled and got nowhere, he wondered if it was destiny.

Everyone had always promised that Jim would be the death of him.

He got there though. Heaved and hauled and panted, slipping in the mud as he dragged Jim out of the water. Only swiped more water into his eyes with his sleeve, and fumbled his pen knife with clumsy fingers so he could breathe air into Jim’s lungs, begging and pleading and promising.

It felt like the world stopped spinning until Jim started coughing. Like everything had been put on hold, his entire future reliant on Jim’s continued place in it, and then he was clutching Jim to him, unashamed of the hot spill of tears which found their way into Jim’s hair.

“You were going to marry the last person you almost drowned for,” Jim told him when he had cut his wrists free. When he was just clinging to him, too close and too intimate, waiting for the call he had put through to headquarters to finally yield some assistance. “I screwed that up for you too, didn’t I?”

He thought of Scottie sobbing into his chest. The way he had felt like a hero.

Now he was the one looking to be rescued, lost and hurting and so in need of Jim’s attention.

“What we’ve got is stronger than marriage. You’re my partner, Jim. You come first, always.”

Jim did sob at that, harsh and painful as his fingers tangled tight in his lapels.

“I thought I was dead this time. I thought I was never going to see you again.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said in turn, helpless in the face of Jim’s distress, and rather than call him up on it - rather than use words at all - Jim only pushed closer, head tilting up until there was no other option but to press their lips together.

To kiss Jim, the way he had always wanted to, until there were sirens sounding in the distance and Jim buried his face in his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” Jim choked out, meaning the ride to the hospital, and all the questions that would come afterwards. Harvey simply held him tighter, shutting the world out for a few more moments, and hoped Jim understood what he meant by it.

 _Never_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	212. Chapter 212

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock ask! I love insecure!Harvey about his weight and i live insecure!Jim about man sex, but can i please get a pic where Jim is worried that Harvey will be worried about his weight and when they finally go to do the do Jim starts to let him know it's not a problem and Harvey is like "What are you talking about? i'm a grade a class hunk of beef." And is just totally secure in his body._
> 
> Cracky little ficlet. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)

Jim wasn’t his usual type - far from it. He was too pretty. Too lean and too clean shaven.

High maintenance, he supposed was the term for it.

None of that mattered, when the chips were down, because Jim had wormed his way into his heart and mind. He never wanted to imagine living life without him.

“I hope you don’t think I - ” Jim started awkwardly when they finally took things to the next level, hand splayed across the swell of Harvey's stomach, “You know I love the way you look?”

It was sweet, the way Jim was so concerned about the differences between them. How obviously worried he was that he didn’t match up to Harvey’s expectations.

“We can’t all look like prime rib, can we?” He soothed, kissing the concerned expression from Jim’s face. Jim smiled at him instead, relieved, and Harvey set about thoroughly distracting him.

So Jim might not be the manliest looking guy out there - Harvey had it covered for the both of them.


	213. Chapter 213

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _There's a bit in[Chapter 135](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27758469) where Jim reflects on the characters from the book Harvey is reading, "he imagined how things might have turned out if his and Harvey’s initial antagonism had found the same kind of outlet. If they would be sharing a bed now, an address and a joint checking account, instead of sitting around marooned on their own islands of loneliness." Could you write a fic where this happens? Where partners with benefits turns into friends then lovers with mutual pining? Thanks!!_

It felt kind of inevitable, the first time. The natural progression from all those long nights pretending not to be interested. The lingering looks and the simmering anger that was only ever a drink or two away from boiling over into frantic rutting.

“Maybe you’re better off without her,” Harvey said of Barbara, a whiskey sodden attempt at sympathy, and Jim watched his lips form the words rather than listen to them. Thought of what he wanted to forget, and how he wanted to forget it, and ended up on Harvey’s bed, blunt fingers working him open as he pushed back into the intrusion and demanded through gritted teeth that Harvey stop teasing and get on with it.

Harvey told him to stop being such a slut. To shut his mouth and let him do the necessary, and then Jim looked back and realized with a shiver that they could prep all night and he’d still feel the ache of it in the morning.

Maybe he wouldn’t be able to walk, if Harvey really got carried away with it, and all he could do was swallow back his embarrassing pleas for more as Harvey started slamming into him.

It had been such a long time, such a very long time, and it was only afterwards that reality caught up with him. When he hid his face in his arm, panting for breath and denying the hot sting of tears on his lashes - not for what they had done, but because he had never believed his life would come to this.

Harvey left him to it. Didn’t want to deal with the histrionics, and didn’t even much like him into the bargain. At least that was what Jim assumed until the bed dipped beside him, and clumsy fingers smeared cream along his ass crack.

“Told you to wait and let me do it properly,” Harvey said, gruff but not indifferent, before tugging at the blankets and starting snoring.

Jim lay awake a long time, head spinning with the drink and the entire situation, but in the morning Harvey acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and Jim wasn’t ready to push the subject. Wasn’t ready to acknowledge it at all, not really, at least until the next time he was three sheets to the wind and had his face in Harvey’s lap, nosing along the outline of his dick.

“You sure you want to do this?” Harvey asked him, hand petting his too short hair, and Jim didn’t say a word in answer.

He was no longer sure about anything.

Because it was a mistake he kept on repeating, over and over again, until Harvey told him that he was trying for wedding bells and happy ever after, and he said yes to the beautiful Dr. Thompkins, determined to put the entire sordid mess behind him.

Fate had other plans.

Drove him straight back into Harvey’s arms, into Harvey’s orbit, until more nights than not he spent in Harvey’s bed, the two of them everything to each other under the cover of darkness they could never be in the cold light of morning. Not when he was a virus, a toxic mess rightly shunned by everyone, and not when Harvey was only attempting to be a good friend, working him into sated exhaustion instead of going out and doing so very much better.

At least that was what he believed until the world went black and he opened his eyes six feet below ground in his own coffin. When he heard the desperation in Harvey’s tone, and the helpless crack in his voice as he begged Jim to inject the virus.

He still hesitated. Thought of what it would mean to lose control of himself. Thought then of what it would mean never to see Harvey again, never to get chance to say the three little words the older man deserved to hear, and jabbed the needle into his neck, no room for regrets or second guessing.

“You’re the best cop I ever worked with,” Harvey told him when the burning in his veins reached fever pitch. Reached out and touched a hand to his cheek, thumb brushing along the black spiderweb of the virus. “You’re the best friend I ever had.”

Jim focused on the touch and the sound. The scent of Harvey’s cologne at his wrist, warm and familiar, and sucked in a shuddering breath so he could curl his fingers in Harvey’s dishevelled hair and press their foreheads together. So that they could breathe in sync, in and out and out and in, his lips scant millimetres away from where he truly needed them.

“I love you,” he pledged later, out of view of prying eyes, and Harvey only braced his forearms either side of his head so that the world was reduced to nothing but the intensity of their gaze and the movement of their bodies.

It didn’t mean that it was easy, or that all the rough edges were soothed away. He railed against Harvey’s decision to side with the Commissioner, to not push for justice, and though he knew Harvey was holding some secret close to his chest he flew out to Miami and the promise of the unknown, rather than insist Harvey simply talk to him.

He almost gave in, too. Stood in a stranger’s hotel room, her hand on his hip and her lips on his own, before the reality of what he was doing hit him. Just what he had to lose, what it was he was throwing away, and he stuttered out inadequate apologies and left without looking back.

Paid through the nose to get onto an earlier flight, and turned up at Harvey’s apartment in the dead of night, kissing him desperately as he pushed them through to the bedroom.

“Whatever it is, tell me,” he implored, “don’t shut me out, Harvey.”

“I got bills,” Harvey confessed to him, reluctant and shame faced, “I got debts stretching way back.”

“We’ve got debts,” Jim corrected, adamant, “We’re partners, we share everything. We don’t need anybody else - not Falcone, not Penguin, not even the Commissioner.”

Harvey kissed him. Packed up his clutter and set about turning Jim’s miserable apartment into a home. Stood with him when it looked hopeless, and was the first to sing his praises when the tides started turning.

“I always knew you could do it,” Harvey told him when he made it to the top, all those years later, his name on the font pages of the newspapers and the glass panelled door of his new office.

“I didn’t,” Jim confessed, truthful, and relaxed a little into the hand Harvey placed on his shoulder in acknowledgement of what he was really thinking.

He could have done it, maybe, but without someone to share it with he wasn’t certain it would have been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	214. Chapter 214

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _a raid gone wrong leaves either Harvey or Jim handcuffed to something. The un-cuffed half of the partnership finds them like that and... you fill in the blank. ;)_
> 
> I incorporated it into a prison fantasy because deathbyotpin123 drew a very inspiring pic of [Jim having some alone time in Blackgate](https://deathbyotpin123.tumblr.com/post/170238349976/serenwib-deathbyotpin123-gotta-be-careful)...

Jim had spent his whole life trying to be perfect. The perfect son and the perfect brother. The ideal student and the model soldier. He did things the right way, the proper way, forever in training for the day he had to teach another human being the hows and whys, the way his own father had done for him.

Except that day had just been postponed, maybe indefinitely, and all he could do was stare at the gray walls of his cell and try to pinpoint exactly when he had started failing so spectacularly.

It wasn’t with Nygma nor with Galavan. Not with the Penguin, even, that day at the docks when Harvey had stood there and told him to make a choice he could continue to live with. The man he should have been wouldn’t have pretended. His father’s son should have stood his ground and offered Cobblepot his protection.

The man he was had already faltered, was already soiled, and he thought of decisions he had made back in the army. Of touches stolen under cover of darkness, things he could never admit to wanting in the cold light of morning, and what he had gone on to do to ensure they didn’t become common knowledge.

Now he questioned whether it would have mattered. If anything did, really, because his precious reputation was in tatters and he had nothing left to lose. No further to fall, not if he believed the headlines in the newspapers, and rather than weep pointless tears into his pillow he let his fingers wander, one hand over his mouth to stifle the shift in breathing, the way he had learned to do in barracks.

For once he didn’t pretend. He didn’t picture glossy lips, or curves, or straining blouses. Instead he cut to the chase, and dreamed up big hands and broad shoulders. The rasp of facial hair and the press of hard heat at his hip. Against his cheek.

On his tongue.

His hand stole beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Teased at the blatant proof of his body’s interest, toes curling into the thin material of the blanket, and didn’t bother attempting to direct his mind away from what it wanted to focus on. The scents and the sounds, and the ridiculous scenarios he resorted to when nothing else would push him over the edge and into oblivion.

Getting caught in the locker room, perhaps, cool metal against his back as he opened his eyes to find a green gaze watching him. An argument bubbling over, maybe, strong arms shoving him back against the brick wall of some dank alley, holding him in place as a thick thigh pushed between his legs and proved all his protests worthless.

A call out going wrong - his absolute failsafe - so that he was left half naked and humiliated, both wrists cuffed to the wall while his dick twitched and strained for attention.

Harvey would find him like that. Would look him over, eyes darkening, and ask him what kind of professional ended up in such a situation. Mocked him, just a little, and splayed a hand over his abdomen, commenting too innocently that they couldn’t let the others find him in that state.

In the present Jim bit back a whimper, thumb sliding in the precome oozing from his dick, and he had to wrap his hand around himself. Had to start stroking, because in his fantasy Harvey was crooning softly in his ear and instructing him to tell him what he needed. Playing dumb and forcing him to voice what Harvey could do to make all that painful looking swelling disappear.

Taking pity on him when he couldn’t do it, not even in his own stupid make believe, and unzipped his pants instead, pulling his flushed cock out and suggesting that he demonstrate. It would feel so good in his mouth, so big and hard and perfect, and he imagined the breathy noises Harvey would let slip as he swallowed him to the root, hand moving faster and faster under the blankets.

His cellmate moved then, shifting about in the bunk above him, and he had to bite into the knuckles of his hand to keep himself from touching. To fight off the urge to buck up into his fist anyway, wanton and desperate, and he shuddered all over as he imagined what his partner might say on the subject of his being so eager. Of his being so close and so frantic, just from having a dick down his throat.

He’d have to be quiet there too, lest they draw the attention of back-up, but he wouldn’t be able to. He’d be begging for it, for anything Harvey was willing to give him, and he had to start stroking again, heart pounding and chest heaving, because he was too for gone to hold back now.

Harvey wouldn’t let him hold back. Would put a hand in his hair - not cruel, but guiding. Keeping him where he was meant to be as he gave him what he deserved, faster and harder until he was whining for more, hips bucking up into nothing as Harvey groaned out his satisfaction.

Jim bit down again as he came, so lost to it he could almost taste the bitter heat on his tongue, and then he was shuddering with the aftershocks, hand sticky and wet as the sounds of the prison filtered back to him. The snores and the sobs, and the echo of regulation issue footwear patrolling the corridors.

He curled on his side then, and refused to acknowledge the slip slide of his own tears. Shut his eyes and closed his ears, and waited for the blissful ignorance of sleep to claim him because there was no going back. No way to undo the things he had done.

Even if Harvey worked some miracle, if all his prayers were answered, it would be too late.

His perfect life, the life he was striving for, had only ever been an illusion.

Now he had to work out how to live without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	215. Chapter 215

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from geekrambling: _While cleaning up Harvey's storage space so that they won't have too much clutter in their new apartment Jim finds a handcrafted cradle behind some boxes. He thinks it was something Harvey bought before they got together & Jim was still with Lee. It turns out Harvey made it when he and his first wife were trying to get pregnant. When the pregnancy test come back negative, his ex put the blame all on Harvey, Que Jim talking Harper into becoming their surrogate & Harvey the father of the baby._

Jim knew how to travel light. How to pare his belongings down to the bare essentials, and only hang on to sentimental items which were truly irreplaceable. That was what the army had taught him, had been the kind of person he was anyway, and it wasn’t until they signed on the dotted line that he realized it was a skill that Harvey really did not have any experience with.

He couldn’t see the wood for the trees, didn’t seem able to part with anything, and Jim took it upon himself to start sorting through the endless clutter, because there was no way it was accompanying them to the new apartment.

They didn’t need chipped crockery or faded linens, no matter where or who they came from, and they certainly didn’t need Harvey’s collection of eco systems growing in the coffee mugs he never got around to washing.

“Can’t we just sort through it when we get there?” Harvey asked him once, early on in the process, and the look on his face was enough for him to suggest that he go out and get something for dinner. Run a few errands, maybe, just to give Jim time to really work his magic.

That was how Jim found himself filling garbage bags with junk - a broken fax machine and exercise equipment that likely hadn’t seen the light of day since the 1980s - before he could even get to the main bulk of Harvey’s storage closet. There were a pile of boxes there, some of which Jim could tell he was going to have to concede to their bringing with them, filled as they were with childhood memories and Harvey’s mother’s clothing.

Behind those there was still more stuff. A step ladder that might be useful if it wasn’t half buried, and a camp bed Jim would have given his eye teeth for on nights when he breaking his back out on Harvey’s lumpy sofa. A pile of old blankets, moth holed and dust ridden, and beneath them a baby’s crib on rockers.

It looked handmade, the kind of thing that cost a fortune, and Jim couldn’t help but run a hand over the smoothly finished edges, thoughts lost to the baby he had never had the chance to say goodbye to.

By the time Harvey got home the crib was forming the basis of the good enough to keep pile, on the grounds that Harvey would probably want to hold on to it until they found someone to give it away to. Someone who needed it, who would make good use of it, because a crib wasn’t the kind of thing a guy picked up on a whim - at least not a guy like Harvey.

Perhaps he and Scottie had been talking about it, Jim speculated. Maybe it had been intended as a gift for a family member who had already gone out and bought something.

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted that,” Harvey said when his gaze fell on it, like he couldn’t stop himself, “before - well, before shit happened.”

The words were harsh but his tone was soft, albeit scratched up and fraying at the edges, and Jim felt the faint pull of a smile at the idea. He would have liked his baby to have started their life in a gift from the best friend he could ever have. He didn’t say that though, couldn’t find the words to express it, and settled instead for asking Harvey how long he had had it.

“A long time, 30 years almost. I made it after I got married.”

Jim looked at it with fresh eyes at that. Imagined how much work must have gone into it, with all the fancy detail work at the corners, and understood suddenly that it represented so much more than just a hobby.

“I always wanted kids,” Harvey shrugged when they were sitting side by side on the beat up sofa, trying and failing to sound indifferent. “We both did.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jim praised rather than push and prod for painful memories, “it must have taken you ages.”

“I wanted it to be perfect. You know how it is.”

Harvey gave him a smile, tinged with sadness, and Jim had to kiss him until he was back with him - back in the here and now - because he couldn’t bear to see Harvey miserable.

He got the full story a couple of weeks later, when the crib found a new home in the storage closet of their new apartment, and Harvey told him that they didn’t have to keep it if he didn’t want to. Jim couldn’t really explain it to Harvey, let alone to himself, because kids weren’t part of their near future, and in most other respects of the clear out he had been pretty ruthless.

Maybe it was just that he could tell that Harvey was holding back on him. That it meant a lot, more than he had been willing to admit to, and finally he got it confirmed in bed that night, his fingers petting at Harvey’s arm as the other man told him stiltedly about how it had been to keep trying over and over and over again. How it had crushed them, slowly but surely, and how ecstatic they had both been when the test finally came back positive.

Jim tensed at that, fearing what was coming, but Harvey pressed an awkward kiss into his hair and described the day he had come home from work to be told that the baby wasn’t his.

“I told her we could work out, that the biology didn’t really matter, but she just shook her head and said that it was him she really wanted to be with.”

“What did you do?” Jim asked, moving enough to be able to look into Harvey’s eyes, to try and offer what support he could, and Harvey simply huffed a bitter little laugh and blinked back tears at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t accept it was finished, kept turning up every chance I got. He made her get a paternity test done because, you know, why else would I want this kid made by the woman I loved? She was his, obviously, and that was the end of it. Game over. I never wanted to love somebody like that again - to love someone so much I felt sick every time I remembered that they didn’t want to know me.”

He sucked in a calming breath then. Tugged Jim closer and confessed,

“Then you came along and I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

“I’m never going anywhere,” Jim said, instinctive, and even after Harvey’s breathing evened out and he fell asleep Jim clutched a little too close, thinking about everything Harvey had told him.

Because it was true - this was it for him. He wasn’t planning on ever looking elsewhere. He wanted to be with Harvey, for the two of them to build a life together, so that as the first rays of morning light began filtering through the new window blinds an idea was slowly beginning to formulate.

He didn’t rush it along. Didn’t act on impulse the way he so often made the mistake of doing, or set about burning all his bridges before he ever had chance to consider all the consequences. It made the decision he came to stronger, ensured it was rock solid, and he went and emptied his savings account of the money he had made bounty hunting before he lay the whole thing out in front of Harvey.

“You’re mad,” Harvey said without any hesitation, “This city has finally driven you off your rocker.”

“I love you,” Jim said simply, “I want to raise a family with you.”

“So you’re planning a career break?” Harvey asked, determined to find fault with the plan, “You’re going to quit throwing yourself head first into danger because you need to get home in time to read Jimbo Junior his story?”

“You keep saying that you’re ready to retire from the front line,” Jim reasoned, because if it had to happen there ought to be some kind of recompense, “and, yes, I intend to be around to see our child celebrate every milestone. Unless,” he swiped a hand across the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain, “you don’t want to have a kid with me?”

Harvey just gaped at him. Stared at him for a long moment before spluttering out a protest that didn’t seem able to quite gel together.

“I think you’re missing the point here, Jim,” Harvey managed finally, “it’s a question of biology. Neither of us has the requisite plumbing, and there’s no way the state is going to sign a couple of cops off as suitable candidates for adoption.”

“The biology doesn’t really matter,” Jim quoted, ready with his pièce de résistance, “I know somebody who’s willing. I have the money, and we have a spare room. All you have to do is say yes, Harvey.”

“There is more to it than that. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Last time I’d never even considered the possibility but it was still going to happen,” Jim said bluntly, “just think about it, for me?”

Later they got down to the real crux of the issue, quiet and sated under the covers, Harvey touching fingers to the side of his face and looking at him like he was something truly special.

“I don’t know if I can go through it again. It tore me apart last time - the stress, Jim. The disappointment. I can’t lose you. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jim reiterated. “If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. We’ll adopt that cat you hate so much and say no more about it.”

“Don’t you dare encourage that pest,” Harvey groused, good natured, and Jim knew without being told that he had been granted victory.

It wasn’t simple, not in the cool, logical way it had seemed all plotted out inside his head. It wasn’t easy either, getting his hopes up only to get them dashed, and then the constant fretting and worrying. The marrow deep terror that something would go wrong, and the sickly sensation of powerlessness that went along with it.

He got his own way with the stray though. Took it for a check up at the vets, and bought it a flea collar. House trained it, and spoiled it, and felt like his heart was fit to burst when he caught Harvey talking to it, reassuring that they wouldn’t forget about it just because there was going to be a new arrival making use of all the flat pack furniture he was tackling.

“Why aren’t you helping?” Harvey asked when he looked up and saw him in the doorway, and Jim just shrugged smugly and said,

“You’re the craftsman. I thought you’d want to scratch build that wardrobe to match the crib.”

“I ought to put you over my damn knee,” Harvey said, giving up on the instruction sheet in frustration, “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this aggravation.”

Jim beamed at the tone. Navigated his way through the mess to wrap his arms around Harvey’s shoulders.

“I’m so happy it’s scaring me,” he confessed in a whisper, torn between contented joy and frightened panic, but Harvey just twisted around enough to kiss him. Pressed their foreheads together, one hand at his nape, and told him that he was struggling with the exact same feeling.

Panic started to win out as the end - the beginning - inched closer. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways it could all end in disaster, and he couldn’t help the clenching in his gut every time the phone rang. The desperate fear that even if they made it, even if the baby was safe and sound with perfect tiny toes and fingers, her mother wouldn’t want to hand her over, and somehow they would have to try and pick up the pieces.

“I have to do something,” Harvey snapped at him when he got in to find his partner actually cleaning the place, all hot soapy water and elbow grease, “I can’t just sit there thinking about it. I just - I can’t, Jim.”

He understood, totally and completely, and when a call came in from the precinct he hesitated only to meet Harvey’s gaze for approval before saying that he was on his way to deal with it.

“If something happens -” he tried, inadequate to the task of talking about it, but Harvey cut him off and told him to go.

“What will be, will be. You being here or you being there - it won’t make any difference.”

It almost did, all the same. He got hit across the head with a plank of wood and left for dead, his cell phone gone and his radio without a signal. By the time somebody reached him it was already happening, couldn’t be halted if they wanted to, so he arrived at the hospital in a torn suit, blood caked along his hair line.

“You promised me no more throwing yourself into danger head first,” Harvey breathed, kissing him softly on the temple, “that was the deal, Jim.”

He was smiling though. Beaming so wide Jim could finally breathe easy, leaning into Harvey’s side as he got his first look at their daughter.

“I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to thank you,” was what he said to Harper, tears blurring his vision even as he choked the words out.

“Go wash?” she suggested, nose wrinkling, “Think about the glowing recommendation you’re going to write me for the Captaincy?”

“I’d have done both those things anyway.”

She smiled at him, kind of fond, and said, “I know,” before shooing him off so she could speak to her own partner.

Harvey made him go and get on with it. Shower and change and then take a turn with the bottle, nudging his arm a little until it felt less like he was cradling a glass doll and more like he was holding a baby.

“You’re a natural.”

“You’re a liar,” Jim countered, “but thank you for trying.”

“You’ll get there,” Harvey conceded, and kissed his cheek happily, “you’re gonna get plenty of practice.”

He was, he realized. This was his life now, everything fallen into place, and he sat on the floor beside the crib after he put the baby in it, overawed at how far they had come over the past couple of years.

“What are you thinking about?” Harvey asked when he came and joined him. Sat beside him, bemoaning the long drop down, but smiling all the while.

“Life. Where I’ve been and where I’m going.”

“Maybe you should just think about where you are,” Harvey suggested, knowing, and Jim put his head on Harvey’s shoulder, contentment like he had never known washing over him.

“I think maybe you’re right.”

Harvey just wrapped an arm about him, like he knew it belonged there, and had to get the last word in,

"Now you’re talking sense, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	216. Chapter 216

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimbo is cold and Harvey has to warm him up - fluffy fluff based on [THIS](http://gordlock-fanart.tumblr.com/post/170244283604/serenwib-gordlock-fanart-warmth-%CF%89) pic from Gordlock_Fanart because it's just too adorable!

Jim wasn’t going to ask anyone under his command to do something he wouldn’t do himself. It was the kind of leader he wanted to be - the way he was going to prove himself worthy of the position some were still convinced he had paid too high a price for.

The case needed a senior officer on the scene anyway. Required somebody to coordinate forensics and the press cordon, and if he had to skip dinner so his uniformed officers could take the breaks they were entitled to then so be it. He’d suffered worse than missing a meal or two. Had been left for dead on more occasions than he could count, down in dank basements and out in the blistering middle eastern sun.

He had thought he was a real goner that time, too dehydrated even to cry about it, so that whenever the pressure eased up enough for him to notice how frozen his feet felt he remembered all the pledges he had made back then, about how if he made it through he’d never complain of being cold again.

Some concessions had to be made, all the same. He was relieved to find his gloves in his overcoat pocket, and when somebody pressed a cup of hot take out coffee into his hands he drank it without asking questions, uncaring of the damage it might be doing.

Finally it started snowing again, pretty drifts of snowflakes covering the filth and the grime of the city, and it hit him all in a rush that he couldn’t recall the last time he had sat down, or how long he had been outside for. Was startled to glance at his watch and find it even later than he had assumed, and had to blink ice from his lashes when he heard his name being called.

“There’s a plate of pancakes with your name on it. Come on, partner, don’t argue.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest anyway. Gestured out at the police tape, and the carnage, and the lingering reporters. Got interrupted before he could make a start, Harvey putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in close to say,

“None of it’s going anywhere, but if you don’t start taking better care of yourself you’re gonna end up in the hospital.”

That rankled, hurt in a way he couldn’t even begin to express, because for all the tearful declarations of forgiveness things were still raw and delicate between them. He hadn’t yet let go of the fear that Harvey was going to turn around at any moment and tell him that, actually, their relationship was just too far gone to be salvaged. That Jim wasn’t up to the job, wasn’t worth putting up with, and Harvey was sorry but there was just nothing more to say about it.

Instead Harvey gave him a small smile, fond and more than a little self-deprecating,

“I know what it’s like, Jim. I’ve stood in your shoes, remember?”

He would have felt ashamed at that, undone by the memories of everything that had gone wrong, but Harvey just pulled him a few yards over and out of view. Wrapped his arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world, one hand cradling the back of his head, breath hot on his face as he told him firmly that he wasn’t on his own. That he didn’t need to carry all of it on his shoulders.

It was everything he hadn’t known he was desperate to hear. Enough to take his breath away so that all he could do was clutch at the fabric of Harvey’s coat, wishing he never had to let go again. That Harvey would hold him forever, the older man’s warmth slowly seeping into his numbed limbs.

Maybe he said some of that aloud, maybe he was just too obvious, but Harvey didn’t let go. Pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose instead, the heat and the comfort overwhelming, so that Jim had to cling closer still, trembling a little with the onslaught of emotion.

“You’re freezing,” Harvey said when he finally started to pull away, “you’re shaking.”

“Don’t,” was all Jim managed, fingers curling tighter reflexively, because he wasn’t ready to let go. He hadn’t realized how cold it was until Harvey hugged him. Hadn’t realized how alone he was - how starved of human affection.

Harvey kissed him again, the brush of beard against his cheek, and squeezed one last time before working one arm around his waist instead. Got him walking over to the nearest diner, a worn familiar place they had used to frequent all the time when they were still partnered together, but rather than sit opposite Harvey steered him over to the corner booth and settled in right alongside him.

Didn’t even remove the arm, not until the waitress had taken their order and Jim was starting to regain some feeling in his toes, and then it was only to fix him his coffee the way he liked it and hand it over.

“You ever miss this place?” Harvey asked, conversational, and Jim had to do something. Had to try and make Harvey understand the swirling confusion in his own head. The need to be close - the desire to only get closer.

“I miss the way we were. I miss not feeling like I’d disappointed you.”

Their food was on the table by this point, the cover of focusing on it the only hope he had of getting the words out. He was pushing a forkful around his plate, appetite vanished in the face of his own honesty, when Harvey reached out and stilled his hand. Met his gaze seriously and said,

“You hurt me, we both know that. But I’m no saint - it wasn’t all you, Jim. Do you think I’d be sat here if I really believed that?”

Jim said nothing, all the answer either of them needed, and then Harvey’s fingers were on his cheek. Were warm, and gentle, and holding his head in place so that he couldn’t shy away from the eye contact.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me. You don’t got to work yourself into the ground trying to impress anyone.”

Harvey’s expression softened, like Jim had managed to actually say some of what he was feeling, and suddenly there was the press of lips against his own, the sensation gone almost as soon as it registered.

“You want my help, you just gotta say the word, Jim.”

The meaning - the certainty - spread through him, warming from the inside out. Had him smiling, helpless, and attacking his plate with sudden hunger.

“The heating’s still playing up at my building. It’s going to be really cold tonight.”

“Yeah?” Harvey asked, the grin slowly spreading across his face, “And you think I might have an idea or two on how to keep you warm?”

“Maybe,” Jim conceded, cheeks flooding with color that had nothing to do with the bracing chill outside.

Harvey simply speared the last forkful of food from his plate, triumphant, and gave him a look that warmed his heart even as it sent waves of heat over him.

“What are we waiting for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	217. Chapter 217

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I would love to see a Harvey\Jim story where Jim is the one who has to chase Harvey since the older man believes that Jim could never love especially after the whole Penguin fall out._
> 
> I've got another ask for the same kind of thing that I'll stick close to canon with, so I went AU on this one. :)
> 
> (NB - Amanda Wong is Harvey's partner in the Gotham tie-in novel, Dawn of Darkness. She is basically a female version of Jim so obviously Harvey falls hard for her after some initial antagonism. They've just made it to the making out in the car when she gets doused in petrol and set on fire by a guy Harvey had left loose on the streets...)

“Name?”

“Gordon. Jim Gordon.”

“Not yours,” the man snapped incredulously, gesturing at the body gazing up unseeingly at the night sky. “What’s her name?”

Jim flushed to the tips of his ears. Hurriedly reeled off everything their cursory search of the body and its environs had revealed, and then stood there cringing as the detective - a senior homicide detective from the central precinct, no less - huffed impatiently and set about conducting his own once over. Crouched down and used a cheap ballpoint pen from his pocket to lift up the chain around the girl’s neck so he could see the tiny golden pendant, and lingered over some seemingly innocuous abrasions at her wrist.

“Tell dispatch to get you Maloney over at the 21st,” he said when he stood up, “let him know there’s been another one. And, for the love of all that’s good and holy, don’t let the press get wind of it. Do you think you can manage that?”

Jim nodded kind of breathlessly. Watched on as Detective Bullock took a hip flask from his jacket and swallowed back a long slug of it, the muscles of his throat working in ways that Jim had to look away from. He had scarcely been on patrol a week. He was supposed to be making a good impression.

He got hold of Maloney, at least, and relayed it back to Bullock and Jenkins, his FTO - nervous lest the older man tell the story of his earlier idiocy. Bullock scarcely glanced at him, halting the conversation only long enough to ask if he wanted a medal, and went right back to discussing something that sounded suspiciously like a play by play of the previous evening’s Gotham Harriers game.

“Sir,” Jim cut in eventually, thinking of the handbook and the paperwork, and Jenkins heaved a sigh and apologized,

“Rookies. What you gonna do?”

“I hear you,” Bullock laughed. Clapped Jenkins on the back, friendly and familiar. Didn’t so much as look in his direction, not once, and then they were heading back for the squad car.

The shift was only just starting.

Their paths kept on crossing, though he doubted Bullock was aware of it. Harvey - as his less than subtle questioning had revealed - had been with the GCPD for more than twenty years. Was responsible for collaring some of the biggest names in Blackgate’s Rogue’s Gallery, and was currently partnerless into the bargain.

He had been more discreet about his research into that anomaly. Had sat in the city library for hours, staring at the microfiche reader, slowly charting Harvey Bullock’s descent from Department poster boy to the very picture of apathy.

One set of headlines stayed with him, wouldn’t quit playing on his mind, so that he even went and stood at Detective Wong’s graveside, weighed down with thoughts of what it must have been like - to be there and yet still be powerless to do anything.

There was no headstone yet, nothing but the temporary marker and a cheap bunch of carnations. They were fresh though, recently laid, and on his next weekend off he had his hunch confirmed, when he went to visit his father’s final resting place for the first time in years and watched Bullock linger for a few moments before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

It was that moment which made Jim’s mind up. That sealed the deal.

Harvey was going to be his partner.

Together they were going to transform Gotham City Police Department.

Jim was used to getting what he wanted - there was no room in his plans for failure. He just had to work hard, had to put his all into it, and by the time he had been in uniform six months he was already picking up commendations from the upper brass for his bravery and his dedication.

His immediate colleagues were less convinced. Couldn’t stand him, truth be told, and Jim supposed that it didn’t much matter in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t going to be much longer before he got his transfer to Central and the Robbery/Homicide unit.

It came even sooner than he had banked on, complete with pictures of him shaking the Deputy Commissioner’s hand on page 6 of Gotham Police News.

“I’ve arranged for you to be partnered with one of our best detectives,” she informed him, the flirtatious hand on his arm less than subtle, “Danziger knows the job inside out.”

Jim dredged up his most charming smile. Held eye contact though it made him feel kind of itchy and awkward, and mentioned how impressed he had been with Detective Bullock’s ability to get a handle on a scene in moments. How certain he was that he and Bullock would be good for each other.

“I don’t know what you need to atone for,” his new Captain told him a couple of weeks later when he reported for duty, “but I’ve been told to partner you with our resident pessimist.”

He looked through her office window, out to where Harvey had his feet up on the desk, glasses on as he frowned at some report or other, and had to school his own face to keep the triumphant smile from showing. Told the Captain that he was up to the challenge, that he was ready to prove himself, and didn’t let on how crushingly disappointing it was that Harvey didn’t recognize him in spite of all the scenes he had contrived to be present at.

“I give you six months before you’re back on civvy street,” Harvey said, dismissive, and Jim only pledged to do one better.

In six months time Harvey was going to be proclaiming him the best partner he had ever worked with.

By the end of the year Harvey was going to be in love with him.

It wasn’t all plain sailing. In fact, it was one of the toughest assignments he had ever set for himself. Harvey was still hurting, still afraid of letting anyone close enough, and Jim had never been good at the strictly emotional. He was used to scheming and plotting. To battling through with nothing but gumption and determination when the former got him nowhere, and it was that route Jim went down by trying to match Harvey drink for drink, words slurring together as he steered the conversation towards Amanda.

“You can’t get attached in this game,” Harvey told him, staring into his whiskey tumbler, “you can’t care too much.”

“But if you don’t care, what’s the point in trying? If you didn’t care you wouldn’t bother to turn up for work in the mornings.”

Harvey shrugged, “I gotta pay the bills somehow.”

“Plenty of jobs pay better,” Jim said, drink giving him an added strength to his certainty, “You’re here because you want to be.”

They fell into silence after that. Fell through the door of Harvey’s apartment a couple of hours later, on account of it being the closer, and when Harvey didn’t push him away Jim laid his head on Harvey’s shoulder. Breathed in deep, so that Harvey’s scent filled his lungs, and woke up in the morning stretched the full length of the couch, a blanket over him and a glass of water within reach on the coffee table.

It meant he was getting close. That Harvey really did care about him. He saw it in the way Harvey looked at him, and felt it in the hand Harvey placed on his shoulder. The way he checked him over after his latest brush with certain death, touch frantic and panicky as he sought reassurance that Jim really was okay.

That history wasn’t about to repeat itself.

The problem was that he wasn’t close enough. The outcome wasn’t sure, was far from secure, and when he saw Harvey clinging tight to Scottie Mullen the way he was supposed to be clinging to him, jealousy like he had never known washed over him.

Blinded his sense of reason, and jeapoardised his commitment to playing the long game.

“You don’t like me much, I can tell,” she told him when Harvey took them both out to make formal introductions, and Jim didn’t waste time denying it.

“You’ll never be able to give him what he needs,” he said instead, careful to keep his voice low so not as to attract Harvey’s attention over at the bar. “You’ll never understand him the way I do.”

“You have a serious problem,” was what she said in turn, all fiery Irish temper, and Jim didn’t care that she was everything Harvey had ever professed to want in a woman.

He never admitted defeat, not to anyone.

He had his moments of doubt though, all the same, because somewhere along the way Harvey had ceased to be simply another achievement. A feather in his cap or a metaphorical notch on his bedpost. He wanted the other man as an equal - had come to need the praise Harvey bestowed on him like a better.

If Scottie could make him happy - if she could soothe the nightmares and the self-esteem crisis - maybe Jim ought to stand aside and let them be together.

Perhaps he should be the better man and let Harvey have his chance at the All American Dream of health and family. Let him walk away from the Force, away from all Jim’s machinations, and find happiness without him.

In the end he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough - couldn’t share Harvey’s affections, and certainly couldn’t lose them. He played dirty instead. Got himself beat up by inciting a thug he was supposed to be arresting, and winced with pain when Harvey touched careful fingers to his side to gauge the extent of the damage.

Limped up to his apartment, reluctant to rest too much of his weight on Harvey, then had to pause a flight of stairs away, breathing shallowly through his mouth as he attempted to regain control.

“I can’t leave you like this,” Harvey told him, tone brokering no argument, and Jim settled back into the cushions of the sofa at his urging, drinking in his fill of Harvey’s handsome features as his partner read to him from a paperback he had picked up weeks ago in the hope of it one day being used for such a purpose.

They kept at it all week, until the bruising was fading and it ceased to hurt with every breath he took. Scottie was getting antsy, wanted to know why she wasn’t taking precedence, and when he saw and heard Harvey wavering over a telephone conversation Jim made the decision to bring the plan forward.

Knew it was risky, knew it might backfire, but gazed up into Harvey’s face with the full weight of what he was feeling visible. Told Harvey that they had to finish the book, that it was the only sensible thing to do, and later insisted that Harvey sit still closer, manoeuvring until his head was pillowed against Harvey’s leg. Until Harvey’s hand was in his hair, petting like he wasn’t even fully aware of it.

At least not until Jim shifted a little. Exhaled a touch breathily and their eyes met, Jim aware of the color spreading across his cheeks even as he refused to look away. As he swallowed thickly and murmured how glad he was Harvey had chosen to be with him tonight.

The book fell aside, forgotten. A plate was kicked to the floor, unmourned.

He was reaching up to meet Harvey halfway, one hand finding Harvey’s cheek as they finally kissed the way they were always meant to. The way he had known they would, right from the very first moment he had laid eyes on the mystery detective sent to investigate their crime scene.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Harvey told him when clothes began to be loosened, voice strained with the effort of denying himself, “there’ll be no coming back from it.”

“I don’t want there to be.”

It was the truth, plain and unadorned, and neither of them could maintain their distance in the face of it.

“What do we do now?” Harvey asked him afterwards, cradling him close but sounding lost, “This city, Jim - this job. There’s no room for happy endings.”

Jim shifted so they could look at each other. Stroked his thumb across the arch of Harvey’s cheekbone and told him simply,

“Then they have to change. We’ll make sure of it.”

Those were the new goals, the next rungs of the ladder - he had his sights set on the leadership of the police union, and Harvey had all the knowledge and the contacts he needed to start rooting out some of the worst of the corruption.

“When you look at me like that I can even believe it’s possible.”

Jim beamed and kissed him soundly. Used the distraction to silence the buzzing of Harvey’s cellphone.

He had won - there was no rush to let all his rivals know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	218. Chapter 218

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can we get a sequel to[chap. 214](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30986814) where, once he’s been saved, Jim tells his fantasies to Harvey in a less than sober moment? How Harvey responds is up to you. ;)_

“Oh,” Harvey breathed, obviously amused, “just what have we got here?”

Jim glared up at him, attempting to fight free of the cuffs binding him to the bedpost though he knew it was useless. He was sat on the floor, stripped to nothing but his undershirt and boxer shorts, hands behind his back so he could do nothing to disguise the way the fabric was tenting.

“I wonder what the Commissioner would say if he could see you now? Do you think you’d still be his golden boy?”

He turned his head away, ashamed even as the words sparked white hot through him. If anyone were to see him like this - anybody other than Harvey - he couldn’t bear it.

“Maybe I ought to call it in,” Harvey said as though he could read his mind, “leave you like this and let everybody get a good look at you. Preserve the integrity of the scene, that’s what you’re always telling me.”

It was his worst nightmare. The most awful humiliation.

His dick pulsed harder even so, absolutely desperate for attention, a breathy sound of frustration escaping him.

“Perhaps I could break the rules for you, just this once,” Harvey mused, head tilting to the side as his gaze roved over him, “because it looks like you are in need of medical assistance.”

Jim bit at his lip and slowly looked up at his partner - the only man in the world he could trust to help him with this situation.

To give him what he needed.

“It hurts,” he managed, scarcely more than a whisper, and Harvey was on his knees in an instant, breathing hot and heavy into his ear, forehead pressed into the side of his head.

“Oh, Jim,” Harvey groaned, one hand stealing up underneath his top and splaying over the heated skin of his abdomen, “Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me what you need, baby.”

Somehow the slip only made it better, his hips shifting a little with his eagerness. He wanted everything. Anything. Whatever Harvey was willing to give him.

“You can’t say it, can you?” Harvey was back on script now, the heel of his hand pressing just hard enough that he couldn’t keep quiet. His fingertips brushing just low enough that he couldn’t sit still. “You don’t know how to. It’s okay though, ‘cause I’m gonna show you what we need to do.”

The hand was gone then, Harvey less than graceful as he pulled himself to his feet. It didn’t matter, was exactly the way it should be, and then he didn’t really have room left to think about anything other than the fact Harvey was stroking the length of his cock through his pant leg. Was letting him see how ready it was, long and thick and hard, so that Jim pulled at his restraints all over again, frantic with the need to get closer.

“Fuck,” Harvey cursed, the flush rising in his own face and disappearing down beneath his collar, “you’re desperate for it, aren’t you? You want my dick so bad you can’t even wait two damn minutes.”

It was the truth, no more no less, and though he tried Jim couldn’t hold back the sound he made when Harvey tugged at his zipper. When he pulled his cock out, fisting it to full hardness, and Jim only strained at his bonds, his tongue almost able to get a taste of him. Harvey cursed again, helpless, and fed it forward slowly, groaning at the blissful expression on Jim’s face.

There was so much of it with Harvey, more even than he had once expected, so he had to work at getting things to pan out the way he wanted. Had to run his cheek along the length of it when he pulled off, and suck at Harvey’s balls when he needed to breathe, his mouth flooding wetter with Harvey’s cut off groans of satisfaction.

“That’s it,” Harvey praised, “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? I bet this is what you think about when you touch yourself. When you’re lying there pretending you want a pretty face and nice tits, but all you really want is for me to fuck your throat with my dick.”

It cut right to the quick, had him whining with the extra rush of blood it sent southwards, and he finally succeeded with the goal he had set himself, nose pressing into Harvey’s pelvis as his cock pulsed against his tongue.

“Oh, Jesus,” Harvey gasped, hips shifting forward in tiny aborted thrusts, “oh, sweet Mother of Mercy. I can’t, Jim. Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

Jim shivered all over, his own cock twitching in thwarted arousal. This was it - this was exactly what he wanted. Harvey begging for his mouth, pleading for him to give him more, and Jim went at it with renewed fervour, tongue teasing along the underside before he swallowed him deep again, waves of prickly heat washing over him at the way Harvey cried out at the sensation.

He wanted to worship him. Thank Harvey for doing this for him - for everything he had done for him - and he whined, frantic, when Harvey forgot himself for a moment and slammed his hips forward.

“Yes,” Jim hissed when he broke off for breath, panting and feverish, then went right back to it, moaning out his encouragement when Harvey slid a hand into his hair and started fucking his mouth in earnest.

“Fuck, Jim - baby, yes. Don’t stop. Please, yes, sweetheart,” Harvey was losing it completely now, couldn’t stay in the scene, thighs trembling as Jim worked him closer and closer. Groaning, and gasping, and all but sobbing when he ground forward one last time, Jim swallowing everything he was offered.

In the fantasies Jim had once entertained Harvey rarely actually touched him. Told him he was filthy, sometimes, or looked more than a touch disgusted. Now Harvey just dropped down beside him so he could kiss him desperately. Kept one hand in his hair and pushed the other up the leg of his boxers. Started jerking him, sweet and perfect, and carried on kissing, until Jim had to throw his head back, so achingly close, and Harvey couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Told him that he had to come for him. That he was so perfect and so beautiful.

“I need to see it,” Harvey breathed over the sound of his own whimpering, lips and tongue teasing at the skin of his throat, “I love you so much, Jim.”

It was that which sent him over the edge. That had him shaking and shuddering and coming apart, because it was so much better than anything he had ever imagined. It wasn’t just about sex, or even the fact Harvey had listened to his rambling drunken confession and done this for him. It was that Harvey didn’t think any differently of him for it. Accepted him for who he was, with all his hang ups, and his baggage, and was even now uncuffing him and pulling him close, and whispering apologies as though he was supposed to care that things had veered off course a little when he had just come like a freight train.

He silenced Harvey with a kiss. Clung to him, grateful, and let Harvey massage the feeling back into his wrists and coddle him like he was something special.

“Is this how you thought it would be?” Harvey asked finally, referring to what happened after the fade to black, maybe, or what he had hoped for when he thought about Harvey in prison.

“If I’d known it would be like this I’d have broken out of there myself,” he said, tone as light as he could manage, and figured that Harvey would know what he was really saying.

If he had known how it could be between them - how he could be when he wasn’t forcing himself to be someone he wasn’t - then maybe he wouldn’t have wasted so much time being a stubborn idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	219. Chapter 219

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _gordlock + messing up and saying "I don't want to be your friend anymore" when trying to confess their feelings?_

“We need to talk.”

Jim’s stomach clenched in dread, icy tendrils of fear crawling over him, because that was the kind of thing people said when they wanted out. When his best had fallen short, just the same as usual, and now it was time to make clear that his company was no longer wanted.

“When?” Jim forced himself to ask. Fought to keep his expression neutral, not to let on that he wanted to go and be sick with the thought of what was coming, and nodded sharply when Harvey suggested they meet up after his shift was finished.

Because they had been working for months on mending their friendship. To move past the hurt and the betrayal, and to attempt to salvage what he had been too stupid to see was one of the only bright spots he had left in his miserable existence.

Harvey knew it too. Had to, really, because Jim had been trying so desperately to actually voice his feelings. Had sat in the quiet of Harvey’s apartment, lips loosened by Harvey’s whiskey, and struggled to put into words how much it had hurt, knowing Harvey had lied to him. How it had twisted his heart into knots, painful and conflicting, to have Harvey almost die in his arms because he had preferred taking kickbacks from the Penguin to turning to him for the help he needed.

The worst thing, Jim reasoned as he stood in the locker room that evening, gaze dull and lifeless where it stared back at him from his reflection, was that he had believed it was working.

That Harvey had truly forgiven him.

For a moment he considered prolonging the inevitable. Of running from the problem, the way he had always been so good at, and burying his head in work, or losing it in the bottom of a bottle. Anything other than face up to the finality of the task ahead of him.

He dismissed the option, ultimately, as the cowardice it was. Buttoned up a clean shirt with numb fingers and felt like a man walking to the gallows as he left the building, wishing that he really could be the one man island he went out of his way to portray himself as.

If he didn’t need anyone, it wouldn’t hurt when he ruined things. When he pushed them to their limit, and still further, until they simply couldn’t bear it any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he started when Harvey pulled his apartment door open, the knot of unease having given way to nervous panic at some point on the journey over, but Harvey only steered him inside and talked over him,

“It’s no good expecting a Captain to be on time. If there was anything I learned during my stint, that was it.”

The guilt wound that touch tighter, the inevitability of what was coming that little more obvious. He sat when Harvey told him to, and accepted the drink he was offered without protest. Gripped at it so desperately he was half surprised the glass didn’t shatter, and had to close his eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of Harvey so he could better commit it to memory.

He supposed this was likely to be his last chance to do so.

Harvey didn’t seem to notice. Was busy battling nerves of his own, so Jim determined to make it as easy on the other man as possible. Not to cry, or plead, or get down on his knees and beg for Harvey to reconsider.

He had only himself to blame for them ending up here.

“Listen, Jim,” Harvey started, raking his hair back from his face, “we’ve known each other for a long time now. We’ve been through a lot together.”

His throat ached at the truth of it. At the knowledge he had taken it for granted, the security of always having Harvey looking out for him, and the fact that it was gone now - now that he finally understood what it was he had really wanted from the man in front of him.

“I thought maybe I’d never say this,” Harvey went on, “that I’d have to smile and pretend and take it to the grave with me.”

The sting of tears burned behind his eyelids. Had him struggling for air, for composure, because he wanted Harvey like he had never wanted anyone. He wanted to be with him every second he could. Wanted to tell him things he had never said out loud, even if every word had to be wrenched from his tongue.

All Harvey wanted, in turn, was to be free of the burden of propping up the mess he had become.

Harvey shook his head and drained his drink. Murmured rhetorically why this had to be so very difficult, then took hold of his hand and said solemnly,

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be your friend anymore -”

The sob took him by surprise. Was out of his mouth before he could stop it, before he could control himself, and now there was a precedent he was powerless against the force of it. Pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, for all the good it did him, and tried to apologize even as the tears began falling.

“I understand -” he tried, wet and helpless, and suddenly there were hands framing his face. Thumbs brushing the moisture from his cheekbones, and Harvey pushing close enough to press their foreheads together. To kiss his cheeks and his nose, and then to crush him into his embrace, one hand pushing into the back of his hair, cradling his head.

“No,” Harvey croaked out, “No, you don’t understand. I’m doing this all wrong, Jim. Messing it up the way I always knew I would.”

Jim only clung to him, fingers tangled tight in the back of his jacket, unable to pull himself together and take it on the chin the way he had promised himself he would. It felt like his heart was breaking, like his world was ending, and then Harvey was shaking too, voice cracking as he explained,

“I don’t want to be your friend because I want to be more. I want you, Jim. I just - I’m trying to tell you that I love you. I’ve loved you for such a long time now.”

The tears wouldn’t stop even as the words filtered through. Even as he smiled through them, as his head spun with the implication. As his heart felt fit to burst, his skin too tight and his throat too clogged to say of the things he wanted to.

All he could do was kiss Harvey, wet and desperate. Too close and too frantic, all but in his lap as Harvey only clung to him in return and kissed him just as ardently.

“I thought you hated me,” he managed finally, not recognizing the sound of his own voice, wrung out and wrung through with emotion.

“I thought you were an intelligent man,” Harvey breathed, smile unshakeable, and Jim only pressed a broken laugh into the crook of Harvey’s neck.

Maybe they both still had a lot to learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	220. Chapter 220

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Do you think you'd be interesting in writing a fic where Harvey's mom still alive when he and Jim get partnered, and after they become friends Harvey takes him to meet his mom, with Jim slowly bonding with Harvey's mom over time and maybe a little of her pov on their relationship? I just have a lot of family feels today about Harvey and also gordlock :)_  
>  (Deawrites wrote an awesome fic for this prompt too - [Blessings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13335105) \- and the sweetest [sequel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13345545)!)

“I hope you don’t talk to your Mother like this,” Harvey’s mom said to him the day she revealed that she knew his secrets, tone all fond exasperation, and Jim plastered his polite conversation smile on his face and didn’t say that the last time he had spoken to his Mother she had told him her convicted murderer of a son was dead to her.

He had always been a disappointment, right from the very beginning, and he still remembered the panicked hammering in his chest at the end of every semester, waiting for her verdict on his school report. The crushing sense of failure he could never quite shake off, every time her gaze fell on him, and the mildly disgusted look on her face when he denied things they both knew were true, because she hated liars but he couldn’t risk not having the army laid down as his escape route.

It must have shown on his face, at least some of it, and she put her hand on his arm when Harvey was out of the room getting drinks and told him that, no matter what, Harvey was going to be there for him.

He startled at that, looked at her with wide eyes, but then Harvey was back and she was teasing him once more about the length of his hair and the way he clearly hadn’t bothered to press his work shirt.

“I’ve been busy,” Harvey protested, snagging a whole pile of homemade cookies, “I’ve had a lot of distractions.”

Jim felt her gaze linger on him, just for a moment, and understood that she knew everything.

Knew what Harvey had done to get him free of Blackgate - just what he had risked and the price he had been forced to pay - and all the ways Jim was still imposing on him. The reality of what he wanted, probably, and the bitter truth that he would forever be too much of a coward to actually admit to it.

He ought to apologize to her, he thought later, a third of the way through a bottle. He ought to reassure her that he would never hurt Harvey, at least not deliberately.

“All I’ve ever wanted is for Harvey to be happy,” she said when he gave in and tried it, guilt and shame warring it out in his breast for the overnight stay Harvey had been subjected to at Gotham General. “He’s never smiled as much as he does when he’s talking about you.”

It didn’t mean anything, not necessarily. Harvey was his friend. His partner and his brother. It only made sense that he would have told his Mother that he loved him.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” she said, so calm and kindly that it made him want to cry, “least of all yourself.”

He was too stubborn to listen. Too stupid to simply talk to Harvey.

Nothing had changed there because he had spent the first few weeks on the job lecturing Harvey from his standpoint of moral superiority. Had fumed every time Harvey said he had a standing appointment with a very special lady, and then had flushed like a lobster when he gained a flesh wound pushing Harvey out of the path of the bullet and, in reward, Harvey introduced the woman Jim had imagined a Madam as his Mother.

Harvey had laughed then, unrestrained and helpless, and that was one of the images he thought of when he awoke to the lid of his own coffin.

“It must have been awful,” Harvey’s mom said when she came to visit him in the aftermath. When she patted at his hand and looked into his haunted eyes, and told him simply that it would have killed Harvey if he hadn’t injected it. That she didn’t doubt the truth of that statement for a moment.

“Harvey’s a good man,” Jim said quietly in turn. Quoted some of Harvey’s own words and admitted, “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She nodded, expression troubled, and finished the coffee he had made for her. Put on her scarf and carefully buttoned her overcoat, buying time to consider something, and then paused in his doorway at the last moment and looked him full in the face,

“What you have to remember, Jim, is that even the most devoted people can’t wait forever.”

Her words struck him like a blow to the gut. Harvey deserved so much better, could do so much better, and it was only a matter of time now until Harvey got sick of waiting for him to admit that he would never be the man his father had hoped he’d be.

After the initial shock, he clung to them like a lifeline. Replayed them in his head as he walked along a far flung beach in Miami, and reasoned that he was doing the right thing. Harvey wouldn’t even want him once he had found out what he had done.

How far he had fallen.

“It’s like that is it?” Harvey asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes when Sofia turned up at the precinct looking for him, and Jim pretended that the scratch in his voice wasn’t representative of all the nights in recent months he had spent at Harvey’s apartment, chastely shifting closer and closer with the implied promise that one night he would be ready for more.

“She’s not like her father,” he said, another lie heaped atop his crumbling pile of falsehoods, and Harvey didn’t say anything as he drained his drink.

There wasn’t really anything left to say.

Because he went ahead and destroyed everything this time. Chose the illusion of the man he could be - Gotham’s saviour, Sofia’s protector - over the man he was, and then had to watch on as all the predictions came to pass, Harvey telling him that he just couldn’t do it anymore.

That he hoped it had been worth it.

Shook his head when Jim tried clumsily to make amends, and told him in a soft tone that tore his heart clean in two,

“I hope that one day you find somebody who can make you happy.”

He fell apart at that. Drank and sobbed and almost got himself killed, staring blankly at a kid with a knife in his hand, no motivation at all to talk him into dropping it.

Harvey’s mom came to see him at the hospital. Brushed his hair back from his forehead and asked him why she was doomed to dote on family who opted for dangerous careers. His heart stuck in his throat at that, the tears spilling in spite of his best efforts, and she just looked at him with a tenderness his own mother never had and said,

“You’re like a son to me, Jim. You don’t turn your back on family.”

The sob was ripped from his throat, painful and raw, and she held him as he told her that he had ruined his entire life with his own toxicity. Harvey’s too, and that she ought to leave and never look back, because it was all he deserved from her.

“I was wrong that day at your apartment,” was what she answered with, “he’s too bull headed to ever give up hope - no matter what he says, no matter how it hurts. But you’ve got to meet him halfway. You’ve got to want to fight for it.”

He made his mind up that night. Lay there hurting, the physical nothing at all compared to the emotional, and vowed that he would start living for himself as well as for the city. For the ghosts of people who knew nothing about him or his life, and what was or wasn’t the right thing for it.

In the morning he swallowed his pride as he signed the discharge papers. Rang Harvey and asked him if he would pick him up. Told him that he had no right, he knew, but that he needed Harvey’s help.

He always had done.

Contrary to all his expectations Harvey actually came. Acted curt and standoffish only until Jim’s step faltered, the stab wound in his gut making his head spin, and then Harvey had an arm about his waist, asking him rhetorically why he had to be so foolhardy.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he said, exhausted as he slumped into the passenger seat of the car, and didn’t argue when Harvey countered, hurt, that his problem was that he was selfish and didn’t care what he put other people through.

He had nothing to say in defence of the accusation.

Harvey apologized anyway, clipped and gruff after he had helped him up the stairs to his apartment, and instead of all the things he knew he should do for once he did precisely what he wanted. He wrapped his arms around Harvey, hugging him in gratitude, and though he was expecting to be pushed away, Harvey only stiffened for a moment before crushing him closer.

Before stroking his back and cradling his head, and huffed a broken sounding laugh as he asked him what drugs they had him on, and how much of this he was going to regret once they started wearing off again.

Maybe it was the painkillers. Maybe it was just that he had nothing left to lose. All he knew was that one moment he had his face buried in the crook of Harvey’s neck, and the next he was kissing him like his life depended on it. He supposed it did, in a way, and when Harvey started kissing him back he got a little frantic and fevered, at least until the pain in his gut made itself known again.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Harvey told him, voice not quite steady, and when he helped him into bed Jim reached for his hand and looked up at him hopefully.

Harvey hesitated, clearly undecided, but Jim shivered a little with the pain and the cold and the exhaustion - the emotional outpouring, more than anything - and that was all it took for Harvey to settle on the mattress next to him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when you wake up and push me away again,” Harvey whispered when he was on the very cusp of oblivion, and he couldn’t co-ordinate his voice or his limbs to give any reassurance. All he could do was cling closer when he did wake, and trust that Harvey was receiving the message loud and clear.

Now he had reached out to him he wasn’t letting go again.

It didn’t mean that it was all easy and straightforward. That everything fell into place without effort. What it did mean was that they worked through it, slow and steady, to overcome every obstacle thrown in their path.

It meant that he bought flowers, lots of them, and forced himself to say the words because he could never deliver enough of a thank you.

“You don’t need to thank me,” was what she said in response, the same fond look on her face she had always bestowed on Harvey, “I told you - all a mother wants is to see her children happy.”

Jim reached for her hand and got pulled into a hug. Returned it, gladly, and had to swipe at his eyes when he pulled away.

He was happy, honestly and truly, for perhaps the first time in his entire adult life.

He had an awful lot to be thankful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	221. Chapter 221

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about an arranged marriage au? :)_
> 
> Set in ye fantasy olden days.

He didn’t want to take another wife, that was what Harvey kept telling people. He and Alma hadn’t been a love match, maybe, but he had grown fond of her. Had enjoyed her company, and valued her opinion, and had looked forward to the arrival of their first child with an eagerness that bordered on the unseemly.

God had punished him for it, had called away the pair of them, and the idea of going through it all again was more than he could bear.

“You have your position to think of,” his sisters encouraged, mindful of the social obligations that came with wealth and status, “you need somebody to take charge of the household.” They looked pointedly at the poor state of his collar and didn’t need to voice their view that what he really needed was somebody to take charge of him.

His brothers were as blunt as they were tactless. Warned him of the risks of scandal, of the ruin that was sure to follow if he wasn’t more careful about the houses he frequented and the class of people with whom he kept company, until a fit of frustration had him telling them to go ahead and do whatever they wanted.

It wasn’t long before he was regretting the outburst.

Not when his favourite sister came to him all but breathless with excitement, and explained that she had chanced upon the perfect compromise. That it was a little unconventional, maybe, but she knew well enough what he liked, and what he didn’t, and that this way there was absolutely no chance of losing another spouse in childbirth.

And not when instead of it meaning all his problems were solved, in the shape of an older widow with wisdom and experience, his eldest brother told him with the full force of moral outrage that it meant scarcely more than a boy - a boy with nothing at all to recommend him.

It sparked something within him, something petty and childish, and entirely unbefitting of a gentleman. He stuck by it, nonetheless, and let his sisters organise flowers and fripperies while Charles and Thomas watched on in dumbstruck horror.

“Do you have any idea what it is you are agreeing to?” Charles asked him, almost pleading, and Harvey only savoured his scotch and said that if the kid was as useless as they claimed then he wouldn’t even feel guilty when he left him in the country for weeks at a time while he lived it up on the society circuits.

Thomas spluttered at that. Lectured and raved and ranted, and appealed finally to his sense of decency and their poor dead Mother’s memory.

It was that last which made him falter. Made him wish he could still go to her and ask for some kind of guidance. He prayed instead, feeling a fraud with the length of time since his last act of penitence, and dreamed that night of sky blue eyes and the warmth of another body beside him.

In the morning he chose to interpret it as a blessing. He was lonely and James Gordon was apparently willing. What else mattered?

Everything, according to his former brother-in-law. He was besmirching his sister’s good name, making a mockery of her memory, and it was only out of deference to it that Harvey allowed himself to be insulted, and to listen to the miserable account of the Gordons’ misfortune. How the mother was a social climber and the brother lacked morals. How James lacked an education, and accomplishments, and was half lame as a result of the carriage accident that had killed his father into the bargain.

Harvey lost his temper then. Hit his limit, had had as much as he could stand, and told Gregory that he would act on this new information in whatever way he felt fit.

Penned a letter to the man he was about to get married to, expressing how earnestly he was looking forward to meeting him, and wondered what it meant when he received no reply in return. If it was the doubtless exaggerated tale that the man was all but illiterate, or the rumour that kept him awake at night, the one that claimed the kid was could only be agreeing to it because somebody was forcing him.

“I’d be more inclined to believe the one about him only being interested in your money,” Kathleen said to him with a wicked smile, when he confessed something of his thoughts on the topic, and he couldn’t help but grin in response.

“I’d say that one’s a given. Why else would he be doing this?”

It was unusual, something people would spend years gossiping about, so it had to be the money because it wasn’t as though Harvey had anything else going for him. He said as much, a simple statement of fact, and then had to endure Kathleen scolding him soundly.

She tried again to get him to look at James’ - Jim’s, so she corrected him - likeness, or to orchestrate a seemingly accidental encounter. He shook his head, adamant, and told her that he was a slave to tradition.

Gave it up as a poor show a few minutes later and admitted that he just didn’t care. He wasn’t going to be cruel, and he wouldn’t be heartless, but this thing was about convenience on both sides. He wanted people to quit asking questions, and he didn’t mind shelling out pin money and eating dinner with a stranger occasionally in order to achieve it.

It was her turn to look horrified at that, appalled by his indifference, but it was too late to do anything about it. The flowers had all been cut in readiness, and even now the cook was beginning the preparation of the wedding feast.

His outfit was all laid out, the whole charade ready to be played out, and in the morning he went to meet his fate, nerves finally picking up as he stood waiting at the altar. As he heard approaching footsteps, the minister watching expectantly, and then he turned to take his first glance and couldn’t look away again. Stared helplessly, a touch dumbstruck, and had to be prompted twice before he held his hand out so they could begin with the hand fastening ceremony.

It was a battle to concentrate on any of it - the procedure and the wording - because all he wanted to do was gaze at the vision in front of him.

His skin sparked when they linked hands, and his heart raced when big blue eyes met his own, want like he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced stealing his breath away. Robbing him of his common sense and his reason, so that he could scarcely make it through the toasts and the small talk, desperate for the moment when he had Jim all to himself.

Instead he had to smile politely at Jim’s mother, and be amenable to Jim’s brother, and avoid his own siblings’ censorious looks, all of them busy judging him for something. For his part, Jim was retiring and silent, overwhelmed probably at what it all meant for him. He was young, hadn’t been away from home much, and now everyone in the place was staring at him without let up.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked when he managed to grab a moment, and Jim only blinked at him wide eyed, like he hadn’t been expecting to have to actually speak to him. Maybe it was just the stupidity of his own opening line - Harvey felt his own cheeks heat up a little with the idea that Jim must think him a complete idiot.

There were more well wishers then, more people demanding his attention, and all he could do was glance over at Jim every 20 seconds or so, charmed by his downcast gaze and the way he was avoiding being drawn into conversation. Alma had been like him, hot tempered and outspoken, and until this moment he wouldn’t have said shyness was a quality he found attractive. He could make an exception though. Was beyond certain that it wouldn’t be a problem, not even when they finally found themselves alone, Jim still silent and gazing resolutely at some point on the far wall.

Except it quickly became clear that he had misjudged, that he had been seeing only what he wanted to, because Harvey moved to kneel before him. Took Jim’s hands in his own, kissing the knuckles intent on assuring him that they would take things at whatever pace he wanted to, when Jim flinched away and fixed him with a look that was less blushing virgin and more burning hatred.

“I’ll do what you expect of me,” he said, tone clipped and sure, “but it’ll be better for both of us if you don’t pretend to care what I think of it.”

The anger surprised him. The bitterness left him reeling.

“Why did you agree to this?” He asked gently, sick to his stomach with the idea that his sisters could have misjudged the match so badly.

Jim looked up at the ceiling for a moment, throat working as he struggled for composure, and then said calmly,

“Because my father died and my uncle disappeared, and all my hopes of obtaining a commission or a benefice went with them. Because after their debts were paid there wasn’t enough money to spend both of us to school, and because I spent so long in a sickbed I’m not much good now for anything other than laying still and keeping my mouth shut. Until you tell me otherwise.”

Harvey nodded. Let the words sink in and rose slowly to his feet. Told Jim in a scratched up voice when breakfast was served, and that if he wanted anything he could pull the cord and summon someone.

“I didn’t -” Jim started, worried maybe that he was going to throw him out on his ear, but Harvey just dredged up a grimace of a smile and left for his own quarters.

He had nobody but himself to blame, after all. He had wanted somebody who wouldn’t care where he went or what he did, and now he had them he had no right to complain about it. Stuck around for a few days for the sake of appearances, though he got his man to show Jim around the estate and answer any questions, before leaving for town and his usual circle.

There he drank and smoked and gambled, and fell into bed with giggly girls and wanton women. Brash boys and men with talented fingers. None of them held a candle to the memory of Jim’s eyes and the chaste touch of his hand, and when his eldest brother Charles turned up in the middle of a card game to tell him how disappointed he was that causing one scandal wasn’t enough for him. That he was intent on dragging the entire family’s name through the dirt, along with that of his new in-laws, and so he ended up back in the country, wondering what the etiquette was for greeting the husband he had still only shared a handful of words with.

Jim made it easy by not even being there. He was out walking somewhere - meeting up with willing bodies of his own, perhaps. Harvey couldn’t blame him, couldn’t control the jealousy the thought inspired anyway, and that night he was almost asleep when a nightrobed figure appeared in his doorway, Jim looking even prettier than he remembered.

He sat up as Jim approached, holding a candle, and then sat beside him - as still and silent as any spirit.

“I want to apologise,” Jim managed finally, shoulders tense and jaw set in determination. “I should never have spoken that way to you.”

Harvey pushed a hand across his face, wishing he was a little more awake, and said honestly,

“I wanted an arrangement that would be agreeable to both of us. I don’t need you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Jim nodded at that, sharp and stilted, and Harvey heaved a sigh because he wasn’t at his best after a long day travelling. A long day with a pounding hangover, and a sick sense of dread over what he had gone and gotten himself into. He touched Jim’s arm, relieved when there was no flinch this time, and went on,

“I’d like for us to be friends, Jim. That’s all I’m asking.”

It wasn’t all he wanted, far from it, but it was what it was. There was nothing to do but get on with things. That was what he said to Kathleen when she came to visit, and confessed that Jim had started eating meals with him, and that he had written to some of the better doctors he had encountered to come and give him a second opinion on the strength of Jim’s lungs and the leg that seemed to be perpetually troubling him.

“I think you like him much better than you expected to,” Kathleen opined, smug and knowing, and Harvey granted her a twitch of a smile.

There was no use in denying it.

As the days slowly formed weeks he began to get to know Jim better. Worked his way past the first few layers of prickly exterior, and even succeeded in bringing a smile to Jim’s lips with his attempts at humour. Jim started asking him questions about the things he had done and the places he’d been, and in turn Harvey picked up on the wistful gaps in Jim’s education and set about filling them.

Read to him in the evenings, heart in his throat every time he glanced over to see Jim listening intently, and showed him some of his favourite sights in the local area. He hired on a linguistics tutor when he had to go back to town on county business, and encouraged Jim to write to him in French, promising that he was just as much in need of the practice.

By the end of the trip he was writing with almost every post, his heart flipping over in his chest every time he received a letter in Jim’s handwriting, and felt positively giddy with the prospect of being near him again.

Jim even looked happy to see him. Had some colour in his cheeks for a change, the fresh air and the diet prescribed the physician clearly having some impact, and told him that he hoped he didn’t mind that he had been going through the account books and making changes.

That was exactly the kind of thing he had hoped Jim would want to do, along with all the other tedious details of the estate he had always struggled to focus on. Jim liked it, that was quickly becoming obvious. Was good at it too, was enjoying having the opportunity to prove himself, and Harvey blamed the all encompassing nature of his infatuation with the younger man for his inability to see how hard Jim was pushing it.

He believed it when Jim told him he felt fine, trusted in Jim to know his own limits, but couldn’t imagine a world in which the most important thing to Jim was impressing him.

Saw but didn’t understand the way Jim looked at him, and wasn’t able to connect the dots when it came to the way Jim hesitated over agreeing to go out walking for him - he supposing that Jim had had his fill of his company, or was worried he might have alternate motives, while Jim was simply afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hide how ill he was.

He collapsed anyway, so that the maid found him sprawled across the floor of the library, and Harvey couldn’t breathe when he sat uselessly at his bedside, physically sick with the fear that he was going to have to bury another person he loved.

That he would never get the chance to tell Jim how he felt, and how Jim’s presence in his life had seen him succeed in giving up every vice but one - and he couldn’t help that, not when Jim was forever out of his reach and so very beautiful.

He prayed for the first time in too long. Prayed and pledged and promised, and had to swipe tears from his face when the fever finally broke and Jim’s blue gaze focused for a moment as he asked for him.

“I’m here,” he croaked out, uncaring of who else might hear it, “I’m not going anywhere.”

In the aftermath Jim was frustrated by his slow recovery. Snapped at him for refusing to let him rush things, and then gazed at him with the same wide eyed look of surprise he had given him that very first day, Harvey’s emotional outburst about not being willing to risk losing him - not now, not ever - apparently coming as a shock to him.

“I’ll never push you for more, you know that,” he said, struggling to regain his composure and sound calm and collected, “but I can’t help loving you, Jim. These last few months, with you.” He had to pause, pull himself together and continue, “If you find someone - when you want someone. I’ll do my best to let you go. But not a moment before. Until then it has to be just me and you, Jim.”

The silence stretched. Had him worrying because surely Jim knew all this. Harvey didn’t understand how he couldn’t. But Jim only swallowed wetly a few times then said,

“I don’t want anyone else. I don’t - if I have to share you, then. That’s what I’ll do.”

Jim looked him full in the face at that, displaying all the stubbornness that had seen him survive an accident that everyone was certain would kill him. That had got him through years of misery - the loneliness and the constant reiteration that there was only one thing he was going to be any good for - and Harvey could have laughed at the ridiculousness of the misunderstanding if it wasn’t for the fear that Jim would misinterpret that too.

“I’m no saint,” Harvey admitted. “At first, that first time I went - I didn’t think you would care either way. But not since, you have to believe that. How could they compare to you anyway?”

“I’ve never,” Jim started, the flush in his cheeks flooding right up to the tips of his ears, and Harvey had to close his eyes for a moment, lost to the white hot flash of want the confession sent through him. Had to reach for Jim, fingers tender where they touched his cheek, and then he had to press their lips together, so moved by the simple touch that he was near trembling with it.

Jim was the one to deepen the kiss. To tangle his fingers in his hair and moan into his mouth, and wind his arms around his neck and press up against him, his breathing ragged like he didn’t know how to deal with the way he was feeling.

He probably didn’t Harvey realised with a jolt, and he lead Jim up to his rooms and locked the door behind them. Didn’t want anybody encroaching on this, seeing anything that was meant to be for his eyes only, and he spent his time slowly stripping Jim, kissing his way over every freshly revealed inch of skin, just as he had been dreaming of since the very first moment he clapped eyes on him.

He whispered that into Jim’s ear, along with some of his favourite fantasies, until Jim’s gaze was dark and heated with need, and he was begging Jim to let him suck him.

“Please,” Jim managed, little more than a breathy whimper, and Harvey watched the way Jim’s head tipped back in bliss as he took Jim’s length into his mouth.

The sounds Jim made were so perfect, the trembling of his thighs so beautiful, and Harvey worked him to the edge a couple of times before letting him fall over, hands holding him in place as Jim came apart for him. He had to stroke himself then. Had to push into his fist, frantic, while Jim kissed him messily then pressed their foreheads together, panting as he watched the movement of Harvey’s hand.

Jim made a desperate little noise when Harvey spilled, like he was reliving his own experience, and Harvey kissed him in response, his soul itself aching with the strength of what he was feeling.

“It’s binding now,” Jim said to him when Harvey had him stretched out on the bed next to him.

Harvey shrugged, unable to look away from the smile on Jim’s face - to shake the smile on his own, “It was binding anyway, at least as far as I was concerned.”

Jim kissed him, pouring all the things Harvey knew he found so difficult to say into it, and Harvey just held him closer and told him happily,

“I know, Jim, I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	222. Chapter 222

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _You had the chapter where Jim had to torture Harvey -[#172](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/29097414) \- why not reverse that? Set it after Harvey is relieved of his Captaincy. Kidnapped, Harvey’s forced to, but in Jim’s POV?_

“Come on, Gordon, cheer up. We’ve brought a little friend for you.”

Jim sucked in a fortifying breath and forced his eyes open. Braced himself for some new horror, some fresh wave of pain, and then felt his heart falter in his chest because it was worse than anything he could have imagined.

“Get up,” Anderson growled, kicking the figure sprawled across the floor in the ribs, and though Jim had bitten his lips bloody with his refusal to give in, he couldn’t help the appalled gasp that left his mouth, “We haven’t got all night.”

Anderson laughed then, an awful manic sound that made Jim’s blood run cold. He scarcely remembered the case. Hadn’t really spared it a second thought once the trial was done and justice was served, and all the time the man’s hatred of him had been festering. He had been plotting and planning and waiting for the perfect opportunity.

“What am I saying,” he cackled, coming around behind Jim to twist a hand tight in his hair and force him to watch as Harvey coughed up blood, “I’ve got all the time in the world. You’re the one who’s never walking out of here.”

Harvey fought at that. Lumbered forward and grabbed Anderson by the ankle. Dragged him heavily to the ground and for a moment - one single shining moment - Jim truly believed that the nightmare was over. Then Anderson hit Harvey hard around the temple and Jim saw with perfect clarity how things would have to be.

“Do what he says, Harvey,” he said, proud of the fact his voice was steady, “Don’t make things worse than they have to be.”

Anderson waved back the two lackeys - mercenaries who hated cops as much as they loved cash - who had been summoned by the scuffle at that. Grinned at him in triumph and praised his healthy sense of gratitude.

“That’s more like it, Jim. I went to a lot of effort to bring you a playmate.”

Jim’s stomach churned afresh at that. Had him wanting to be sick, breathing shallowly through his mouth in a way that still jarred his broken rib and the teeth at the back of his jaw which had been loosened.

He had been held captive for days now. Over a week, maybe. It was hard to keep track of it. Difficult to focus on anything but the biting sting of the bonds at his wrists and ankles, and the radiating pain from the arm he suspected broken. Not when his usual methods of removing himself from the situation were failing him.

Not when he had given up hope of Harvey coming to rescue him.

“You don’t remember me, Bullock, do you?” Anderson said then, pulling Harvey to his knees by the hair, so that Jim was making eye contact with him for the first time in weeks of lonely wanting. Weeks of hating himself, punishing himself, for ruining the one relationship he had pledged never to make a mess of.

The one relationship he had spent years wanting more from, too afraid to make a move, as though he hadn’t always been destined to destroy the friendship they shared anyway.

“I remember you though. I remember the way you didn’t listen to a word I said. The way you sat there and did nothing to help my case, because you were too busy ogling our mutual friend here.”

“Fuck you,” Harvey spat, struggling anew, so that Anderson hit him again and heaved a put upon sigh. Directed one of his men to stand behind the back of Jim’s chair, the cold of the handgun pressed against his skull. Jim swallowed, barely suppressing a flinch, and Harvey fell silent to enable Anderson to continue.

“You should be thanking me,” Anderson crowed, “I’m going to help you out, Bullock. You’re not going to be hung up on his pretty boy looks when we’ve finished with him. In fact, I’ll wager you’re going to be sick at the sight of him.”

Fresh waves of fear washed over Jim. He had tried reasoning and he had tried threatening. Bargaining, even, with one of the heavily accented thugs for hire who stood guard over him when Anderson was away doing God knew what, and had only received yet another beating for his troubles. Had been kicked and punched and humiliated, forced to sit in his own filth, or pushed to his knees, strong hands at his jaw preventing any ideas he might have had about biting down on the intrusion.

He was under no illusion now. Whatever Anderson wanted to happen was going to - all he could do was try and last out long enough that his colleagues had a fighting chance of finding Harvey.

Harvey was what was important.

Because he loved Harvey. Might not always have shown it, might not always have realized it, but it was true nonetheless. All he had wanted was for Harvey to return it. To choose him over the upper brass and the Commissioner. Over the kickbacks and the Penguin.

Now Anderson was saying that one time, at least, Harvey had wanted him - and he had never even noticed.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Anderson beamed, clapping his hands together, and Jim gathered every last scrap of his control together and looked into Harvey’s darkened gaze as he reiterated,

“Do what he says, Harvey. That’s an order.”

“You can’t give me orders,” Harvey countered as Jim’s hand was pushed into position - the cuff agony as it scraped against open wounds and jarred the broken bone - and forcibly splayed across the interrogation table that was dragged forward, “I’m not carrying a badge no more.”

Jim shut his eyes against the pain. The constant burden of his own betrayal, and the sharp flash of fear that if Anderon knew Harvey wasn’t a cop he wouldn’t hold off on killing him. Anderson only smiled serenely, an expression somehow more terrifying than the spittle fleck anger, and soothed,

“That’s it, tell him how much he deserves this.”

‘This’ quickly became clear. Quickly had Harvey being subjected to another round of blows, in spite of all Jim’s protests, until they finally had no choice but to stare at each other, he waiting for the inevitable and Harvey pale as death with the hammer in his hands.

“I can’t,” Harvey managed, voice little more than a scratched up whisper, and Jim ignored their audience in favor of trying to convey how important it was that Harvey listened to him,

“You have to.”

He tried, truly he did, but he couldn’t bite back the scream of agony. Couldn’t keep quiet, couldn’t keep still, and felt rather than saw the way Harvey was sobbing with it, forehead pressed against the side of his face as he did what he was told to do. As he was warned yet again what would happen if he didn’t, how a bullet would steal away whatever hope he might have left, and Jim had to grind his teeth tight together, the knife digging deeper and deeper.

Anderson saved his face to last. Waited until he didn’t think it could get any worse, until he was sure he would pass out any moment, then threw cold water to force him back to awareness and told Harvey he didn’t want him recognizable.

Gave him a few examples of how it was going to work, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch and crosshatching the skin at the edge of his jaw so that the blood flowed hot and slick down the length of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey croaked, over and over again, and Jim finally let his eyes fall shut and prayed that he had done enough.

When he woke again it was to a surge of panic. Absolute terror that the unthinkable had happened while he was out of it, then somebody was pushing him back into the pillows of his hospital bed and telling him to take it easy.

“Harv-” he tried, throat raw, and there was Alvarez’ voice assuring him,

“It’s all right, Captain. He’s in custody.”

Jim pushed himself up at that, resolute in the face of all attempts to stop him. Snapped at Alvarez for being such a brain dead idiot, and then had to be lifted from the floor when his legs gave out under him, Harper coming this time and placating him with promises that she was listening.

That perhaps Harvey wasn’t the kind of guy to try and beat him to death for stealing his job after all.

“Didn’t you wonder where his injuries came from?” He asked Alvarez churlishly while he waited, the room spinning and his gut churning.

Alvarez only shrugged, never willing to admit to any shortcoming, and said,

“We figured you fought back some.”

Jim figured it was a good job that his hands were splinted and bound or he would have swung for him.

Because Harvey looked awful when they brought him in, pale and shaking and wretched. Bruised and bloodied and face swollen with the tears he dissolved back into when he caught sight of all the bandages.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey apologized, yet again, and Jim didn’t care that Alvarez was still loitering. Didn’t care who saw or what they thought, and he didn’t think it was entirely the result of the beating or the painkillers. It was how close he had come to never getting this chance, to losing Harvey completely, and he croaked out admonishments based on the grounds he had wanted Harvey to do it.

“If you hadn’t he’d have killed you and I -” he broke off, unable to continue.

Let Harvey brush the tears from his cheeks and cradle him close. Sobbed helplessly into his chest and heard the door closing behind Alvarez because the guy had an escaped convict with a penchant for murder to be tracking down and arresting.

“I was glad I was in the holding cells,” Harvey confessed to him in a cut up whisper, hands soothing on his aching back, “I thought it would be awful for you to have to wake up and see my face. To have to see me again after what I did to you.”

“All I ever want is to wake up and see your face,” Jim whispered in turn, a touch hysterical perhaps, but no less sincere for it. No less afraid of what Harvey’s response might be.

“When you get out of here you’re coming home with me,” Harvey said instead. “You take too many risks - you need somebody to have your back for you.”

“You only have the one bedroom,” Jim pointed out, as reasonably as he could given the circumstances, and Harvey touched fingers to the bruised but visible skin of his cheek. Brushed a kiss across his lips, careful and delicate, and gave him the kind of look Jim had spent years dreaming of,

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	223. Chapter 223

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _"Jim, do you even see how much Harvey means to you?" Oblivious Jim who everyone else can see is completely in love and pining for Harvey, please?_

He wasn’t sleeping. Had no appetite, no energy, and away from the precinct his life consisted chiefly of drinking and attempting to convince Harvey to return to the Department.

“You’re wasting your time,” was what Harvey told him, blunt and to the point, “we’ve been through this.”

They hadn’t though, not really. He had tried to talk, to explain, and Harvey had simply refused to listen to him. Said that it was too late, that there was nothing left to say, and still Jim carried on sending him text messages and keeping him updated on all the latest crises.

Turning up on Harvey’s doorstep, even, and pressing his forehead against the unforgiving wood when there was no answer, tears brimming and burning and spilling. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Harvey was his partner, his very best friend, and he had told him once that he was never going to turn his back on him.

Now he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

He finally saw Jim for what he really was, a toxic mess of a man, and Jim went home and cried himself to sleep. Felt sick for it in the morning, face swollen and throat aching, and he supposed it was a good job that nobody cared enough to look at him too closely. He wouldn’t be fooling anyone.

It became a habit, really began to take its toll, and Jim wished the pressure would ease up - just for a while. Just long enough for him to be able to pull himself together. To accept that Harvey wasn’t going to change his mind.

Their friendship was over.

The idea made him so miserable that he struggled to focus. Had him pushing a hand through his hair, helpless, when Harvey turned up at the precinct and didn’t so much as glance in the direction of his office. Treated him with polite distance when Jim accosted him anyway, stomach lurching with hope before dropping in disappointment.

Despair, thick and crushing, because if Harvey were to forgive him maybe he wouldn’t feel so awful. If Harvey would just speak to him perhaps he could go some way to making amends. Proving to both of them that he wasn’t as ungrateful as Harvey had to think he was.

Harper was the one who finally noticed, or at least the one who dared to speak to him about it. Raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, at his clipped assurance that there was nothing wrong. Folded her arms across his chest when he played it still more stubbornly, and told her that it was none of her business.

“Maybe not,” she said in turn, more than a match for his own determination, “but when somebody fishes your body out of the river I don’t want it on my conscience.”

“That’s out of line.”

“Write it up then,” Harper challenged, and when he made no move to start on it she went on quietly, “Look, Captain. Jim. Do you even see how much Harvey means to you?”

He had to protest at that. Demanded to know how she could ask such a thing because Harvey had been his partner.

His brother.

Her expression shifted, accompanied by a slight shake of her head as though she thought him beyond assistance, and then she apologized for overstepping the mark.

He thought about the exchange though. Replayed it in his head, over and over, until his gut lurched in fevered hope - the same way it always did every time his cell vibrated - just as he was considering why Harper should find it so incredible that he considered Harvey a brother.

It was because he didn’t think of Harvey as a brother. He had never loved Harvey like a sibling.

He wasn’t mourning the end of their friendship, or at least not just that. He was mourning the relationship there would never be between them.

He was completely and utterly heartbroken.

What he realized in the days which followed was that he was the last to know about it. That nobody else seemed to be in any doubt as to what his ceaseless obsession with Harvey’s forgiveness was about. Why he had refused to make Harvey’s resignation official, even now, and why he simply couldn’t stay away from Harvey’s usual haunts with the pathetic hope of catching a fleeting glimpse of him.

After that it hit him that Harvey must know. That Harvey saw what it was he wanted, what he had always wanted, and that cast a whole new light on Harvey’s reasoning for not wanting anything more to do with him.

Or it did until he made it all too obvious. Until they received reports of an incident at Harvey’s apartment building - of shots fired and raised voices - and Jim took in the overturned furniture and smashed glass with frightened eyes, and ignored crossed the room in three paces. Framed Harvey’s face with hands that weren’t quite steady, brushed his thumb through the blood smear on his cheekbone, and told him that he had to go to hospital.

That he’d drive him, that he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer, and then Harvey was arguing back. Was demanding to know what right he had, so that all he could do was snap that he loved him. That there was no way in hell he was going to stand by and do nothing when he could be seriously injured.

“You love me?” was all Harvey said in turn, incredulous, and Jim felt the fight drain out of him.

“You know I do,” he said weakly, determined at least not to lie about it, and Harvey shoved him back so forcibly he tripped over the debris and dropped heavily into an armchair. Gazed up at Harvey, helpless and hopeless, while Harvey slammed the palms of his hands into the headrest, one either side of his head, and ground out,

“If I didn’t love you so much I swear to God I’d kill you for the things you put me through.”

Jim opened his mouth to apologize, to try and say something, but Harvey only captured his lips in a bruising kiss. Told him that it was only a scrape, nothing more, and that they weren’t going to the hospital. That the only place they were going was his bedroom, and if he was really lucky he might think about letting him out again come morning.

“I’m on a rest day tomorrow,” Jim managed, already breathless, and Harvey nodded once, sharply, before standing upright and holding a hand out. Jim took it, happy to be tugged to his feet, and started giving just as good as he got.

He got the feeling they had a long night ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	224. Chapter 224

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini Fill for an ask on Tumblr: _AU where Jim and Harvey aren’t partnered together at the beginning but end up working together for a case for other reasons (maybe their theories for a case aren't clicking with other people?) and then they're re-assigned together because they work well together and are really in sync._

“No,” Harvey said bluntly, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t remember asking you if you liked the idea. I said you’re riding with Gordon.”

Harvey considered arguing. Mentally totted up how much of a shortfall he had when it came to this month’s rent, and whether or not he could afford to eat if he told Essen to go screw herself. Sanity won out, just, and he was sweeping the bulk of the trash on his desk aside in an attempt to find the relevant case file when Saint Jim himself descended from on high.

He came down from the balcony at any rate, jaw set in that snitty little pout Harvey liked to joke was probably the result of piles. It was no wonder his girl had left for some hard nosed piece from Internal Affairs - or so rumor had it.

“I trust you’re up to speed on the detail,” Jim said, in the self-righteous way that made even the most laid back types want to throttle him, and Harvey just seized at the file in triumph, wiping away the worst of the crumbs and the jelly smears.

Jim gave him a look of outright disgust, clearly revolted, and Harvey clapped a hand firm on his back as he steered him out to the car, pleased with the palm print he left behind.

Alvarez was gonna be back come morning and he wanted to give Jim something to remember him by.

Except the morning briefing brought news that the damage was worse than they had feared, that Alvarez was going to recuperating for weeks if not months, and though he gave Essen the puppy dog eyes she was having none of it. Assigned them together officially, said it would do them both good to learn how to actually work with somebody, and then threatened to knock their heads together if they didn’t quit sulking in her line of vision.

“I don’t sulk,” Jim muttered as they made their way back to their desks - newly pushed into close proximity - so that Harvey almost choked on his breakfast danish.

All Jim Gordon had done since arriving at Central was sulk and whine and bitch and moan. Complain about the way they did everything, and go around the place fussing and pestering until Essen had started coming down hard on infractions so minor they typically wouldn’t even merit her notice.

She was fearing for her own job, maybe, because Gordon had been tattle telling right to the top, and the reminder notices being pinned up about the dress code and its importance did nothing to endear him to the idea of three weeks minimum of spending every minute of his working day with Gordon.

The problem was that Jim was so irritating. So by the book and immovable. So stubborn and so determined, and Harvey couldn’t help but admire him for it when he started to see the results. When he looked over at Jim as they trawled through the archives together, so as to establish the full picture, and it hit him low in the gut, just how much he’d enjoy getting Jim to lose his self-control.

How good Jim would look spread across his bedsheets, trying and failing not to beg him for more stimulation.

“What?” Jim asked him, frowning and just as to the point as he always was, and Harvey smiled even as he shook his head. Somehow he didn’t think that a boy scout like Jim Gordon was ever going to be interested in making it with a loser like him.

Not when their clean up rates began to attract attention, and not when they started finishing each other’s sentences. Not even when Jim confessed to him that his goal was to bring down the city’s real mob bosses - the guys right at the top of the tree - and if Harvey had heard it any earlier he would have walked away and branded Jim crazy. Now, knowing what Jim was capable of, he heard himself saying that he had Jim’s back.

Any time he needed it.

“Alvarez is due back the end of the month,” was what Jim said, expression troubled, and Harvey drank to hide his own feelings on the subject.

Jim didn’t need to know just how deep he was in this.

Didn’t need to know that he had been up before his alarm the last three days in a row, the kitchen counters cleared and his shirts pressed, like maybe there was a reason to actually care about something then.

But Jim kept talking, “I asked the Captain if we could make the reassignment permanent. I’m not - I know what everyone else thinks of me. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”

Harvey blinked at him. Had to take a moment to process it all, from Jim admitting to perhaps not being the easiest guy to get along with, right through to the downcast sweep of Jim’s lashes against his cheek, like he really expected Harvey to say no and take his chances with whatever chump Essen chose for him this time round.

“This mean you’re gonna quit nagging me to get that paperwork finished before the boy wonder gets back?”

“No,” Jim countered, honest but with a smile softening the outrage, and Harvey settled for finishing his drink and smiling helplessly right back at him,

“All right, you got yourself a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	225. Chapter 225

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For asks on Tumblr: _I'd give you cookies for a jim pov/sequel to[chapter 170 ('Baby Blues')](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/28975764) <333_ and _I'd love it if you could do a sequel for baby blues? It's one of your gordlock fics that I reread often :)_
> 
> TW for domestic violence (not between them, obviously!) and associated issues.

‘All I want is for you to be happy. Please try to be.’

That was how Harvey had finished his farewell letter, the one that asked him not to judge him too harshly for needing to make what they had both always known explicit, and not to think that he was trying to put pressure on Jim with his unwanted love declarations. All he really wanted from Jim now, so he said, was the freedom to be able to move on.

The problem was that Jim hadn’t known. Had never really considered it possible until he read it in Harvey’s familiar script, laid out like something irrefutable, and it was just sparking all kinds of too obvious realizations when it hit him that it was too little too late.

Harvey didn’t need to be bogged down with his own burgeoning understanding of what he had been hoping for every time he pushed too close, and why he had felt so angry and hard done by when he heard only half the story - Harvey had moved back in with Scottie Mullens.

Had everything he had ever wanted, the home and the partner and the family, and when the reality sank in - when he was given the date and time for Scottie’s funeral - Jim was so ashamed of himself that he couldn’t enter the church. Understood, really understood, why Harvey hadn’t been able to face Patel, and watched the burial from the sanctuary of the footpath. He hated himself even more when Sofia demanded an audience in the city park, setting down her latest charges for services rendered.

He tried to follow Harvey’s instructions, truly he did. It was the very least he owed him. He was on a course for self-destruction though. Drank, and sobbed, and got himself beaten almost to death, over and over again, because he needed so badly to be punished. He was laying in a hospital bed when he finally broke down and booked a plane ticket.

Handed in the request for leave as soon as he was able and fantasized, endlessly, of the life they might lead once he had convinced Harvey to take another chance on him. It wouldn’t be easy, wouldn’t happen overnight, but he couldn’t live without Harvey. Would never be happy until he had his partner at his side once more.

Except Gotham was beset by a whole new outbreak of crazy and all scheduled leave was cancelled. He was going to go anyway, was going to prove that he could put Harvey first when he needed to, and then Lee came to him and demanded that he do his duty. Looked at him with tears in her eyes and reminded him of the life debt he still owed her.

His flight left without him.

He failed anyway. Did his best, gave it his all, and was left standing in the debris of his bad decisions, Lee shaking her head in frustrated disgust as she told him that the only winner of the entire scenario had been Harvey. If he had gone, if he had seen him, he would have surely ruined whatever peace the man had managed to build for himself.

He ruined everything he came into contact with.

It was those words he thought of when the detective from Internal Affairs arrived to investigate what had gone wrong, and whether or not he could have prevented it.

“The way I see it,” the guy said eventually, brown eyes fixed on his own, “you couldn’t have done anything differently.”

“But,” Jim tried, unable to believe the verdict, and David stroked a thumb across his hand and asked quietly,

“Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough, Jim?”

Jim was no match for it. Was so pathetically desperate for understanding, for affection, that he leaned into the touch and clung to broad shoulders, trembling, when David pressed their lips together.

Later, much later, he realized what it was David had actually been saying.

It was time to let somebody else dole out the punishment.

In the moment it seemed like the answer to all his problems, a real chance at contentment if not happiness - a reward for staying away from Harvey and the new life he had built for himself and his daughter.

He couldn’t quite quit wishing though. Never stopped wanting. Spent too much time trawling through glimpses of Harvey’s life on social media, and re-read the letter until the paper was worn and dog eared. It was that letter which highlighted just how awful things really were, when David caught him with it and things turned violent for the first time.

The bruising was bad, purpling around his eye socket, but David said he was sorry and it wasn’t as though Jim had any real frame of reference for what a healthy relationship ought to look like. Nobody commented on the state of his face, assumed it was the result of the job, and as it slowly began to become routine he supposed that David knew what he was talking about when he said that it was to be expected when two guys spent so much time together.

Harvey had punched him a couple of times, even, and if he could incite that kind of reaction from somebody who had faced death over and over again for him, then it stood to reason that it was inevitable David would lose his temper.

It was his fault, probably, because part of him was ashamed of what he was doing. Part of him did hope his Mother would never find out about it. David insisted he tell her, all the same, and the line went so silent he thought that she had simply put the phone down. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath and the solemn finality of,

“I don’t know why think I’m interested. You’re already dead to me.”

She had said as much, when his name was splashed all across the newspapers as a convicted murderer, but to hear it confirmed all over again hurt worse than any of the cuts or bruises. The broken bones, even, and David stroked a soothing hand over his back as he told him plainly that now he had nobody else left to turn to.

He had no friends and no family. His work colleagues were acquaintances at best, all deliberately held at arm’s length, and the thought of being left entirely alone filled him with such terror that he did as he was told and didn’t complain about it afterwards. Stared unseeingly at the far wall, the tears he refused to let fall stinging and burning, and wondered if this was how it would be forever.

Because he was no longer under any illusions about it being normal. He just didn’t know how to break free of it. How he had let things get so bad in the first place.

“You don’t understand,” a woman sporting a black eye to match his own told him across the interrogation table a few weeks later, “I can’t give evidence against him. I just can’t.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” Harper tried at his side, “Don’t you think he deserves to be in prison for what he’s done to you?”

Their witness shut down at that, was adamant she wouldn’t answer any more questions, and back in the bullpen he let Harper’s incensed outrage wash over him. It wasn’t as easy as leaving. Wasn’t as simple as saying that you had had enough.

He had tried both, had the scars to prove it both on his body and inside his head, and nothing felt quite real that evening as he drained the bottles they kept under the sink and strung a makeshift noose from the light fitting. He re-read Harvey’s letter one last time, fingers tracing over Harvey’s penmanship, and tried not to think about the things David said when he really wanted to hurt him, about how if he had boarded that flight he would have ended up black and blue just the same, because it was his nature - his toxicity - that had driven them to the mess they were in.

It was David who found him and David who rang an ambulance. Who told the doctor it was lucky their apartment building wasn’t up to code and that his appetite hadn’t completely deserted him. There was still plaster everywhere when Jim discharged himself, either way, the rafters exposed and vulnerable, and rather than do anything about it he just sat there, silent and exhausted.

He was still there when a key sounded in the lock, the room so dark that he couldn’t make out the expression on David’s face even as he came to stand before him.

“I’m leaving Gotham,” David said, croaked really, “I should have done it a long time ago.”

Jim didn’t answer. Had nothing to say anyway.

“I did love you, Jim. I just,” he sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets and started again, “Three’s a crowd. All I wanted was for you to pick me over him and mean it.”

He waited for the temper tantrum. The blows he was too tired to challenge. They never came. Instead the door clicked shut and he was left with nothing but a lifetime of regrets to keep him company. When he did force himself to move he found all of David’s stuff gone. Most anything of saleable value too, and the photographs he had kept hidden in the sleeve of some boring looking textbook torn to pieces.

The letter too, the one that proved there was somebody out there who cared if were alive or dead, and it didn’t matter that he knew the entire thing word for word. He curled up and cried like a baby.

All he could do was throw himself into the job. Present a stable face for his psych evaluation and pay somebody to fix up his ceiling. Pretend that the late night phone had no impact on him, and that his blood didn’t run cold when postcards started turning up at his new apartment, pretty picture reminders that it would never really be over.

Not until he clawed back his life. Not unless he could regain some control over where it was going.

It was tough going, was only made harder by the endless stream of vicious murder cases that crossed his desk, but the threat of filing a report - the first time he had ever dared to suggest letting anyone at the Department know anything - began to make a difference. He unpacked the belongings that mattered to him, one by one, and bought a set of prints at a flea market to make it look less like he lived in a featureless white box.

He went for the Deputy Commissioner position when it became available and told the interview panel the truth. He had faltered along the way, and he had made some terrible mistakes. But he was committed to making Gotham a better - a safer - place to live. It was what got him out of bed in the mornings, and even if he didn’t get the job it would still be his number one priority.

One of the city councillors raised an eyebrow at that, asking him about his family, and he felt the smile slip even as he admitted that he didn’t have any.

Perhaps it was the deciding factor, perhaps it had no bearing, but by the end of the year he was sat in his new office, the smell of fresh paint thick in the air, when he chanced across a call for conference papers. He didn’t believe in fate, had no time for kismet or superstition, but it still felt like it was meant to be when the letter arrived confirming his place as keynote speaker - and the news that the Department was going to pay for it.

It was the kind of thing they wanted to see, he was told. The GCPD needed to shake off its reputation of being reactionary and outdated, and so he finally boarded that flight to Ireland, excitement churning in his gut even as he ploughed through a worthy presentation on Responsive Policing in a Crisis Situation.

Gotham was always in the middle of a crisis situation.

When it was done he couldn’t leave fast enough. Fidgeted helplessly all through the journey, then sat for almost an hour on a low wall opposite Harvey’s place of work gathering up the courage to speak to the man he had spent so many years in love with.

Harvey looked so good when he pushed the cafe door open it took his breath away. The Irish lilt to his voice made his heart race, even as the overblown joky love confession he was making to his daughter made it ache in longing.

Then Harvey was looking right at him, pinning him in place with the weight of the moment, and though Jim had imagined a thousand things he might say, all that actually fell from his lips was,

“I was in the area. Well, almost. I was in Dublin for a conference.”

Harvey carried on staring at him, not fooled for a moment, and Jim felt the awkwardness burn at the back of his neck as he tried again with,

“So this must be Barbara.”

There was no doubt about it. She had the red hair, and the blue eyes, and besides he had charted her growth from a baby into her own person for all that he had been half a world away. Harvey nodded anyway. Spoke stiltedly at first, let Barbara ask him questions about whether or not he had known her Mother, and the next thing they were all sat eating dinner together.

“I want to be a Garda when I grow up,” Barbara told him, tone solemn, and Harvey translated needlessly,

“Police.” To Barbara he added, “No, you don’t. You want to go to school and get a nice cushy desk job.”

“I do,” Barbara reaffirmed when Harvey disappeared with their empty plates, “I’ll take out all the bad guys.”

Jim smiled in spite of himself. Had clear memories of his own ten-year-old self coming out with almost the exact same thing, and as Harvey approached he gave her a look that told her not to worry. It could be their secret.

Harvey knew, maybe, because when he glanced up the older man was looking at him with a strange expression. Just wasn’t certain whether or not he liked the idea of Jim touching their lives at all, probably, so that Jim had to fight not to come across desperately eager when Harvey invited him back to see where they were living.

It was cosy. Comfortable. Had him blinking back tears with wistful thoughts of things that might have been, and sitting as close to Harvey as he dared, Barbara showing him photo albums and talking nineteen to the dozen until Harvey told her it was late and she had school in the morning. The sky outside the window was dark, it was true, and Jim watched the two of them negotiate five more minutes with a fond smile even as miserable reality began to creep in around the edges.

He would have to get going soon. Had a plane to catch and a city to keep from imploding in on itself.

“Why are you really here, Jim?” asked him softly when they were alone, so gorgeous Jim had to swallow a couple of times before he could get his mouth and his brain to co-operate.

“I’ve thought of you a lot over the years, Harvey,” he managed, uncertain how much he ought to confess.

How much he was capable of confessing.

“Yeah?” Harvey snorted in disbelief, just the way David had always warned him he would. “Probably why my phone never stopped ringing, eh? All those letters piling up on my doormat.”

Jim looked down at his hands. Hated himself for the way he tensed, the way he expected the words to be accompanied by a fist, and rather than protest that staying away was what Harvey had asked of him he said simply,

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

Harvey sighed. Ran a hand through his hair, and Jim waited to be told that nothing at all had changed. The years hadn’t softened his opinion any - their friendship was over, and there was no point in continuing the conversation. Instead Harvey sounded as overwhelmed as he felt.

“Why now then?”

Because if he had come before he couldn’t have walked away again. He would have clung to Harvey, broken and bloodied, and begged him to fix the nightmare his life had become. Because this had been the pay-off he had been promising himself ever since that night he woke with the cord still wound around his neck. He would be strong enough to take what Harvey could give without making him feel guilty for what he couldn’t.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” he finally confessed, scarcely more than a whisper, and they sat in silence for long minutes, each absorbing what this might mean for the future.

It was Harvey who broke the silence. Harvey who fussed with the mug in his hands and admitted,

“Even now I hear stuff and think, I’ll tell Jim that later. Jim will think that’s funny. You got my letter, yeah?”

Jim nodded, throat clogged up with all the history bound up in that piece of paper. Harvey exhaled shakily,

“I had to spell it out. I had to know that I had done everything I could. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I never realized,” Jim whispered, eyes stinging now, “I thought you and Scottie were - I was an idiot. You have no idea how much of an idiot I was.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harvey countered, all forced joviality, “It was something you made a habit of.”

He laughed at that, wet and startled, and agreed to another drink - served in a mug instead of a bottle - and some more chit-chat while he drank it. It was so perfect, so much more than he had believed Harvey would grant him, and when he really had to go, when it couldn’t be put off any longer, his heart raced frantically as he asked,

“Can I call you when I’m back in Gotham? Maybe I could visit you again. Perhaps we could catch up properly.”

It was too much too soon, was only going to push Harvey into cutting links entirely, but Harvey didn’t even hesitate before telling him maybe. Jim couldn’t bite back the smile. Was having a hard enough time not flinging his arms about him, and at the door Harvey clasped his shoulder, just for a moment.

He could feel the ghost of it all the way back to Gotham.

There, in the gray and the cold, it seemed like some kind of fever dream. Too good to have actually happened. He penned a letter all the same, wishing he didn’t sound as stilted and awkward in writing as he did in person, and mailed it before he could think better of it. The reply was slow in coming, though he had given Harvey his email address and his cell number so he could pick his method, and he had almost given up hope when old Mrs Phipps from the floor above knocked his door and said she had been meaning to tell him that there had been a letter for him in her pigeonhole.

He had to thank her as an afterthought, clung to the thing too tightly, and had to keep pausing as he read it through, so happy that he couldn’t sit in one place for more than a few moments.

After that they wrote regularly, Harvey full of pride for Barbara’s latest achievements and a wicked sense of humor about the mundane trials of work and the weather, and Jim slowly letting down his barriers, not overthinking every word and simply letting it flow. He wrote about the job, and the people they had both known, and - finally - how much he had missed having his best friend around.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he wrote one night, run down and maudlin from yet another horrific crime scene, ‘I thought you’d be better off without me.’

‘You did what I asked you to do,’ Harvey wrote him back, telling him that he had come to peace with it, ‘it was always a given you’d choose the request I never really wanted you to stick to.’

Jim rang him when he got that letter, carefully calculating the time difference, and the sound of Harvey’s voice in his ear made his skin tingle all over.

“I want to see you,” he blurted, just as suave as he had ever been, and Harvey pointed out reasonably that it wasn’t exactly practicable. “I have all my leave owing to me,” Jim argued, “let me know which dates would be best for you two.”

Harvey told him that he’d never actually make it. That Gotham would pull him back in at the last minute - though Jim had never told him about that first attempt - and that he wasn’t going to tell Barbara and let her get her hopes up. He could hear the hope in Harvey’s tone though, the idea that they might be able to mend the bonds of their friendship, and they exchanged calls a few times a week in the run up, falling back into the push and pull of familiar banter.

He still feared that Harvey’s prediction would come true. Clock watched the entire day he was due to go, gut lurching every time the phone rang or there was a rap on his office door, and it wasn’t until they were actually in the air that he allowed himself to relax and start looking forward to it. To feel his heart seize up in his chest, totally lost to the sight Harvey made, because he had said not to bother meeting him at the airport yet there was Harvey anyway, exactly the way he was in the sickly romantic fantasies nobody would ever get him to admit to indulging in.

“Dad said you don’t trust taxi drivers.”

Harvey gave him a sheepish look in lieu of an apology but Jim was more charmed than he could say. Had always found it difficult not to be the one at the wheel, and certainly wasn’t going to try that when he was expected to drive on the wrong side of the road.

“Let me buy you guys dinner then,” Jim offered, “to say thank you.”

On the surface it was nothing like the meals he and Harvey had used to share away from their apartments. They went to some chain restaurant, kids everywhere, and in place of the hip flask Harvey drank sweetened tea, something Barbara assured him was expected of people of her father’s advanced years.

“Does that mean I should be drinking it too?” Jim asked, still unable to shake the dumb smile from the airport, and she nodded seriously.

Soda wasn’t going to be doing him any favors at his age.

Harvey laughed, helpless, and the feeling it gave him - the sense of belonging - was exactly the same as it had been back then. This was it, this was everything he had ever wanted, and that night he breathed in deeply to capture the scent of Harvey clinging to the blankets as he curled into the cushions of the couch.

There was no way he was going to go to the hotel room he had actually booked when Harvey was willing to let him crash under his own roof.

In the morning they ate breakfast together like - well, like a family, and then they set out on all the sights the local area had to offer. It was the school holidays, Harvey had arranged for somebody to cover his own shifts, and Jim felt like an overgrown kid, beside himself with glee at the idea of having a whole week of this ahead of him.

They visited castles and went to look at ancient stone ruins. Pulled stupid faces for windswept photos and walked along the beach, though it was raining heavily and he was soaked through to the skin by the time they made it to some rustic looking pub, complete with crackling fireplace.

“See, Jim is demonstrating why you should always bring your coat,” Harvey said, in full parental mode, and when he caught sight of the smile curling Jim’s lips he unzipped his own waterproof and said unapologetically,

“I know, I’ve turned into my Mother.”

“She must have been really handsome,” Jim said in turn, and when it was met with silence hurried to clarify, “that was a joke.”

“I’d forgotten about your sense of humor,” Harvey said, clearly not offended, “My Ma was a real looker if you must know. I take after my old man.”

Harvey had never had a good word to say about his dad, not in all the time Jim had known him, so it seemed the most natural thing in the world to say,

“You’re nothing like him.”

He would have said more. Would have apologized for overstepping the mark, maybe, but their food arrived then, and Barbara returned from petting one of the other patron’s dog to tell him excitedly about the forthcoming itinerary.

Harvey protested when he paid the bill again, and pulled him aside when he let Barbara pick whatever she wanted from the gift shop of the next site of historical interest, bruised pride on display as he said he didn’t need to throw his money around.

“I know,” Jim stated, not sure how to explain that it wasn’t as though he had anything else to spend it on. He paid his bills and he bought sandwiches on the way to the office. He drank, sometimes, and he bought raffle tickets at all the awful functions he was expected to show his face at. The rest of the time he was either sleeping or working. “Think of it as me making up for all the drinks I would have bought you.” He thought of the letters they had written each other, Harvey talking about his battle to stay clear of it. “Tea is expensive.”

“Just take it easy,” Harvey asked, dubious but resigned, and that was how Jim came up with the great idea that he would cook dinner.

It was his last night already, the unwanted spectre of his upcoming departure hanging over him, and Barbara was going to a friend’s birthday party. Was going to be spending the night because, as she told Harvey curtly, she wasn’t a baby and going to change her mind when she got there, and Jim laid his purchases out on the kitchen counter as she wrangled with Harvey over what she was going to wear for the occasion.

Jim smiled to himself, hearing Harvey crumble like the soft hearted pushover he was, and set about following the instructions he brought up on his cell phone, determined that his meal would be edible. He wasn’t particularly accomplished in the kitchen, was never going to be the kind of guy who hosted dinner parties, but it smelled pretty good and when Harvey left to drive Barbara to her friend’s house he set about laying the table.

Found Harvey’s wine glasses and filled them from a non-alcoholic bottle that looked the part. Stuck a plaster over the finger he had cut while chopping vegetables, and plated up the food impressed that he had managed not to burn it too badly. He even found a couple of candles while he was searching for a clean dish cloth and just as he was sure it was a step way too far it was too late to do anything about it.

Harvey gave a low whistle, appreciative, and said that he felt underdressed for the occasion.

“You look fine to me,” Jim said, completely genuine, and suddenly he had no appetite for food, not when they were sat opposite each other, feet almost touching under the little table. The candlelight reflecting in Harvey’s eyes and shining in his hair, more gray than it had been but no less attractive for it.

He pushed food around his plate, pulse fast and fluttery, and when he missed something Harvey said, his concentration on Harvey’s lips rather than the sounds falling from them, Harvey put his cutlery down with a clatter.

“Jim, what are you trying to do here?”

“I just wanted to make you dinner. To say thank you for playing host this week.”

“Really?” Harvey challenged, meeting his gaze, “Because, to me, this looks like an attempt at seduction.”

Jim supposed it did, even if that hadn’t been his intention. He had promised himself that he would go slow. That he would let Harvey decide if and when there was hope of something more between them.

“Is that a bad thing?” He asked finally, feeling as though he were laying all his cards on the table, and Harvey only heaved a sigh in response. Pushed a hand through his hair, restless, and then told it like it was.

“How do you see this panning out? My life is here now. Barbara’s life is here - her family, her friends. Do you think I’d take her away from everything she knows to make her live in a place like Gotham?”

The turnaround was crushing. The certainty in Harvey’s tone heart breaking. What had he been thinking?

“I could move here,” he tried, voice scratched up and scarcely recognizable.

Harvey shook his head. “No, you couldn’t. You’re somebody there, the lynch pin that holds the whole shambles together. What would you have here?”

“You?”

It was all going wrong, all falling apart in front of him, and Harvey laughed bitterly and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Jim focused on keeping it together. On not letting the tears burning behind his eyelids fall, nor the panicked pleas for Harvey to forget he had ever said anything leave his tongue.

“And what am I supposed to do in a few months time when you accept that that isn’t enough for you? When I’m so in love with you again it feels like I’ll die if I have to go a day without you? Don’t say you won’t - I know you, Jim. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

Jim reached for his glass and took a sip, anything to try and hide the despair overwhelming him, and felt the weight of Harvey’s gaze on him, following the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Jim knew then what he was going to. Put the glass down with a hand that wasn’t quite steady, and licked his lips clean nervously.

He met Harvey’s eye, determined, and said,

“Then let me have tonight. Let me have something to remember you by.”

He jumped when Harvey slammed a fist down on the table, crockery and glassware jostling. Feared, just for a moment, that Harvey was going to give him the beating he had never succeeded in convincing himself he didn’t deserve. But Harvey only put his head in his hands, shoulders shaking a little, and Jim didn’t need to be able to see the evidence to know he was crying, not when he asked him in anguish,

“Why do you always do this to me? I should have kicked you out the second you walked through the door.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim rasped, apologizing never seeming as difficult as it once had. It never fixed anything, anyway. “I just - I’m sorry.”

His hand hovered above Harvey’s shoulder for a moment, his heart aching with the need to close the distance, but he pulled it back and forced himself to leave the room. Started packing his suitcase, numb but methodical, and he tried again when it was done, only for Harvey to turn away from him, clearly not trusting himself to speak without emotion getting the better of him.

He called a cab and went to the hotel he had paid in advance for. Collapsed atop the bed feeling sick and shaky. Broken, somehow, and buried his nose in the t-shirt he had slept in the night before, seeking out the faint traces of Harvey transferred from the blankets and way they had sat pressed up close long into the night, exchanging stories and memories.

It was past midnight when there was a knock at the door. He debated ignoring it. Couldn’t care less if the place was burning to the ground, not now, but the knock came again and he heaved himself up to go and answer it. Stared dumbly at the sight awaiting him, just for a moment, and then Harvey’s hands were framing his face and he was being kissed. Ravished, really, so that all he could do was kick the door shut and cling to the back of Harvey’s jacket.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Harvey told him when he broke away, as though he hadn’t said a whole avalanche of things. He must have got that though, because he stroked a thumb along his cheekbone, hand cradling the side of his face, “I’m so glad you came back into my life, Jim. I just - I don’t know how this can work.”

“We’ll find a way,” Jim pledged, tears brimming even as a stupid grin spread across his face.

Even as it felt like he was flying, soaring, and then they were kissing again, years and years of wanting finally finding an outlet.

Harvey pushed him down onto the bed, started frying his brain cells with a mouth at his neck and his solid weight blanketed over him, so that Jim moved without grace or finesse. Rutted helplessly against first Harvey’s hip, and then the thigh he wedged between his legs for the purpose, hands roaming everywhere.

“Oh God, I don’t even know where to start,” Harvey groaned, pushing up to straddle his hips and shoulder out of his jacket, “I want to make you see stars, Jim. I want to make you feel so good you never want to leave my side again.”

“Do it,” Jim begged, openly admiring the way Harvey was unbuttoning his shirt, his own hand stealing up and under the cotton undershirt to the heat of Harvey’s bare skin. “Make me yours, Harvey.”

He had never said anything like it in his life, would probably cringe at the memory in the cold light of the morning, but in the moment he couldn’t help himself. He wanted Harvey to leave his mark. To raise love bites down the length of his throat and to fill him so completely he would feel it even back in the cold gray of Gotham.

Harvey cursed in response. Palmed himself roughly for a moment, and then refocused all of his attention on Jim. Divested him of his black button down and the matching pants, then took his time mapping what felt like every inch of him. Jim was trembling with it, squirming with the need for more, and the whole while Harvey kept up a running commentary whenever his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, telling him that he was hot, and gorgeous, and that the entire week he had been wanting to push him up against the nearest flat surface and make love to him.

“You smell so good,” Harvey praised, kissing his way up his thigh until his nose was nudging at the leg of his boxer shorts. “I bet you taste good too. You want me to find out? You want to come in my mouth?”

Jim made a desperate sounding noise, hips bucking instinctively, but Harvey just kept on talking, the rising flush in his cheeks only making him look even more perfect by Jim’s reckoning.

“Or would you rather come on my dick? Tell me, Jim, do you ever think about that back in Gotham? When we’re on the phone, maybe, you wish I was right there with you, fucking into you so nice you can’t help but touch yourself?”

He tried to do just that, was so worked up he couldn’t think of anything else, but Harvey captured hold of his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, mock stern as he said,

“I’m waiting for an answer.”

Jim tugged at the hand in his own. Pulled Harvey into a frantic kiss, all tongue and desire, and then latched onto the skin of Harvey’s neck, needing to leave a mark of his own.

“Your cock,” he managed against the skin, arms wrapped around Harvey so that they were pressed close and intimate. “Please, Harvey.”

He expected to be rolled over and pushed down. To get a finger or two, perhaps, and then have Harvey slam into him. Instead Harvey sucked him a little anyway, had him teetering on the edge in moments, so close it didn’t even register at first that Harvey was dipping a finger inside of him. After that it was all he could focus on, all he could think about, because Harvey was dropping his head still lower and licking at his hole, pausing only to talk filth about how tight he was and how good it was going to feel.

It already felt amazing, better than he could have imagined, then Harvey was spearing his tongue into him and it was a good job it was his last night in the place - he was probably keeping half the hotel awake. He just couldn’t keep quiet, was in such bliss that he couldn’t find the motivation to care about it, and Harvey only compounded the matter by saying,

“I never thought you’d be loud. It’s so fucking hot, Jim, knowing that you like what I’m doing.”

“How couldn’t I?” Jim panted, writhing back on two of Harvey’s fingers, and he had never dreamed it would be like this because the look Harvey gave him wasn’t about lust or even light hearted playfulness. Harvey was looking at him like he was the answer to all his prayers, like he thought him every bit as wonderful and special as his pillow talk suggested, and Jim had to kiss him.

Had to run fingers through his hair and try to convey to Harvey what he was feeling, his body trembling and his heart fit to burst with how much he loved him.

Harvey braced himself on his forearms to keep kissing him. Stayed close and held eye contact, only looking away to fumble with a condom and help guide the head of his cock into position. The sharp flash of pain didn’t come, Harvey watching him carefully as he trailed fingertips down his side and stroked his cock in distraction.

Was gentle about it, tender, until he was all the way in and whispering in his ear if it was okay if he started moving.

Jim nodded, too overcome to form words, Harvey experimented with the angle a little. Thrust into him again and again, careful and controlled, until Jim’s stomach clenched up tight and the cry was wrenched from his lips, startled out of him as Harvey hit his prostate. Harvey hitched his thighs up in reward. Pounded into the same spot, over and over again, so that Jim’s fingers were clenched in a death grip in the sheets, tears on his cheeks as he begged Harvey.

He didn’t even know what for - slower, faster, to make him come or to keep him on the edge forever.

“I’ve got to,” Harvey warned finally, thrusts growing ever more erratic, and Jim just spurred him on, whimpering out breathy pleas for more and harder, and raking his fingers down Harvey’s back as he did his best to oblige him. He felt Harvey shudder, hips grinding into him as he moaned out his climax, and it was so perfectly in line with his favorite imagined scenarios that it only took a few strokes of his hand before he was following.

They kissed languidly in the aftermath, soft and sated, and he fell asleep in Harvey’s embrace, trying desperately to commit everything about the sensation to memory even as sleep pulled him under.

“I don’t want to go,” Jim confessed in the morning, only a few hours to go before he had to catch his flight, and Harvey kissed his cheeks and his forehead, and told him that it wouldn’t be forever.

That they couldn’t make it this far only to fall at the final hurdle.

So they washed up and got dressed, but not before he blushed to the tips of his ears and asked Harvey if he could take his undershirt with him. If he didn’t need it.

“I don’t know if it’s sweet or disgusting,” Harvey mused, willingly handing it over, “You don’t know the last time I changed it.”

“You never did like doing your laundry,” Jim agreed, and Harvey only waxed lyrical for the 500th time about the wonders of having a house with a working washing machine.

His smile faltered a little at that, at the reminder of things Harvey had here that he couldn’t offer him in Gotham, but he refused to let Harvey see. He didn’t want anything upsetting their last couple of hours together for months at the very least.

He blushed all over again as he checked out, certain the staff knew all about the noise he had been making just a few short hours ago, and kept touching his neck when they went and got breakfast, half because he was sure people were looking at the visible love bites, and half because he was so thrilled that Harvey had left them there.

“I might have got a little carried away,” Harvey offered, contrite, “it’s your own fault for being so damn sexy.”

“I left a few of my own,” Jim reasoned, kind of giddy with the meaning behind it, and then Harvey went to take a call from Barbara and left him to try and actually eat something.

“They’re all going out for lunch, so I’m gonna drive you to the airport. No need to thank me, that’s just the kind of guy I am.”

“I have good taste,” Jim grinned, trying and failing to sound casually indifferent, and they both kept getting lost to the sight of each other on the way there, overawed at not having to hide the fact they were mad about the man sat across from them.

They necked like teenagers at the airport, drinking in the view and then kissing all over again, right up until the very last moment.

“I love you,” Harvey whispered in his ear, not wanting to let him go, and Jim kissed him one last time and repeated the words as though it was sealing a pact between them.

Some way, somehow, they would make this work.

Back in Gotham the change in his attitude was obvious. He caught himself humming once, in the elevator, and when Alvarez came for his monthly appointment as union rep he asked him if he could try and stop smiling.

“I didn’t know your face could make that expression. It’s frightening.”

Jim only smiled harder, beginning to feel for the first time that he had colleagues not simply people he worked with, and told Harvey about it over the phone later.

“Of course they care about you, Jim,” Harvey admonished, sounding like he was in the middle of cooking something, “you were their Captain. They look up to you.”

“We both know how I got there,” Jim said, half afraid the memory would have Harvey calling a halt to the whole thing, but Harvey only huffed and said bluntly,

“It was always going to happen, sooner or later. What was a few months in the scheme of things?”

Jim had to close his own eyes. Try and arrange his thoughts into some kind of order.

“I wanted to die sometimes, for what I did to you.” He didn’t know where the words were coming from, just that now he had started he couldn’t hold back the tide. “You’ve every right to hate me.”

Harvey swore, loud and vicious, then restarted Jim’s heart by explaining that he had just cut his finger open.

“I never hated you, Jim. I was angry at you, sure, but I never once hated you.”

It felt like a huge weight lifted off his shoulders, a weight he had never even known he was carrying, and he sent a sickly sweet text message before he went to sleep, not caring at all how much it was going to cost him.

He went back to Ireland every chance he got. Enough to start recognizing the Irish on the road signs, and to give in and start drinking tea. To tentatively broach the subject again of which side of the Atlantic their future might be on, only for Harvey to tense up and go silent.

“There’s no rush, is there?” Harvey asked him later, apologizing for his behavior, “You’ll probably be sick of me before we ever have to make that kind of decision.”

Jim wished he wouldn’t say stuff like that. Didn’t know how to make Harvey see that he wasn’t the fickle superficial type he seemed to have him pegged as, and tried to show him with his body what he couldn’t put into words. Worked at removing Harvey’s undershirt, something from which he was too rarely parted, and let Harvey see how desperately it did it for him, the sight of so much pale flesh and the faded tattoos he couldn’t help but press kisses into.

Harvey looked up at him reverently, fingers gentle at his sides even as his eyes were dark with want, and the air around them felt like it was burning up, Jim having to bite at his lip to keep quiet as he slowly sank down onto Harvey. It was so good, so much better than the pale imitation of fingers he managed back in his own lonely apartment, and the helpless moan he dragged from Harvey’s lips when he tried moving was so hot he had to pant for breath and self-control.

“That’s it, Jim,” Harvey crooned, hips shifting to meet his movements, “take what you want from me.”

He had to kiss him. Had to curl fingers into his hair and whisper love confessions before bracing his weight up on his hands and moving shamelessly.

Harvey held him close in the aftermath, hair damp and chest heaving, and Jim simply returned it, hoping it had been enough to make Harvey see that he was never going to tire of his company.

Out of the bedroom was where he had assumed the real problems would be. Was amazed, constantly, that it never seemed to be much of an issue. Harvey introduced him to Barbara’s aunt - Scottie’s sister - as well as his own relatives and the friends he had made. Was just as touchy feely as he had always been in public, winding an arm around his waist or his shoulders, and even pressing a kiss to his cheek occasionally.

Barbara asked him frankly what his intentions were one evening when Harvey was out running a few errands, like she was the parent and Harvey the innocent child. He hesitated, uncertain how much Harvey would want him to say, then threw caution to the wind and said simply,

“I love him.”

“Obviously,” Barbara agreed, a little exasperated, “But does it mean you’re going to move in here, or are we going to have to go to Gotham?”

That he couldn’t answer. Gotham’s only claim to fame here were the reports of terrorist attacks and sky high crime rates on the evening news, and even if he was to convince Harvey that he would be happy here it would still take a long time and a mountain of paperwork.

“I want to see it before I make my mind up,” Barbara said, oblivious to his internal conflict, “I can’t make any promises.”

He didn’t know what he had been expecting but it certainly wasn’t that, and in bed that night he tentatively brought up the topic of Harvey and Barbara coming out to stay with him.

“I can’t afford it,” Harvey admitted, reluctantly, and Jim just kissed him in response and asked what the point of constantly chasing promotion was if he couldn’t spend his wage packet on the people who mattered most to him. “I feel like your kept woman,” Harvey huffed, only half joking, and the last few months had really changed how he dealt with life because Jim worked a hand between them and said,

“No, you don’t.”

“Where do you get these lines from?” Harvey whined, pressing ever so slightly up into his palm all the same, and Jim only beamed widely.

“I learned them all from the master.”

He did take it on board though, did try to be mindful of how his actions looked to Harvey, because it wasn’t just Harvey with the worries and the hang ups. He was doing a good job of hiding them, at least, or so Jim thought - right up until the long weekend he had fought tooth and nail to get away for and then ruined by flinching violently when Harvey put a hand on the nape of his neck the way that used to signal he was in big trouble.

Jim tried to apologize, tried to laugh it off, but it had been a tough few weeks at work and he had been receiving late night phone calls. Nobody ever spoke, they never lasted long enough to get a trace on, but somehow he knew. He just knew who they had to be from.

Harvey seemed to accept it, appeared to let it slide, then later when Barbara was in bed and it was just the two of them pressed up close on the couch in the living room Harvey turned to look at him and asked if there was a particular reason why he always expected Harvey to swing for him.

“I don’t -”

“I know I clocked you one a couple of times back in the day, but we weren’t even friends then and you had just signed my death warrant,” Harvey sighed, the attempt at light heartedness forgotten, “You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, Jim. You’ve got to know that I’d never lay a finger on you.”

He had thought he was past it, that it was all a distant memory, and now in the space of a couple of weeks it was right back at the forefront. The fear and the hopelessness, because he was the one who had let it happen. He was the one who had stayed when he should have walked away, and that had to mean he had wanted it, really. No matter how much the rational part of his mind told him otherwise.

“It’s not you,” he managed eventually, fingers kind of numb with the cold washing over him.

“Is it the job?” Harvey tried, “It makes a man jumpy, I know. Paranoid.”

Jim nodded eagerly, ready to latch onto any excuse, but silence settled between them afterwards, awkward and stifling, and when Jim finally fell asleep it was only to lose himself in nightmares where he had never gotten out and Harvey told him that he was sure he was getting exactly what he deserved.

His face was wet when he was shaken awake, Harvey’s eyes wide with fear as he told him over and over that it was just a bad dream, so that Jim buried his face in Harvey’s shoulder and wished that he could tell him what the problem was. He hadn’t at first because he had been ashamed. Hadn’t wanted Harvey’s indifference or, worse, his pity, and then he hadn’t wanted to make Harvey feel guilty for something he couldn’t change anyway.

Now it felt like he ought to be over it, like he was deliberately clinging to the past, and the wedge between them only grew wider and deeper for the remainder of his stay.

“Be careful,” Harvey implored when they said goodbye at the airport, and Jim clenched his fingers tight in the fabric of Harvey’s coat as they hugged, not wanting to be parted from him and not knowing how to make sure Harvey understood that.

He had no choice but to think it all through back in Gotham, none of the ever evolving crises enough to divert his attention completely. It made him cringe, some of it. The things he had accepted without question, and how those untruths had become so deeply ingrained that there was no way Harvey hadn’t picked up on them. His too obvious shock that sex didn’t have to be rough or painful just because there wasn’t a woman involved, and the slow unpicking of decades worth of relationships where disagreements ended in things getting thrown at him or threats that they were going to hurt themselves.

When he did confess it was over the telephone, the words easier to find when he didn’t have to see Harvey’s reaction to them, and Harvey simply listened as he explained haltingly why he got tense sometimes, and why the teeth on the left side of his jaw had really needed so much dental work.

The silence stretched when he finished speaking, Harvey not wanting his excess baggage perhaps. Wondering how a trained professional - an ex-soldier at that - had ever let himself get into such a position.

“Did you report it?” Harvey asked finally, “Is this guy in prison?”

His own silence said everything.

There was noise in the background on Harvey’s end, something that sounded like a whole gaggle of schoolgirls wanting a ride somewhere, and Harvey apologized into the handset and told him that they could talk about it later.

Left him wishing that Ireland wasn’t so very far away, and that he was the type of man who would be able to actually voice the way he was feeling even if he were there in person.

“It’s not your fault, you know that, right?” Harvey said when he called back, exactly the way they were taught to say it in basic training, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That was debatable, really, but Jim pinched at the bridge of his nose and tried to keep his voice steady, “You don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s been years now.”

“I’d still kill him if I got the chance.”

There was something in the way Harvey said it that made him shiver, no hint of a joke about it, and Jim was glad the opportunity was never likely to arise. He didn’t need that on his conscience.

Wished he hadn’t opened his mouth at all, truthfully, because the phone calls had probably been nothing and all he had succeeded in doing was tearing open old wounds.

Letting Harvey see what a mess he still was. What an emotional drain he was always going to be.

“When can I see you next?” Harvey asked quietly, dragging him out of his thoughts, and the distance of three months had never felt so unbearably long before.

At least the city’s criminal fraternity provided him with plenty of distractions, an escape from Arkham having everyone on high alert, and the Mayoral elections providing a constant headache of needing to supply enough security for heated rallies and over spirited campaigning.

Maybe, he thought six weeks in, it would be better if he called it off now. If he let Harvey go back to his own life, relieve him of all the stress and worry his presence in it was giving him, and he would be free to devote everything he had left to Gotham.

It would be easier, less complicated, and then he got home to find a letter waiting for him. Harvey was making the decision for him, he just knew it. This was going to be the most painful Dear John he had ever endured. Yet when he opened it there was absolutely no talk of ending things. Instead Harvey wrote that he couldn’t wait another six weeks to try and explain the thoughts keeping him awake at night.

That he loved him, adored him, and the idea that he had been so lonely and so miserable was almost more than he could handle.

‘I knew there was something wrong, that there was something you weren’t telling me, but I didn’t want to push you. I didn’t want you to tell me that you just weren’t as into the idea of ‘us’ as I am. I should have given you more credit, Jim. Can you forgive me?’

He rang Harvey, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset with him for waking him up in the early hours.

“Bullock,” Harvey answered, years on the Force ingraining the habit, then followed up with a groggy sounding, “Harvey. Er. Who is it, please?”

Jim couldn’t help the fond smile it inspired. Told him that he forgave him, of course, and that he loved him more than anything.

“It’s half three in the morning,” Harvey said in response, “and I’m still happy to hear the sound of your voice. I’m besotted, Jim.”

Harvey proved it when they were finally back together, telling him that they could talk about it as much or as little as he wanted to. Went on to say that he was willing to make the trip to Gotham, to let Barbara see for herself how things would be if one day they decided to move there, and then in response to his questions about her whereabouts explained that she was staying over at a friend’s house to drink too much Club Orange and watch some God awful movie about makeovers or weddings or something.

“They borrowed something from your DVD collection then?” Jim offered, feeling more like himself than he had in months, and Harvey gave him a death glare before giving it up as a bad show and bursting into laughter.

“The point I was trying to make,” Harvey said when he was done, voice dropping a little, “is that I haven’t seen you for four months and we have the house to ourselves. I hope for your sake you got some shut-eye on the plane over.”

There was never a whole lot else to do, not really, and he had never been more glad of the fact than he was at that moment. Except, possibly, when Harvey was coaxing him through a third orgasm, his entire body so sensitive he couldn’t have kept quiet even if he had wanted to. It was so good he never wanted it to stop, didn’t know how much longer he could stand for it to go on for, and then he was there, every muscle straining as he sobbed with the intensity of it.

“I knew you could do it for me,” Harvey praised, face flushed and voice unsteady even if he couldn’t get it up again quite so soon, and Jim all but collapsed into his arms, more than happy to be petted and coddled.

The next day they did speak about it some. Took Barbara shopping, her interests already a world away from the freckle faced kid with pigtails he had met on that very first trip, and exchanged quiet conversation about the years he had spent trapped in his own personal nightmare. Harvey knew him well, better than anyone, and seemed to understand that he could never speak about it if they set aside time and made it into an event to be dealt with.

Like this though, snippets that lacked too much detail, a public place where he would never allow himself to get over emotional. This was about as much as he could manage.

“I don’t think any differently of you, Jim,” Harvey said, too sincere for him to argue with while Barbara deliberated over shoes he would never understand the attraction of, “I just wish I could have been there for you.”

Jim nodded, not trusting himself to speak, so Harvey pressed close and kissed his cheek. Hammed it up a little when Barbara complained about the spectacle they were making, and Jim worried for a moment that maybe she didn’t entirely approve of what they were doing until she made it clear that the problem was their age and uncool attire they were drawing attention to, rather than their gender.

“I have always been at the height of fashion,” Harvey assured her, “Jim will tell you.”

“I’m not getting involved,” Jim said, hands held out in placation.

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Of course your boyfriend is going to be on your side. Jim always thinks you look good.”

The implication was that this was clearly a sign of Jim’s poor dress sense, but Jim nodded anyway. Truer words were never spoken. Harvey chuckled and wound an arm around each of them, steering them out in the direction of the parking lot, and for the first time in longer than he could remember Jim really felt like he was part of a family. He wasn’t just some guy who turned up occasionally, an outsider to be put up with for the duration.

These two were going to be the focus of the rest of his life.

Back in Gotham he set about finding interesting things for a 13-year-old to do, was dismayed at just about everything on offer, and then had to blink back tears when Barbara mailed him a card for his birthday. The message told him to stop stressing over the trip, suggested that if he really couldn’t help himself he think less about the zoo and more about the mall, and ended with a pep talk about how he ought to make the most of the occasion.

How her dad was sentimental, and kind of romantic, and Jim should really get on with it because neither of them were getting any younger.

He took the missive to heart, started making a few plans, and by the time he met the pair of them at Gotham airport he could scarcely keep still for nervous excitement.

“Did you take my advice?” Barbara asked him the instant they were alone, playing the part of co-conspirator, and Jim had to tease a little and say,

“Yes, and you’ll be pleased to hear I decided against the zoo after all.”

She gave him an incredulous look, ready to really lose her temper, so he just grinned and showed her the ring box he had been carrying in his pocket.

“You’re really going to do it?” Barbara demanded, over eager with enthusiasm, and then they had to be quiet and act innocent because Harvey was approaching.

“What are you two plotting?” Harvey asked, suspicious, and Jim put on the puppy dog eyes Harvey had often bemoaned he was a slave to and said that they had been deciding what to have for dinner.

They ordered take-out, his apartment all but sparkling with the energy he had poured into making the place look presentable, and it all felt so right and so easy that it was kind of terrifying.

“Thank you,” Jim said when Barbara went to her own room, the jet lag clearly hitting her, and wound his arms around him.

Harvey pressed a kiss to his nose and asked him what for.

“For coming here. For giving me a chance. For being the person you are.”

“I don’t know why you keep telling me you’re bad with words,” Harvey admonished, gaze lost in his own, so Jim outright told him that he had never been so happy. That he hardly knew what to do with himself, so that Harvey grinned at him and suggested that he might be able to think of one or two things.

Switched things up when they made it to the bedroom, and whispered heatedly in his ear that all he had been thinking about for weeks was having Jim’s dick inside him. It had him going from interested to desperate in two seconds flat, and he had to kiss Harvey silent so that it was just the lewd sounds of his fingers filling the room as he worked Harvey open.

Harvey arched his head back and groaned as soon as they broke the kiss, and Jim begged him to stroke himself for him, shivering as he watched Harvey push up into his fist and then back against his fingers. It was so hot, so perfect, and Jim didn’t even remember to be self-conscious about the size of his own cock, not when Harvey was panting out praise, stifling back moans of pleasure as he told him how amazing it felt as he pushed into him.

It did feel amazing, tight heat that threatened to end the entire experience way too soon, so that he had to hold still for a long moment to regain some semblance of self-control.

“Fuck, that was good,” Harvey told him when he slumped on top of him, too wrung out to even roll over, but Harvey didn’t seem to care if he wanted to use his chest for a pillow.

If anything, he only encouraged it.

He hadn’t been able to take the entire week off work, but in the morning Harvey reassured him that it was fine even as he openly admired the view as Jim dressed and knotted his tie.

“I’m sure I can still find my way around,” Harvey said, then added, “Babs wants to see where Scottie lived and worked. We’re gonna go and lay some flowers on her grave.”

“Oh, Harvey,” Jim breathed, appalled that he hadn’t really considered how Harvey might feel coming back to Gotham and revisiting the time he had spent with her, but Harvey just gave him a sad smile.

“She always said that one day you’d get your head out of your ass and see what you were missing. The least I can do is go tell her that she was right on the money.”

Jim kissed him, softly, and somehow it ended with him flushed and breathless, hair out of place and half his shirt unbuttoned, when the ringing of his cell brought him back to reality.

“Duty calls,” Harvey said, smug smile on his face, and Jim made him promise to call him if he needed anything, before taking the call and trying to sound calm and professional.

It was gone 8pm when he got home, still light out but dingy in the hallways of his apartment building, and he was just planning out a shower and some kind of sustenance before Harvey and Barbara got back from dinner when he pushed the door open and felt his heart skip a beat in shock at the sight he was met with.

“Jim,” David said, smiling, and Jim knew this scene. Had been through it with Barbara, and Lee, and all the others who had wanted to kill him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, all the same, and David just launched into some half mad rant about the things he had been posting on social media, and how he wouldn’t mind if Jim wasn’t so dead set on rubbing his face in it. “We’ve not been together for a long time,” Jim pointed out, weighing up his options, “you can’t be here.”

“Call it in,” David challenged, the too familiar unhinged look in his eyes, “they’ll never get here in time.”

He wished that he had his gun on him. Had anything on him, really, but he had locked it all up at the precinct rather than risk Harvey’s wrath for having a gun in the place with his child. He felt sick at that thought, his blood running ice cold at the idea of Harvey and Barbara walking into this, and he tried again with negotiation, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” David countered, impatient, “the problem with talking, Jim, is that you never listen. If you did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

It was useless, Jim saw that now. David was too far gone. The idea hit him, suddenly, that perhaps Harvey was already back. That maybe David had been waiting for them.

His training went out the window. All the courses, and the seminars, and the in the field experience. Instead he rushed through to check the other rooms, heart hammering, and before he knew it there was a strange sensation in his side and when he looked down blood was spreading across his work shirt.

He put a hand to it, dumbstruck, and pulled them away slick with blood. Scarcely had chance to register it before he was being shoved to the floor, the knife entering again and again, and though he fought back with everything he had, though he tried to crawl away and retrieve the cell phone he had dumped with his keys in the dish by the door, it dawned on him that this was it.

This time it really was all over.

He must have passed out, he supposed, what with the shock and the pain and the blood loss, and even in his moments of lucidity he heard sounds but couldn’t make sense of them. All he wanted was for Harvey and Barbara to be all right. Nothing else mattered now.

That was the first thing he tried to say when he came around, his mouth refusing to co-operate, but he couldn’t even focus on the face in front of him before he went under again.

“Jim, thank God!” was what he was met with the second time, Harvey’s fingers gentle on his face, and Jim reached for him weakly, needing to know that he really was okay. Harvey reassured him that he was - and so was Barbara. “He tried to make a run for it when we got there, went down the fire escape. They picked him up though.”

His tone suggested that it was better for David that way. That Harvey would have torn him limb from limb had he actually got hold of him.

“I’m sorry,” Jim tried, scratchy but understandable, “Babs shouldn’t have had to see that.”

In some ways, Jim told himself, this was a blessing. He had been kidding himself about Gotham. Had been planning to get down on one knee and say to Harvey that they’d carry on the way things were if he wanted, at least until Barbara finished high school. But he had hoped Harvey would choose to stay. That Barbara would be won over by the city lights and Corporate America.

He had wanted to put them both in danger.

“She shouldn’t have,” Harvey agreed, unknowingly twisting the knife still deeper, but then added, “but that bastard shouldn’t have touched you in the first place. It wasn’t like you planned for it to happen.”

That was true, at least, and he nodded shakily when Harvey asked if he was up to seeing Barbara now, or if he wanted to be left alone.

“I want to see her,” he managed, meaning it, and didn’t even care about the pain when she flung her arms around him.

“I thought you were dead,” she said, face pale and tear stained, “you can’t die on us, Jim. I already lost one parent.”

He started crying at that, couldn’t stop himself, and Harvey correctly deduced the reason, stroking his hair back from his forehead and telling him that the three of them were a family.

The duty nurse came and demanded he get some rest then, muttered under her breath about people over exciting her patients, and still Jim called Harvey back at the last moment to ask if they had somewhere to stay.

“I’ve mopped up plenty of blood in my time,” Harvey said, and then confessed that he may have used and abused Jim’s position to ensure the scene of crime officer moved quickly. “You’re the Deputy Commissioner, Jim. You can’t have the rank and file in and out of your apartment.”

Jim smiled in spite of himself, a little awestruck at Harvey’s ability to make any situation brighter, and then went out for the count, completely and utterly exhausted.

The next day he felt more aware. More aware of the pain too, but he supposed there always had to be a pay-off. Harvey and Barbara came visiting, their sights of Gotham being rather more constrained than they had probably expected. But Barbara brought him some magazine she thought he’d like because ‘it looked boring’, and then Harvey sent her off in search of a cup of tea and pulled a chair right up close to his bed.

“They’ve given me back the contents of your pockets,” Harvey said, and went on to lecture him a little for not at least carrying his pepper spray. Then he pulled something from his own pocket, the box blood-stained and a touch misshapen, and Jim sucked in a sharp breath that pulled at all his stitches.

“I was going to get down on one knee,” Jim croaked, gaze on the box rather than whatever expression might be on Harvey’s face, “I wanted you to see how much you mean to me.”

“I know, Jim,” Harvey said gently, Jim slowly looking up at him, “I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. I hear it in your voice every time we talk on the phone. I thank God for it each and every day because I feel the exact same way about you.”

Harvey was smiling at him, eyes damp, and Jim reached for the box laid on the overbed table. Worked it open with his bandaged hand and fingers - defensive wounds - and carefully manoeuvred the ring onto the hand Harvey held out for him.

“Barbara said I should do it,” he confessed, stroking the pad of a fingertip over the smooth metal, “she said that neither of us are getting any younger.”

Harvey laughed, used to it, and then leaned in close to kiss him. Had him forgetting he was in a hospital bed and that he was due another dose of painkillers, lost completely in how happy he was.

They were still smiling stupidly at each other when Barbara returned, so that she was just triumphant that her less than subtle hinting had worked.

For all that, the path forward still wasn’t clear. By the time he was well enough to leave the hospital it was almost time for Harvey and Barbara to go home, and the sight of his sitting room - the discoloration of his carpet - made him feel sick to his stomach. He promised Harvey that he would be fine, that he just needed to get on with things, then broke out in a cold sweat when he returned from seeing them both off at the airport, afraid to open his own damn front door.

He had to be interviewed and sign statements, and then somebody leaked it to the press so everybody and their grandmother knew. Gossiped about it on the subway and in the diners, and Jim had to swallow convulsively over and over again one evening, two of the cleaners who obviously thought he had already left agreeing with each other that there had to be more to the story, because a guy like him would never have put up with the kind of abuse the papers were claiming.

The same thoughts were visible on the faces of the jury when it went to trial, along with the defending counsel, and Jim had never really been tripped up on the stand before. Had always stuck to his guns and kept things clear, even when he had been on trial for murder. The jury had just been convinced that he was lying - not that he didn’t have his story straight.

This time it felt like he was falling apart, like everything that came out of his mouth was being twisted into something he hadn’t meant to say, and he was on the verge of accepting defeat before the final whistle for the first time in his life when he glanced up and saw Harvey sitting in the public gallery.

Harvey gave him a small smile, encouraging, and suddenly none of it seemed quite so bad. He could answer the questions and quit looking at the scars on his fingers. Could face the court, in control, and keep his head up high as he returned to his seat, no matter how much he was shaking on the inside.

He went to Harvey as soon as he could. Started in on a thousand questions and got a kiss in answer, along with a simple,

“I couldn’t let you do this alone, Jim.”

Barbara was waiting out in the lobby, sat with a court official Jim had seen Harvey drinking with a few times back in the old days, and though it was probably immensely uncool she hugged him tight and told him that she had missed him.

“We can’t keep going on like this,” Harvey said when they went out to lunch, and Jim’s stomach lurched a little even as Barbara nodded her head in agreement. “Me and Babs have been talking it over and -”

“And we’re going to try it here, for the next school year.”

“That’s -” Jim started, overcome, but Barbara wasn’t finished,

“But if I don’t like it, we’re not staying. And even if I do we have to go back home every summer.”

Harvey shrugged as though to say it had already proven non-negotiable, “Every summer.”

Jim had to take a moment. Had to try and get a grip on what he was feeling.

“We can do that,” he assured, smile too wide and eyes too bright, and for the first time since his past had gone public he didn’t feel like a fraud. A failure masquerading as somebody who deserved his position and the love notes Harvey sent him via text message.

In the end David was given a slap on the wrist. A short custodial sentence and a warning not to do it again. Harvey told him it was down to damn lawyers, harking back to an age old argument between them which would never be settled, and successfully redirected his focus to other matters. Finding a new apartment, one with a full time doorman and no bad memories, and making everything official down at City Hall.

Barbara made them pose for a thousand photographs, like it was some big society affair, and then picked one out for him afterwards and said,

“That’s the one you should have on your desk when you’re the police commissioner.”

“I think that’s a long way off yet,” Jim told her, though didn’t deny it was the ultimate goal.

It always had been.

“I personally think this one,” Harvey offered, going for a shot with more than a flash of tongue, so that Barbara pulled a face and Jim flushed up helplessly. “What?” Harvey grinned, “I want all those bigwigs to know he’s already taken.”

He did get there, eventually. Sooner than he had counted on, really, with Barbara only just left for college and Harvey busy tracking missing persons and lost property.

“You have to go for it,” Harvey insisted when the opportunity came up, “I accepted long ago that I would have to share you with the Job.”

“It’s not my top priority,” Jim said, though Harvey couldn’t know the significance. It was true, just the same, because it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not now he had a family to think about.

“It better not be,” Harvey countered, smiling anyway, “I’m not taking second place to anything.”

Jim kissed him, grateful, and made sure the photograph Barbara had given him had pride of place on his new desk the first time Harvey came to visit him.

“I still say you should have gone with the other one,” Harvey said, even through the proud expression he couldn’t hide at all, “it would have livened this place up.”

Jim only paused to make sure the blinds were closed and then kissed him soundly.

“What was that for?” Harvey asked, fingers touching his jaw tenderly, and Jim just shrugged and beamed back at him,

“Why settle for a picture when we could just recreate it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	226. Chapter 226

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For meowitskatmofo: _Prompt Time! Imma make it all official. Daddy Jim and Daddy Harvey preparing for their little girl's first date. <333_

“I wasn’t interested in dating when I was fifteen.”

Jim was so earnest about it, so genuine, that Harvey had to smother a fond smile. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Jim that he was hardly representative of the typical teenage experience, not on any topic.

At fifteen it had been all he was interested in. Well, perhaps not dating per se, but certainly being alone with members of the opposite sex. The same sex too. He really hadn’t been fussy, had been none too careful either, and suddenly he was rethinking how supportive he was of the idea of his daughter spending the evening with some acne ridden hormone factory.

“I just think she should be concentrating on her school work,” Jim went on, sounding every inch the out of touch parent, “she’ll have plenty of time for that kind of thing when she’s at college.”

“Is that what your Mother used to say to you?” Harvey asked, imagining it all too easily, and Jim just sniffed delicately and said that his Mother’s view was that there was no point in thinking much about it until he was earning enough to support a family anyway.

Ma Gordon had an awful lot to answer for.

“Look,” Harvey started reasonably, “we can’t just say no because it will only make her more determined.” He held a hand up to forestall Jim’s arguments, “Trust me on this. What we need to do is make sure that this boy is suitable. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Jim nodded slowly, frown shifting to a smile, and Harvey grinned and gave him a kiss in reward.

Crisis averted.

Except the kid turned up to the dinner he had arranged with Barbara late and kind of pale. Shaken up, badly, and when Barbara asked him what was wrong he told her that they had had police at his apartment, some demented detective asking him questions about a crime he knew nothing about.

“That’s awful!” Barbara exclaimed, looking just like Jim as she launched into her own series of questions about the guy’s name and his badge number, assuring him her dad would want to know all the details.

Harvey had his own suspicions, couldn’t quite shake them, and when Jim got in ten minutes or so before they were due to start eating, he steered him into the kitchen and demanded to know if he had really sent Alvarez around to threaten to kick the kid’s door in.

“You said we should check him out,” Jim protested, indignant even with the puppy dog eyes, so that Harvey had to grimace in frustration and point out that he had never said to send a guy with a gun to put the fear of God into him.

Jim only made things worse, attempted to justify the decision, and then really stuck his foot in it with,

“I still say it was a sensible precaution. Who knows what kind of things he’s messed up in? Did you know they live in The Narrows?”

Harvey shook his head, temper rising, “You did not just say that. You’re such a stuck-up little shit at times.”

They were nose to nose, him hurt and Jim unable to back down, and then Barbara was sticking her head around the door and hissing at them not to be so embarrassing.

Dinner started as a tense affair. He was too sarcastic and too heavy handed with the plate he gave Jim, and Jim simply sat there in stoic silence as he wiped spaghetti sauce from his tie, jaw twitching with the effort of looking so hard done by. Barbara glared at both of them, mortified, and poor young Gregory looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Harvey took a deep breath and forced a smile for Barbara’s sake. Asked Gregory if he had had far to come, and then made too much of a point of telling the kid that he had grown up in The Narrows as well.

“It’s not as bad as people say it is,” Gregory said, polite but terrified, while Jim pushed food around his plate without eating anything.

“If you don’t like, don’t eat it,” Harvey said for Jim’s benefit, not quite ready to let it go, “I wouldn’t want you to feel you’re lowering yourself in any way.”

Gregory looked to Barbara for some kind of cue as to how to take that, and Barbara just sighed and said none too quietly,

“Be glad they’re bickering, otherwise they’d be all over each other.”

“We’re not bickering,” Jim said, as though he were sat at an entirely different dinner table, “we’re just not in total agreement right now.”

Jim glanced up at him as he said it, big blue eyes full of apology, and Harvey had always been a pushover where Jim was concerned. Pressed a greasy kiss to Jim’s cheek, hand lingering at his waist, and chose to ignore Barbara’s,

“See, what did I tell you?”

“Perhaps I was a little hasty,” Jim said afterwards, while they washed dishes and kept at eye on what Barbara was doing out in the main living space, “He doesn’t seem like a bad kid.”

“I know,” Harvey agreed, already wondering how he could have ever been upset with Jim now that they were back on an even keel, “because I did my own background check. Myself. By going and talking to his parents.”

“What were they like?” Jim asked, after giving him a suitably disapproving glare, “What did they have to say about him?”

“Okay. And they’re his parents, they said he’s a little angel.”

“Hmm,” was Jim’s answer, less than committal, and Harvey didn’t berate him for it. Not when he was pushing back through the kitchen door to check up on where young Gregory’s hand had disappeared to.

Into his pocket for his phone, as it happened, so he could ring his parents and let them know what time to expect him home, but still.

You could never be too careful.

“So did he pass your stupid test?” Barbara asked once he was gone, “We only want to go to the cinema.”

“I still think you’re very young,” Jim said, proving that he never learned anything from past mistakes, “and you won’t want to go Friday night because you’ve got your Troop meeting.”

“What your dad is trying to say,” Harvey soothed, not ready for another lecture on the wonders of Scouting, “is that if we let you go, you’re not staying out late and -”

“And you’re not wearing any make-up.”

“Much make-up,” Harvey compromised, shooting Jim a warning look that Jim met with an expression of hurt innocence.

Barbara sighed, “Is this as good an offer as I’m going to get?”

They shared a look, all silent conversation, and answered together,

“Yes.”

Barbara thought it over for a few moments but ultimately agreed, and then asked them what they had been arguing over earlier. “Sorry,” she corrected, “what were you not in total agreement about?”

“Relationships aren’t easy,” Harvey said, hand finding Jim’s back as reassurance he wasn’t about to drop him in it, “sometimes you let little things get in the way of the big picture.”

“Is this your way of telling me not to be upset if he stands me up?” Barbara asked, smile breaking through, and Harvey just pulled her into a hug because he doubted he’d get many more chances to treat her like a kid going forward,

“If he stands you up, I’ll kill him. This is my way of saying that we know we’re being overprotective - but it’s only because we love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	227. Chapter 227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Your gordlock fill for[chapter 187](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30110541) is so adorable, I love pining Jim, could you do a sequel with them getting together? Would make my day!_

Jim had tried being subtle. He had tried being forward too, sitting too close and putting a hand on Harvey’s knee, doing his best to bat his eyelashes seductively.

Harvey just laughed and told him to take it easy on the drink, and when he gave it another go while sober, pressing a dry kiss to Harvey’s cheek, Harvey only wound an arm around his middle and assured him that he loved him too.

He was his very best friend.

There was nothing left but to spell it out, remove any misunderstanding, and he deliberated over what to write on the card at the florist’s for a long time, the shop girl watching him with something resembling pity.

“You can leave the message blank,” she suggested, obviously wishing he would just hurry up and get on with it, and still he fussed and faltered, scribbling out three attempts before printing,

‘I love you, J’

That was unambiguous, surely. Harvey couldn’t fail to understand his motives, not when the card was accompanied by a dozen red roses.

On Valentine’s Day.

He fidgeted at his desk all morning, nervous energy making it a struggle to concentrate, so that it was almost a relief to be called out to a crime scene. It was cold out, his breath misting in front of him, and when he had done everything he could for the time being he fumbled his phone keypad with freezing fingers, resolve deserting him as he asked Harvey if he was having a good day.

The flowers should have been delivered by now, should be gracing Harvey’s mess of a desk in his down town office, and Jim had to know if he had any chance of getting his affections returned.

Couldn’t take the wishing and the wanting - the desperate hoping that Harvey could come to see him as somebody he would be happy to share the rest of his life with.

There was no reply, no matter how many times Jim checked his cell, breath shallow and pulse fluttery.

Jim felt sick with it by the time he got back to the precinct. Cursed himself for an idiot because Harvey had been trying to let him down gently. Must have been pretending not to see, not to understand, in order to spare his feelings. Now he had gone and forced Harvey’s hand.

Now he was going to have to face up to the consequences.

He slumped into his chair when he reached his office, and looked over the latest pile of paperwork. Caught sight of a familiar looking card underneath a case file and picked it up with fingers which still felt numb. It was the card he had written, back in the florist’s, and he turned it over not understanding how or why it was in front of him.

His heart stuttered for a moment, at the shock of it, then he was reading over ‘right back at you’ and looking up at the figure stood in his office doorway.

“I’m not really one for grand gestures,” Harvey said, stepping forward, “not unless it’s a life or death situation, and I’m definitely not one for throwing money around. But,” Harvey smiled at him, voice a little rough at the edges, and held out a single rose, “you’ve got to know by now that I love you. So much, Jim.”

Jim stood up gracelessly. Took the rose and just stared at it stupidly for a moment.

Then he was crushing his arms around Harvey’s neck, Harvey only returning the embrace with equal enthusiasm.

“I guess this means I should take you out to dinner,” Jim grinned when they finally broke apart, his lips still tingling, and Harvey gave him a look that made his pulse race and promised,

“In that case, dessert is on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	228. Chapter 228

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about ftm!Jim sitting on Harvey's face? :)_
> 
> Broadly set in the same universe as chapters [#25](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/22433309) and [#122](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/27250383).

Harvey liked to be told what to do in the bedroom. He had said as much, even, back in those early days of their partnership when he had still been frequenting Mooney’s and trying to disgust him into asking for a transfer.

It was still a shock to see it in action, a total thrill to witness the way Harvey’s eyes went dark with lust, looking at him like he wanted nothing more than to get down on his knees and worship him.

Jim figured he really ought to make him work for it.

Got him to kiss at his neck, beard scratching just the way he liked it, so that he could reward him by tangling fingers in his hair. By tugging, just a little, and breathing into Harvey’s ear that he ought to take his clothes off.

Harvey did it too. Got down to his underwear before Jim couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Harvey was so gorgeous, so handsome, and Jim just had to kiss him again, palms roving, then nipped at Harvey’s bottom lip and pushed at his shoulders just enough to be sure he got the message.

“Fuck,” Harvey groaned, hands reverent at his hips even as he pressed his cheek into the front of his trousers. Pushed his nose into the crease of his thigh, inhaling deeply, and when Jim bucked forward involuntarily he started scrabbling with his belt buckle.

Got his pants and underwear pulled down, laying him bare, and then he had his forehead pressed into Jim’s hip, breathing unsteady as he asked Jim for permission to touch him.

It did things to him, got him all hot and bothered, and when he finally succeeded in getting his mouth to co-operate Harvey kind of whined in gratitude and swirled his tongue around his cock. Began suckling at it, fingers clamping him in place, and only went at it with greater enthusiasm when Jim wound his fingers back in his hair.

Broke away to pant against his leg for a moment, his knuckles taking up the slack, and Jim neatly sidestepped his own lack of imagination by demanding Harvey tell him what he wanted.

“Anything you want,” he coaxed, the words coming easier when Harvey’s thumb was working the underside of his cock like that, “you’ve just got to tell me.”

Harvey gazed up at him with a fevered look in his eye. Pushed his hips forward into nothing, as though he simply couldn’t help himself, and croaked out,

“Sit on my face.” Jim pulsed wetter at the thought, at how good it would feel, and Harvey all but begged, “Please. Oh, fuck - please, Jim.”

He couldn’t deny a request like that, really couldn’t deny Harvey anything, and he was battling out of his shirt and tie even as Harvey collapsed onto the bed. Even as Harvey pulled him in close by the waist, looking him over like Jim was the hottest thing he had ever seen.

Nobody had ever looked at him like that, not once all the masks he wore to face the world were stripped away from him, and he moved clumsily as he clambered into position, so desperate for it he was half sure he’d die if he didn’t get Harvey’s tongue back on him soon.

Tipped his head back, lost to it, while Harvey gripped at his hands and teased him with delicate lapping. Kept it up for a minute or two, until his thighs were trembling, then yanked his weight down and encouraged him to grind, the friction of facial hair contrasting with the slick heat of his mouth so perfectly he couldn’t keep quiet about it.

The sounds Harvey was making were still more obscene, were way too much of a turn on, and he had to lean forward to give Harvey’s dick a few strokes. Was rewarded with the kind of noise he used to dream about, and then Harvey was grasping at his thighs, his ass, neck straining to get his tongue in deeper.

It was almost too much, had him shifting, squirming, reaching desperately for Harvey’s arms before letting go again. Rocking back and forth a little, one hand behind his own head, yanking at his hair, then grinding again, frantic, fingers back around Harvey’s wrists.

Harvey just took it all. Carried on working him, unrelenting, until Jim could feel him swallowing - he was so wet Harvey could probably drown in it. No probably about it, really, not when Harvey was putting focus on his cock back into the mix. Not when he had one hand locked with his now, and the other stroking his dick, hard and fast like the situation was just too hot not to.

Jim sobbed and swore and tensed up, muscles trembling as sweat streaked down his face.

He was so close, so desperately close, and then Harvey shifted just a little, beard rasping against sensitive skin, and it was enough to send him over the edge. Enough to have him shaking and shuddering, gasping in great lungfuls of air even as his left leg twitched helplessly.

Harvey wasn’t far behind, panting frantically for breath as Jim did his best to move over enough to let him breathe. To collapse into a sated heap without doing either of them permanent damage.

“You sound like you’re dying,” he mumbled a few moments later, his face pressed into Harvey’s thigh, and Harvey still panting like he’d been running a marathon.

“I might be,” Harvey conceded, hand groping clumsily for his own, “but, fuck, what a good way to go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	229. Chapter 229

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Do you think you could write fic where Jim doesn't get duped by Sophia or doesn't betray Harvey? I think that would be an interesting canon divergent AU :)_
> 
> The scope for this is so huge and I really couldn't do it justice! So I just did a little mini fill instead. <3

“You show your face to Falcone, he will kill you.”

“Yeah? Well, like you said, we need an army. He’s got one.”

Harvey still didn’t like the idea. Put a hand on his arm and tried to talk him out of the idea. Slid it over to his knee and offered to find a way to make him forget about it. Sighed, finally, and told him that if he were really going to go ahead and do it they needed to be prepared for every eventuality.

They ended up back at Harvey’s apartment, using one of his noticeboards to put together an action plan. Worked on it diligently over the next few days, collating information on the major players, and calculating where the weaknesses were.

“She’s desperate to make a name for herself,” Harvey mused, frowning at a photograph of Sofia, “prove herself to Daddy.”

“I killed her brother,” Jim pointed out, dubious, so that Harvey turned to look at him. Raked his gaze over him in a way that never failed to make him flush to the tips of his ears, then said that she wouldn’t care once he started batting his lashes up at her.

Jim pushed closer. Kissed Harvey with the strength of all his conflicting emotion, and asked him if he was certain he was okay about this.

“No,” Harvey admitted, voice little more than a whisper, “Look at her. Nobody would blame you for not wanting to come back to me.”

The words took his breath away. Made it feel as though someone were stabbing him in the gut, icy fear that this would ruin the best thing that ever happened to him having him surging forwards and pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Jim managed, reaching for Harvey’s hand and tugging it up to press Harvey’s palm to his face, thumb brushing the spot where the remnants of the Tetch virus had remained visible for days. “If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t, Harvey.”

Harvey closed his eyes. Sucked in a shaky breath, composing himself, and told him that he might have faltered once but he had Jim’s back.

Always.

So they carried on plotting and scheming. Acted aloof and disinterested, then staged fake arguments for the eyes and ears of Sofia’s two-faced informants. Almost had it all go wrong anyway, almost had Harvey bleed out in his arms, and after that everything ramped up a gear.

This couldn’t go on forever. It had to end sooner rather than later.

“You’re lying,” Sofia said when they finally showed their hand, nodding to herself for reassurance, “I know you, Jim. I know exactly what you’re capable of.”

“You don’t know him at all,” Harvey countered, hand hot and possessive on his shoulder in the way that never failed to send a thrill through Jim, “You haven’t got the first idea.”

“You’ll regret this,” Sofia told him, reaching for cool and calm but unease visible in all the cracks, “I promise you that.”

Jim glanced at Harvey, expression turning soft just for a moment, before returning his attention to the task at hand.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	230. Chapter 230

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock and love letters? :D_

“You selling state secrets or something?”

Trixie snatched the letters from his hands, knickers back on but bra still littering the floor somewhere, and said,

“I’m doing my duty, if you must know. Bringing a little cheer into the lives of our brave boys in khaki.”

She finished it off with a mock salute and Harvey only snorted in laughter, already unfolding another from the top of the dresser and skimming over some of the most pathetic drivel it had ever been his misfortune to chance upon.

“They’re not brave - just stupid. Only an idiot signs up to be shot at. Trust me, I should know.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. Scolded him for his cynicism, and swept up the rest of the letters, including the one he was currently shaking his head over.

“Most of them are just kids. They like getting letters. It makes them feel important.”

Harvey opened his mouth to say something cutting. To ask if Trixie told these poor lonely kids what she did for a living, and if it made them feel special to hear that they were big and brave and handsome from a woman who took strangers home to feed her smack habit.

He shut it again, at the last moment, because who the fuck was he to pass judgement on anyone?

He was the loser paying her to pretend that she would look twice in his direction if she wasn’t short on rent money.

“It makes me feel better, I guess,” Trixie went on, hitching into her clothing and touching up her lipstick, “it’s all a lie, sure, but it’s nice to feel like you’ve done a good turn for the day.”

It had been a long time since Harvey had had that feeling. Time was, it had been what he lived for. What got him out of bed in the morning, hair combed and suit pressed, off to serve and protect the citizens of Gotham.

Now he was just holding out for his pension, a mess of a man and a joke of a cop.

Suddenly he needed his hip flask.

“You ought to try it,” Trixie said as she watched him fumble the thing open, hands not quite steady, “you might even enjoy it.”

“We both know what I enjoy,” Harvey countered, grimacing as the cheap scotch burned down his throat, “and it ain’t writing letters to homesick soldiers.”

He thought of that conversation three weeks later when they found Trixie’s body, cold and lifeless in the shadow of a dumpster. In another life she could have really been someone. Had the looks and the brains. In this one she had had a scumbag of a father and a string of guys who lived down to his memory.

She had never stood a chance.

It was left to him to sift through the contents of her dismal bedsit, cheap ass furniture that matched his own and photographs of her military penpals wedged down the sides of her dressing table mirror. He didn’t know what to do about them. Read through the letters collected in shoe boxes under the bed, only to learn that Trixie - Lisa Jenks, according to her death certificate - really had been all things to all men.

Motherly and understanding to a 19-year-old away from home for the first time, and a giggly cheerleader for a bedbound 26-year-old who was never likely to return to active service. A sisterly confidante for a guy who wanted advice on how best to ask his sweetheart to marry him, and a tease happy to share x-rated fantasies with some poor chump who had nothing else but his right hand to turn to.

Somehow he didn’t think she would thank him for shattering their illusions.

There was one letter that still hadn’t been opened, some new guy forwarded by the matching system to replace one who had returned Stateside in over a dozen pieces, and Harvey couldn’t work out what it was he thought he was doing even as he set pen to paper.

Maybe he wanted to do something for Trixie. Something to help make up for the pauper’s burial - the fact that there had been nobody there to see her off. Maybe he just wanted to believe it could give him back that sense of having done something worthwhile.

Perhaps it was the simply the fact that he had always been a sucker for a set of pretty blue eyes.

And Corporal James Gordon’s were really kind of spectacular.

Jim, so he quickly insisted, was lonely. Never said as much but made it clear all the same, the truth unmistakable in every word he didn’t say, and Harvey understood how that felt. Understood so well that instead of putting an end to the nonsense, rather than throw Jim’s next missive in the garbage, Harvey carried on writing.

Writing and writing and writing, churning out page after page in the evenings when he ought to be drinking himself into a stupor, or checking out the talent at the new club run by Falcone’s latest lackey.

Jim wrote just as copiously, the two of them espousing personal details and the everyday in favor of talking about books, and movies, and cold cases that appealed as much to his own strengths as they did Jim’s inclination towards armchair detective.

He confessed to Jim that he worked for the GCPD and that he was a fair bit older than him, Jim said that he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter, and Harvey chose not to investigate for whose benefit he was still using a PO Box and signing his letters an ambiguous ‘H’ rather than anything Jim would be able to easily trace through public records.

Then he received a letter Jim had clearly written while under the influence, describing a medal ceremony that should have been the proudest moment of his life, and the disappointed look on his mother’s face that drove home the point that nothing he did would ever be good enough.

Jim sent him a picture anyway, along with the news that he was being promoted to staff sergeant, and Harvey knew as soon as he laid eyes on it exactly what the problem was. Why he should never have started the whole stupid charade in the first place.

He was falling for Jim. Had already fallen for him, truth be told, because he was praying for Jim’s safety before he went to bed each night, and he was dreaming about him when sleep finally claimed him. Thinking about him, constantly, and imagining ever more unlikely scenarios in which Jim turned up on his doorstep on leave, and within 48 hours never wanted to leave his side again.

It couldn’t last, was never going to end well, and sure enough Jim eventually grew sick of him. Asked him increasingly personal questions, subtly pushed and unsubtly hinted, and when Harvey couldn’t risk the inevitable rejection even with Jim’s disregard for DADT Jim just cut contact. Didn’t want to know, had better things to do, and months later Harvey still wasn’t over it, his thoughts wandering to what Jim might be doing as he procrastinated at his desk with a newspaper. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat and his blood turned to ice water, the paper falling from numb fingers at the sight of the too familiar face staring back at him.

He was on the phone in an instant, breaking every rule in the book to eventually be put through to a Mrs Gordon, voice not quite steady as he asked her how her son was doing.

“I have nothing to discuss with the press,” she told him curtly, no hint of the distress that she had to be feeling what with Jim being held hostage for months and even now laying frail and sick in a hospital bed.

“I’m not press,” he assured, “I’m a police officer. I - I’m a friend of Jim’s.”

“He’s never mentioned you,” Mrs Gordon said in response, less than convinced, and Harvey cringed, assuring stiltedly that there was no real reason why he should have. That he was sorry for taking up her time, really he was, but he had only just heard what had happened.

“I’ll ask him if he wishes to speak to you,” was the best he could have hoped for, given the circumstances, and he re-read Jim’s letters all over again that evening, hating the vague reports in the newspaper and the scope of his own imagination.

Jim must have been so afraid, so very alone, and all the time Harvey had been willing to believe the worst of him.

It would serve him right if Jim never replied to his message.

Except he answered his cell a couple of days later, only to hear a voice rough with disuse ask if he was speaking to Harvey Bullock. Harvey hadn’t expected to hear from Jim in person. Hadn’t expected to hear from him at all, truthfully, and when he awkwardly tried to explain who he was Jim only cut him off with a painfully sincere,

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice for such a long time.”

Harvey drove cross state to see him. Didn’t really know what to expect, instructed himself not to get his hopes up, then his heart kind of stuttered in his chest when he laid eyes on the most gorgeous man he had ever seen, so beautiful even underweight and deathly pale. Jim hesitated, uncertain and anxious, but when Harvey stepped closer Jim gave in and clung to him.

Curled his fingers tight in the back of Harvey’s jacket and huffed a strangled laugh when Harvey made some crummy joke about him probably setting his hopes on someone rich and handsome.

“I wasn’t completely honest with you,” Jim said, needing to sit but keeping hold of his hand, “I’ve known who you were ever since you told me you were with the GCPD. The case you mentioned was on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.”

“You’ve had plenty of time to get over the disappointment then,” Harvey said, forcing a smile, and Jim seemed lost for a moment, some internal conflict raging in his head.

“I think you’re handsome,” he said finally, those big blue eyes so earnest there was no room for misunderstanding.

“I didn’t know,” was all Harvey could manage, meaning Jim’s revelation, the look on his face, the abduction. Everything.

Jim nodded, kind of jerkily, and it didn’t matter that they were meeting each other for the first time - he already Jim well enough to know he was resigning himself to not getting what he wanted. To pulling all his barriers back up around himself, the ones it must have cost him dearly to ever let down at all.

The ones he had fought against to tell him over the telephone that he had been determined not to die before he ever got chance to meet him.

Harvey knew that the least he could do in return was try to be honest with him.

“You’re not alone,” Harvey croaked out, raw and exposed as he carefully touched fingers to Jim’s cheek, “You never have to be alone again.”

It didn’t mean the path ahead was simple, nor easy. It didn’t even mean that he had the first idea of how it was going to work in practice. Jim didn’t seem to expect him to though. Was content to take things one day at a time, at least for the time being, so Harvey held him when he woke from fractured nightmares, and listened when he couldn’t keep back some of the darker memories a moment longer.

In turn Jim let him talk about Trixie, and how his letter had ever come to be in his possession.

How he wasn’t a good man, was never going to be the kind of guy Jim seemed to think he was, and had no choice but to make his peace with Jim’s assertion that they would just have to agree to disagree.

He paid for a grave marker with both her names, when Jim got his honorable discharge, and stood there in the winter chill and told her that he hoped she was somewhere better now.

She deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	231. Chapter 231

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _So, we've seen omega Harvey... how about omega Jim being knocked up by alpha Harv after an unintended heat?_

Harvey had never been much of an Alpha. He had the height, sure, and the physical presence, but he had never gone around picking fights. Wasn’t interested in posturing or acting tough, and while he loved sex, could never get enough of it, he liked to be the one getting told what to do.

He wanted to be on his knees, face smeared with slick, a hand in his hair keeping his head exactly where it was.

Worse, he was hopelessly sentimental about it.

Couldn’t care less if there was a whole room full of Omegas in heat begging for his knot, not when he was already in love with someone. Why would he want to? How could anybody compare to the person he had handed his heart over to?

How could anybody compare to Jim Gordon?

Because if he was a shoddy excuse for an Alpha, only an outlier would even guess at Jim being an Omega.

Jim might be short, was indisputably pretty, but that was about as far as the stereotype extended. Of the two of them Jim was the clear thinker. The snap decision maker. Jim was the one who wanted to play the hero, and cast himself as the big strong protector.

He needed to be in control, always, and confessed to Harvey once that he hadn’t had a full heat since he was 18, the idea of being so at the mercy of biology utterly terrifying.

Harvey didn’t think it was healthy, couldn’t imagine the kind of toll it must be taking, but never said a word on the subject because it was Jim’s body.

He could do what he wanted with it.

At least until he couldn’t, one of Strange’s concoctions hitting him with the force of a freight train, overpowering the suppressants, and the scent blockers, and the overpriced multivitamins that were supposed to help the modern Omega look bright eyed and bushy tailed even when their body was cramping up with the need for somebody or something - anything - to fill it.

Jim was doubled over with it in a matter of minutes. Down on the floor before the half hour mark, curled in on himself as he bit back needy whimpers, his fingers twisted tight together in an attempt to resist the urge to push them inside himself.

“It could be hours,” Harvey tried yet again, “you don’t need to deny yourself.”

His own fingers clamped around his jacket in a death grip. He had had to take it off, could scarcely breathe for the heat in the air - the temperature and the thick scent pouring off Jim in waves, more intoxicating than anything Harvey had ever known.

The drug was designed to force a heat. To bring it on stronger for every one suppressed before it, so it was no wonder Jim was in such a state. Couldn’t even focus his gaze when he opened his eyes, the blue almost entirely swamped by black, while his skin was flushed and blotchy.

Jim was going to have to find some measure of relief soon.

Was going to have to put his hand in his pants, the indignity of the security cameras mounted to the ceiling be damned, because if he didn’t Harvey wasn’t sure how much longer he could control himself.

How much longer he could stand to see his partner in pain. How much longer he could bear the press of his own dick against his straining zipper.

Jim let out a sob, helpless, and when Harvey shifted closer on instinct, needing to see what the matter was, it was to see Jim fighting frantically with his belt buckle. He just stared, transfixed. Watched as Jim shoved down his pants and his underwear, his tie and suit jacket already laid out on the ground beneath him, and the fabric of his shirt clinging to him with perspiration.

His legs were wet with it, glistening, and then Harvey realized it wasn’t sweat trickling down the length of his thigh.

“Fuck, Jim,” Harvey breathed, and Jim just kind of whined as Harvey watched another pulse of slick join the pool he was forming.

“Will you help me?” Jim asked then, voice low and gravelly, “Can you put your fingers in me?”

It wasn’t Jim’s fault, there wasn’t any reason Jim should know, but any hope Harvey had ever had of staying away deserted him. Jim sounded commanding, like he expected obedience, and Harvey had to shuffle forward on his knees, mouth flooding with saliva.

He got Jim to lay back. Gave him his own jacket to use as a makeshift pillow, then settled between Jim’s thighs, pushing them wider. Simply admired his hole for a moment, wet and swollen and twitching in invitation, and then he was pressing his thumb into him, his own dick throbbing at the sensation of wet heat surrounding part of him.

Jim groaned as it went in, demanded more almost instantly, and in just a few moments Harvey had gone from clinging to his sense of decency to thrusting three fingers into Jim, the sound of it obscene as it filled the stagnant air.

“I need more,” Jim pleaded, one hand stroking his dick and the other at his wrist, trying to get his fingers in deeper, “Please, Harvey.”

Harvey had to clench his eyes tight shut for a moment. Had to focus on breathing, in and out, so he could say rationally,

“I haven’t got any protection, Jim. I can’t - I don’t trust myself to pull out in time.”

There was no way he would be able to, not once he was inside Jim. Not once he had Jim clawing at his back, his face buried in the crook of Jim’s shoulder as he raised a claiming mark like some sort of caveman.

“I don’t care,” Jim all but growled, a hand twisting into his hair in desperation, “I need you to fuck me.”

How was he supposed to deny a request like that?

What kind of saint did temptation think he was?

“I’ll do my best,” he pledged, wishing that it would be good enough. Wishing that he could think of anything but the relief as his cock was freed, and the mounting excitement caused by the fresh gush of slick Jim produced at the sight of it.

“Do it now,” Jim demanded, tugging him closer, “put it in me.”

On film, this was the kind of thing Harvey had used to search high and low for. Had paid good money for, traded in secret for, because even now it was seen as filthy and controversial to have an Omega barking out the orders.

To expect them to be followed, without question, and Harvey tore half the buttons from his own shirt in his haste to be free of it so he could feel the scrape of Jim’s shirt against his torso as they rutted.

His dick was so hard he felt light headed, so desperate that he had to push it down to get the angle right. To tease Jim’s hole with the sensitive head, smearing still more slick around it, then took hold of Jim’s hips and slowly sank inside.

Kept going, smooth and steady until he was all the way in. Until Jim had his head tipped back, throat on full display, and something primal reared inside of him, so that he had to hitch Jim’s legs up and start fucking into him with purpose.

Jim didn’t submit to it the way an Omega was supposed to. Didn’t gaze up at him through tear laden lashes and thank him for looking after him. Instead he cursed and writhed and pleaded for more. Wanted it harder, deeper, so that when Harvey pushed his legs back, got his ass up higher, Jim just gripped at his own ankles and told Harvey that if he had better not dare to even think about stopping.

“Yes,” Jim hissed when he found the perfect angle, foot narrowly missing his face as he let go to start stroking his cock again. Harvey braced it up on his shoulder, made the mistake of glancing down into the heated space between them, then started losing control of his rhythm, the sight of Jim’s rock hard dick pushing into his fist more than he could handle.

Jim was just so hot, so absolutely gorgeous. So completely perfect in practically every fucking way, and Harvey’s heart felt like it was going to explode, if not from the physical exertion then from the fact he loved this man so much he didn’t know how it was possible to contain it.

Perhaps he was saying something along those lines, he was only aware that he was saying something, but then Jim was crying out and clamping down on him, and Harvey couldn’t have pulled free even if he had wanted to.

Couldn’t do anything but suck a messy brand into Jim’s neck, absolutely frantic, and sob with the intensity of it as he came and came and came, knot swelling with every spurt and locking them tighter together.

Jim’s legs were shaking when he dropped them back to the floor, movements stiff and clumsy, and Harvey finally got to take on the role of Alpha proper, manoeuvring them both carefully so that he was the one mostly lying on the uncomfortable ground, and Jim was the one cuddled up close in his embrace. Jim still had his shirt on, sodden and rumpled though it was, and when he started shivering because of the damp Harvey worked it off him then wrapped his arms back around Jim to keep him warm.

Held him, and kissed his head, and murmured sweet nothings until Jim fell asleep, clearly exhausted.

It made Harvey wish they could stay like that forever. Close and safe and intimate. Then some of the hormones began to wear off and he was glad when the knot subsided enough to slip free and shift into a more comfortable position.

Being joined together was never very practicable.

When Jim woke the need was still there, still burning, but it was manageable. So they dressed, as best as their ruined clothing would allow, and then they sat curled together, Harvey eager to prolong whatever contact Jim would give him.

It was starting to pick up again by the time they were rescued, Jim shivering and wild eyed, and for once Jim agreed to put off anything more than the basics until such a time when slick wasn’t leaking down the inside of his leg.

Harvey took him home where he had plenty of supplies if they needed them, told Jim that they’d find someone else to get him through the rest of it if that was what he preferred, or that he’d drive him to a medical center. Jim just kissed him fiercely, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, and said that it was down to Harvey to finish what he started.

They stayed in bed for almost three days straight, the drug having induced some kind of super heat, because Jim refused to have a doctor examine him. Harvey made sure Jim ate, and stayed hydrated, and did his best to fuck Jim until he was sated.

Until he couldn’t have got it up again if he stuck a splint in it, and the muscles in his right arm were aching so badly he had to give up on it entirely.

He got Jim through the last one with the fingers of his left hand. Had to work harder at it, dropped his head to let his tongue make up for his incapable cock, so that when Jim came they both collapsed into a trembling heap.

“I love you,” Jim promised, blissed out and probably completely unaware of what he was saying, while Harvey simply clung close and pledged to be thankful for what he had been given, not to weep with disappointment when Jim gave him his marching orders in the morning.

Except when the dawn light began filtering through the curtains, Jim only propped his chin up on a hand and smiled at him. Kissed his cheek, sweetly, and said that it wouldn’t have been the way he’d have chosen to go about things, but he’d be Strange’s guinea pig a thousand times if it meant he got to wake up next to the man he loved.

“I think your heat’s fried your brain cells,” Harvey said, and Jim conceded,

“Maybe a little. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“You’ve never had a full adult heat before,” Harvey pointed out, not because he wanted Jim to realize it was just endorphins talking, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of how much it would hurt if he let himself believe that it wasn’t.

Jim only grinned at him dopily and said that the sound of his voice made him feel too warm and sort of shivery.

He was drunk on it was Harvey’s best guess. He was acting like he was drugged to the eyeballs. It took almost three weeks, in the end, for Jim’s mood to balance itself back out into something approaching normal, and even then there was still something off about it in the weeks which followed.

Something more than the fact Jim had just never left his apartment. Something more than the stupefying happiness he had his own struggles with, and the fears he had actually confessed as they lay together one night in the darkness that he would push Harvey away so that he ended up hating him, just as he had one with everyone else he had ever loved.

“You won’t, Jim,” he said in turn, adamant, “I promise.”

It meant he held his tongue when Jim snapped at him over the dirty dishes in the sink a week later, though the instinct was to argue back and remind Jim who had put them there, and that he just watched on puzzled rather than angry when Jim worked himself up into a full blown rant about how he couldn’t be trusted to do anything, not when he had gone out and bought the wrong laundry detergent, so that now everything smelled so bad Jim couldn’t stand it.

Harvey had a good sense of smell, couldn’t even begin to understand what the problem was, and then his gaze focused on the way Jim was scratching frustratedly at his shirt front - the smell apparently not the only problem - highlighting the way the material pulled taut across his abdomen.

“Did you keep that doctor’s appointment, Jim? Afterwards?”

Jim hadn’t wanted to be seen in heat, and Harvey had understood that. Jim was stubborn and private and had all manner of weird hang-ups that made him such a perfect mess of contradiction, so Harvey had talked him into making an appointment afterwards. They needed to make sure that the drug would have no lasting side-effects, and Jim would have to be prescribed the morning after pill.

“You know I didn’t,” Jim said in response, “it was for the day they called in a bomb threat on the subway system.”

Harvey sighed. He wasn’t about to forget that day of intense stress in a hurry.

Wasn’t looking forward to what he was going to have to say now, either, because if his suspicions were correct it would be like a dream come true. Except for the fact Jim had always intimated it would be his worst nightmare.

“I’m not,” Jim stated sharply when Harvey suggested it, then added less certainly, “I can’t be.”

“Perhaps we ought to do a test. You know, just to rule it out.”

Jim put it off. Procrastinated and prevaricated, and that wasn’t Jim at all. Jim was the one who went ahead and got on with things. So Harvey didn’t lay it on thick with talk of how everything would be fine, and how he would look after him - though he would. There was nothing he would love more. Instead he told Jim that he would respect whatever decision he made, that he was one in charge of the situation, so that Jim nodded stiltedly and disappeared into the bathroom.

“What about my career?” Jim asked when he re-emerged, ashen faced and solemn, “I can’t take that kind of time off.”

Harvey had to force himself to keep his hands away from Jim’s stomach. Felt it like something physical, the idea that Jim wanted to be free of the life they had created, but concentrated on keeping it together for Jim’s sake.

He wasn’t going to renege on his promise to let Jim decide without interference.

“I’ll support you in any way you want,” was the most he could allow himself, “if you wanted to go straight back to work I’m sure I’ll manage at home, Jim.”

“You mean that, don’t you?” Jim asked, sounding awestruck, and Harvey couldn’t help but think about how it might be, raising a family with the guy he adored. “I don’t know yet,” Jim said finally, “I need time to think about it.”

Harvey did his utmost to give it to him. Didn’t push and didn’t nag, and didn’t even say anything about the way Jim continued to be a reckless idiot at work, right up until the afternoon he almost got himself killed by being pushed down a stairwell, and Jim accused him of only getting so worked up because he was afraid for the baby.

“Of course I am,” he admitted, too overwhelmed to be anything but honest, “but nowhere near as afraid as I am for you. I thought I’d lost you, Jim. Do you really think I care about anything more than that?”

In the movies, Jim would have crumbled at that and swooned in his arms like the ideal Omega. In real life Jim was the one who comforted him as he broke down, helpless tears soaking into Jim’s shirt as he tried to make Jim understand how desperately he loved him.

“It won’t be conventional,” Jim said later, when the hospital had given him the all clear and confirmed that there had been no lasting damage to either of them, “my Mother wouldn’t approve of it.”

“That probably means we’re on the right track then,” Harvey offered, giving Jim a smile to know he didn’t really mean it. Holding his hand between his own, fingers tracing abstract patterns over it, “I’ve never had much time for convention anyway.”

Jim loved the Job, and he loved Jim. He was just exceptionally lucky that Jim had enough room in his heart for the both of them, and that he had always had an affinity with young children.

“I don’t think I’m going to be easy to live with the next few months,” Jim admitted then, shifting in another unsuccessful attempt to get comfortable, and Harvey only braced himself for the playful punch he knew his arm had coming,

“I can’t believe that you’re suggesting you’re easy to live with now, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	232. Chapter 232

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _A totally goofy Gordlock prompt: Harvey and Jim somehow end up on a double date with Oswald and Edward?_
> 
> Just a little ficlet for Valentines inspired by [THIS](https://lord-garbage.tumblr.com/post/170843472170/incorrect-gotham-quotes-valentines-stakeout) gifset by Lord Garbage over on Tumblr. :)

Jim wasn’t sure he had ever seen Harvey so happy, the prospect of free food putting a spring in his step and a smile on his face.

“All you can eat,” Harvey reminded him with a nudge to his shoulder as the maître d’ guided them to a quiet corner, and Jim tried not to get carried away at the sight of the candles on the table.

It was Valentine’s Day, there was no avoiding it.

The place was way swankier than anything either of them could normally afford, and so what if a guy had been murdered in the kitchen just a couple of weeks ago. It was probably still hell of a lot more hygienic than Harvey’s flea pit of an apartment.

That was where he spent most of his free time these days, where he would spend all of it if he could get away with it, the two of them living out the kind of domestic bliss Jim had never managed to achieve with anyone.

“This is the life,” Harvey said in the present, beaming at him from across the table, and Jim wished so hard that it truly was that he could scarcely concentrate on the menu in front of him. It all sounded good, all looked obscenely expensive, and when the waiter came to take their order Jim concluded that Harvey had either been saving himself all day, or he was planning on asking for the mother of all doggy bags.

He ordered a salad for himself, something light in deference to the nervous fluttering sensation in his stomach, but Harvey just told the guy to scribble it out again because no date of his was going to sit there nibbling at a lettuce leaf.

It wasn’t a date, obviously. This was a stakeout, a serious criminal investigation, yet Jim still flushed up to the tips of his ears, undone at the idea of Harvey watching him eat with visible hunger in his eyes.

“We’ve got to make the most of this,” Harvey scolded as soon as they were alone again, “It’s the kind of thing to tell the grandkids - the day the GCPD sprung for more than that swill they call coffee.”

“How did you wangle it anyway?”

Harvey tapped his finger to his nose, clearly aiming for international man of mystery, and then gazed about the place in open admiration, saying too earnestly,

“Imagine having so much money you just rolled up here on a whim. Imagine being so rich you never had to worry about not being able to pay the bill.”

Jim tried. Gave it up in favor of imagining a world in which Harvey would welcome the touch of his foot underneath the table. The touch of his hand across it, the two of them linking fingers as they gazed lovesick into each other’s eyes the way the couple to their right were doing.

Instead Harvey was looking at him with something approaching horror. Outright revulsion, even, and the panic surged through him cold and debilitating before Jim realized that Harvey wasn’t actually looking at him. His gaze was fixed on something - someone - behind him, and Jim twisted around just in time to lock eyes with Oswald Cobblepot.

He willed Oswald to look away and go sit somewhere on the far side of the restaurant. To take Nygma with him, not least because he could practically hear the murderous growl low in Harvey’s throat, his partner committed to the view that Nygma ought to have been strung up for putting him in Blackgate.

Harvey was like that, wilfully blind to all the things Jim had done before and since that had more than balanced out his innocence of that crime, and the familiar guilt settled in his gut even as the pair of them started out in their direction.

They would gloat and goad and then go away, at least that was what Jim assumed at first. What he hoped, really, because they were ruining the closest thing he was ever going to get to a Valentine’s date with the man he loved. They probably knew it too. Oswald had always had the unnerving ability of being able to see straight through him.

Smiled at him now, too toothy and completely unsettling, and had the staff scurrying about to push two tables together and arrange everything just so for the former Mayor and current crime boss of Gotham.

There was Harvey’s answer, he guessed. Money and a hefty dollop of fear could get you anywhere.

“What a charming surprise,” Oswald said, sitting primly after Nygma pulled a chair out for him, “I thought it was all over for you two lovebirds.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably because of course Oswald knew exactly how he felt. Oswald always knew everything. Now he was going to use that knowledge to humiliate him, but not before raking up all the hurt and the bad feeling he had been working so hard to get past with Harvey.

How could Harvey ever forgive him if he never had chance to forget it?

“I hoped you two were dead,” Harvey said in a mockery of Oswald’s tone and Jim wished he had opted for something alcoholic over water.

He hadn’t trusted himself though, knew too well the confessions he was likely to let slip under the influence, and something twisted painfully in his chest at the soothing hand Oswald put on Nygma’s arm, the other man obviously wanting to jump into the fray and defend him.

How could they find that kind of happiness when he had spent his whole life trying - if usually failing - to be one of the good guys and Harvey would still prefer to pay a stranger than take advantage of what he was only too willing to offer him.

At least Harvey didn’t make a habit of that these days, he thought. Neither his lovesick heart nor his marrow deep jealousy could handle it.

“I must say, Jim, I never could work out what you saw in him. But then again,” Oswald tilted his head a little to the side, musing, “you always did like to give orders.”

It was his hand finding Harvey’s arm this time, restraining, so that instead of surging out of his seat Harvey settled for flushing up attractively and spitting,

“Fuck you, Penguin.”

“Come now,” Oswald countered, eyes sparkling in amusement, “I think we both know which position you prefer to be in.”

Nygma was getting in his two cents worth, smirk spread wide across his face, and Jim had to grip forcibly at Harvey’s suit jacket. Had to whisper in his ear not to let them get to him, not to listen to a word they said, all the while feeling kind of stupefied.

Just how much had Oswald seen back when he was playing the role of Fish’s umbrella boy?

How much had there been to see?

It worked, just, and before tempers could flare any higher a waiter was bringing over an expensive looking bottle - on the house. In honor of Oswald’s decision to give them his patronage this evening, proving why it was the rich only ever got richer in a world that tripped over itself to ensure they were made comfortable.

“We’re not looking to pick a fight,” Oswald said as he tasted the wine and judged it to be satisfactory, “We have common aims tonight.”

“We have nothing in common,” Jim said before he could think better of it. Oswald always got under his skin, always had and always would, because if Jim had thought the words over for just a second he would have known that Oswald wasn’t suggesting that he wanted to get Harvey into bed.

He couldn’t help himself though, couldn’t bear the idea of anybody muscling in on his partner, and Nygma started laughing as the realization dawned, so hard and so manic there were tears in his eyes.

Harvey was torn, he could tell. Battling it out between the urge to punch Nygma square in the face, and the mouthwatering scent of food in the air as the couple sat a few tables over had their meals set down in front of them.

The food won out, just, not least because the house musicians chose that moment to come over and serenade all four of them, Jim’s discomfort levels rising from acute to catastrophic.

“Is there any piece you’d like to request?” The ringleader asked Harvey, violin at the ready, and Ed snorted in amusement and commented,

“You might as well be asking a gorilla to recite its favorite poem.”

“You’re on thin ice,” Harvey warned jabbing a finger into Ed’s chest, and Ed only pulled a mockery of a contrite expression and said,

“Oh, sorry. The comparison was an insult to gorillas everywhere.”

So it went on, ridiculous school yard sniping that left little time for keeping an eye out for the mark they were waiting for. The mark Oswald claimed to also be interested in, though Jim told him frankly that he wouldn’t stand for anything underhand.

They made a by the book arrest or else the guy walked back out of there a free man.

“You’d let a criminal walk free,” Oswald asked, eyebrow arched.

Jim stabbed viciously at the gallingly amazing food and Ed pointed out,

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I can see a couple of criminals I’d have no reservations about bringing in,” Harvey said, the way he was attacking his dinner like he was starving in no way diminishing the threat in his tone.

Oswald only ate a delicate forkful of something and said, “I rather think that would spoil all our plans for this evening.”

He shot Ed a fond smile, had it returned in equal measure, and it was like Jim’s meal turned to ashes in his mouth, the thought of going home to his miserable empty apartment to fall into bed and touch himself thinking about a man who was never going to be interested so very unappealing.

Because Harvey might have been happy to get down on his knees for Fish. Might have acted out all kinds of kinky fantasies with the girls who worked in her back rooms, but when it came to him the best he could hope for was a chaste kiss on the cheek and an arm around his shoulders.

It ought to be enough. Was undoubtedly more than he deserved.

He put his cutlery down, appetite gone, and then Ed was saying something about how he wouldn’t be feeling too well either, not at the prospect of being mauled by somebody with Bullock’s personal hygiene habits.

It was too much, too far, because instead of swinging for him Harvey just looked kind of embarrassed. Maudlin and downcast, and Ed only laughed all over again, incredulous as he put two and two together.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harvey hissed, a little frantic, while Ed gestured at them both with a flourish and said that while the idea of them together was faintly repulsive, the idea of them both sat there hopelessly pining for the other was downright pathetic.

For once Oswald looked less convinced, was obviously thinking of his own jostling road to romance, but still twisted the knife in deeper by stating,

“There’s no accounting for taste, Jim, but surely you weren’t worried about having competition?”

“That’s it,” Harvey said, throwing his napkin down and getting to his feet, “I don’t have to put up with this.”

Jim wanted to say something, do something, to salvage the situation. To put them both in their place, and reassure Harvey that while he might be sweet on him, it didn’t mean that it would change anything. He didn’t expect Harvey to reciprocate his feelings. Unless Ed was right and - and he couldn’t even begin to think about that.

Could scarcely control the hope squirming in his stomach.

Couldn’t do anything but look about the place, needing to get a grip on his thoughts, and then he spotted an all too familiar face and was out of his own seat in a moment. Was half way across the restaurant, badge on display and hand on his gun holster, telling Berrick he had better not even think about making a run for it.

That meant he did, obviously, and Jim smashed through two unsuspecting waiters and the dessert trolley before Oswald stuck his cane out a little and then looked from the tangle of limbs on the floor and back up to him - and the state of his suit - with a pitying expression.

“I trust you can handle things from here,” Oswald told him coolly, and Jim watched them leave while Harvey put Berrick in cuffs and he did his best to wipe away the worst of the mess with a handful of napkins.

45 minutes later he was stood under the shower spray at Harvey’s apartment, washing away the food and the drink, and wishing he could erase everything that had been said that evening just as easily. He pulled on the clothes Harvey had laid out for him when he was done, oversized and casual, and then padded out to the living room on socked feet, pausing to simply stare at the sight that greeted him.

“I wasn’t going to let all that food go to waste,” Harvey said, meaning the plates laid out on the coffee table, and probably not the gleaming cutlery and the tea lights flickering alongside them. Harvey shifted a little as his gaze lingered on that, awkward, and said quietly, “It’s still Valentine’s Day.”

The hope flooded back full force. The wanting - the wishful thinking - had never gone anywhere in the first place.

“It was a joke,” Harvey said, backtracking, so obviously lying that he couldn’t even look him in face.

Jim cut him off before he could get any further. Crossed the small room with a confidence he didn’t quite feel and put a hand to Harvey’s cheek. Smiled at him, nervous but genuine, and said,

“I think I prefer this to any restaurant. Here I’ve got you all to myself.”

“Yeah?” Harvey asked, the uncertainty giving way to something else entirely. Something that had him smiling in turn, and pushing closer into his personal space.

Jim nodded dumbly, speech deserting him, and Harvey just grinned still wider,

“In that case, the food can wait until later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	233. Chapter 233

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _I just saw a commercial for ep12 and I’m so excited ! could you do a oneshot where Jim shows up begging Harvey to come back, and Harvey finally realizes that Jim’s in love w him? pining Jim is my fave._
> 
> It kind of came out more angsty than I intended...

“You’re better than this.”

Harvey had to laugh at that, an ugly bitter laugh that matched the way he felt inside. Because this was the man he had been when Jim met him - drink sodden and willing to do most anything for a backhander.

He might have played at being something different, but it had only ever been an illusion.

It had only ever been a matter of time before the scales fell from Jim’s eyes and he saw him for the mess he was always going to be.

Everyone else had seen it, from the training officer who had broken his heart back when he was still a fresh faced rookie, right through to the woman he was going to marry. Scottie had said it to his face. Had told him that his unseemly obsession with Jim was going to be his downfall, because Jim would never look twice in his direction.

Jim would never be able to forgive his mistakes and his mob connections.

She was right, of course, he realized that when Jim walked out and left him alone at the hospital.

When Jim looked at him with disgust and left him to sob for all the things that were never going to be.

He hadn’t expected Jim to turn around and stab him in the back. Wasn’t prepared for the pain of understanding how little Jim really thought of him.

Because Jim apologized. Jim came to him with tears in his eyes and all but begged for him to return to the department. None of it was real though, not when he had already seen the truth beneath the surface.

Not when he drank himself into a stupor night after night, desperately attempting to erase the memory of the disappointment painted across Jim’s perfect features.

“I think I owe you a drink,” Jim tried the first time, once the worst of the crisis was over and the most urgent of the paperwork completed, and it took everything Harvey had to turn the offer down, smile brittle as he said that he had already made other arrangements.

He thought of making the lie a reality. Of picking up one of the girls he had used to seek out for company, and losing himself in make believe for an hour or so.

In the end he couldn’t face it. Felt sick to the stomach at the prospect, truthfully, and went home to his empty apartment to stare at the peeling wallpaper and drink until he reached oblivion.

That was how it went most nights, how he lurched from one miserable day to the next, because at least the hangover pounding in his skull gave him something other than Jim’s presence to focus on. Made it less awful, if barely, to see Jim sat in the office he had sacrificed so much for. The job he had given everything to.

Things came to a head at the end of a long day and a longer week, the precinct still and quiet in the early hours of the morning and Jim standing in front of his desk with his hands on his hips. His jaw set with righteous determination, and his voice gruff with the stress of yet another uncaptured serial killer.

“You’re better than this,” Jim told him, an echo of the words he had delivered when Harvey was working without the badge, and Harvey only cast his gaze over the empty bottle and the hip flask littering his desk and shook his head.

“This is who I am,” Harvey countered, “you know that.”

He was scarcely functioning. Not sleeping and rarely eating. Smoking again, every chance he got, simply waiting for the moment Jim’s conscience finally faltered and he fired him.

There would be nothing left for him then. No job, no apartment. Nothing but a slow death on the streets, or else in some flea ridden motel room. Maybe Jim would attend the scene when they found his body. Maybe if he was real lucky Jim might even shed a tear.

“This is not who you are,” Jim argued back, “you’re the best cop I ever worked with.”

Harvey laughed at that, just as ugly and just as bitter, because Jim had barely worked with anyone. Ought to still be proving himself out on foot patrol, not sitting in the Captain’s chair and telling officers with thirty years experience and more on him what they should be doing.

“You’re the worst liar I ever met,” Harvey told him, staggering a little as he pulled himself to his feet. Unsteady as he raked a hand through the tangled mess of his hair and reached for his hat and his flask.

“I’ve never lied to you,” Jim said in turn, little more than a whisper. Looked like the statement had been torn from him, like it was wrenched from somewhere down deep inside, and rather than risk believing in the sincerity in Jim’s pretty eyes Harvey stumbled into the first bar he found open.

Was useless in the face of the two thugs he encountered on stumbling out of it, his wallet thrown to the floor beside him once it was empty of cash and cards, footsteps disappearing into the distance. He moved his arm with difficulty. Pressed the heel of his hand into the white hot pain in his gut, blood pulsing slick over his skin and his shirt cuff as he bit back a whimper, the ground cold and unforgiving against his cheek.

This had always been his worst fear, his most hated nightmare, because not even animals were meant to die alone, unloved and forgotten.

He thought of the last time he had been on the verge of bleeding out. Wished he had succumbed then, with Jim’s hands on him, and Jim’s voice in his ear, without ever having to face up to any of the heartache waiting just around the corner.

It was fitting, then, that Jim should be the last thing he ever thought of.

That Jim should be just as out of his reach as he had ever been.

Except when he came around it was to find Jim stood over him, gaze swimming with moisture and hair dishevelled. Harvey opened his mouth to say something, anything, but his throat was scraped raw and Jim told him not to be stupid.

To stop acting like he had a death wish and dry out the way he ought to have months ago.

To never put him through a night like that one ever again.

It wasn’t quite that simple. Because getting dry was a battle that never ended, and because instead of leaving him to deal with it in his own way, at his own pace, Jim poured his entire stash down the sink and refused to let up for a moment.

Shoved him up against the wall of his own living room when he succeeded in giving him the slip for long enough to slide back into bad habits, the movement jarring the still healing wound in his side. Having him fighting off a wave of nausea, pain and withdrawal turning his face pale and clammy, while Jim fixed him with an accusing look and told him that he wasn’t going to give up on him.

That it didn’t matter how much Harvey hated him, or how resolute he was in his refusal not to accept any of his apologies.

“I don’t hate you,” was all Harvey managed, “I’d accept them if I thought you meant them.”

Jim nodded at that, silent and solemn, and then left him alone all over again.

Left him sat there, shaking and hopeless, the door clicking shut behind him.

Returned less than twenty minutes later and placed his badge and his service weapon on the coffee table between them, replaying a scene they both remembered with clarity.

“I’d do anything,” Jim said steadily, for all that his voice was strained and awkward, “if you’d only look at me the way you used to.”

“How was that, Jim?”

Jim gave him a watery smile, slipping almost before it settled. Fidgeted for a moment then raised those big blue eyes to meet his own.

“Like you never wanted to look away again.”

It was the drink. The painkillers. The pathetic hope he had never once managed to completely let go of. It couldn’t be real.

Surely.

“I can’t take any of it back. The money, the favors. I can’t wipe the slate clean.”

“Neither can I. I can’t undo anything that’s happened.”

Harvey had to close his eyes, emotion churning. Had to try and make sense of what Jim wanted out of this situation. When he opened them Jim was still there, stubborn as he reached for his hand with tentative fingers.

“But we can move past it. We can make it right. At least let me try, that’s all I’m asking.”

If he had any common sense he would say no. If he had the slightest trace of self respect he wouldn’t be sat there in the first place. Because it would end badly.

Because this was everything he had ever dreamed of hearing, and when Jim was done feeling guilty and moved onto somebody he truly wanted it would kill him.

He didn’t doubt it.

“I don’t know how to say no to you,” he confessed, broken down by years of wanting the man in front of him.

It didn’t matter how much it hurt in the long term.

It would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	234. Chapter 234

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following on from the last chapter because leaper182 said: _I kinda want a sequel where Jim is about to be lured away from Harvey, and then realizes why Harvey's not fighting for him._

Jim had never been any good at recognizing what people wanted from him. He just wasn’t all that good with people in general. Didn’t pick up on their hints, couldn’t make sense of the motives hidden beneath the surface, and in turn he didn’t know how to make anybody else see the depths of his own feelings.

He found it difficult to talk about, feared having his words used against him, and when he did succeed in voicing them they only ever came out wrong. Made it sound like he didn’t care, like he didn’t mean it, and that left him attempting to show in action what he had failed to communicate verbally.

Even that was an uphill battle, because Harvey only pulled away when Jim pushed closer. Acted cool and distant when Jim wanted nothing more than to be wrapped around him, and told him that it didn’t matter every time the job meant rearranged plans and broken promises.

Said it in a way that was nothing at all like the pained understanding Lee had given him, or the angry tolerance Barbara had reached for. Instead it was dismissive, indifferent, and it hurt more than Jim could hope to explain, the idea that Harvey just didn’t care whether he was there or not.

That he could be so loving and accepting one minute, yet so cold and so distant the next. Could act like none of it mattered, like what they had was nothing serious - and was never going to be.

It hurt because Jim had fought so hard for this chance to prove himself. He had been afraid that it would never be granted. Now it felt like it was slipping away, like it was over before it ever had chance to truly get started, and that was the only excuse he had for not seeing where his relationship with Yardley was headed until it was too late to do anything about it.

It began innocently enough, shared lunches and case reviews that stretched into drinks in the evenings. Into late nights spent in his office, eating and talking and trading awkward smiles while he did his best to concentrate on the case and not whether or not Harvey had texted him.

Where Harvey was and what Harvey was doing, so that he felt so downcast and dejected that he didn’t protest when Yardley put her hand on his knee.

When she looked at him, eyes dark and gaze heated, before leaning forward to kiss him.

He should have pushed her away. Should have told her straight out that he wasn’t interested.

Instead he lost himself to the thrill of being wanted, of not having to second guess whether she meant it, and he started kissing back before he could think better of it. Was breathless and flushed when they broke apart, skin tingling with excitement.

And then it hit him just what it was he was doing - what it was he was risking - and suddenly he was tripping over his own words, in a painful attempt to extricate himself from the situation.

Except the tension between them was now thick and cloying, and the very next time they were thrown together it very nearly happened all over again. The crisis was only averted at the very last moment, and the guilt churned in his gut when they pulled apart because he still hadn’t told Harvey about the first slip up. Had thought about it, wrestled with it, but when he tried bringing up the topic of what constituted cheating, Harvey only dislodged the arm he had wrapped around him under the pretence of needing a sip of water.

Told him, expression blank and tone too neutral, that if Jim was bored with the status quo he only had to say so.

That he had always made it clear that he didn’t expect what they had to last the distance.

It made Jim panic, made him feel sick to his stomach, and now he had only gone and compounded the problem, even as he told Yardley that it couldn’t happen again. That they needed to be more careful.

He should have known then that he was setting up his own downfall, because the walls had ears when it came to inter-departmental gossip, and it was hours not days before his indiscretion was common knowledge.

Before he checked his cell for the hundredth time with a sinking sense of dread, terrified of what it meant that Harvey still hadn’t replied to his previous message.

He went to Harvey’s place as soon as his shift was finished, and half hoped that there wouldn’t be any answer. That Harvey was busy visiting family, or had decided on attending an AA meeting. Anything that meant he wasn’t hearing from one of their colleagues the exaggerated details of what he had been doing.

Harvey answered the door on the first knock, face too flushed and eyes too glassy, so that Jim didn’t need to ask to know that he had given in to the call of the bottle.

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jim,” Harvey warned, a touch unsteady as he sat heavily on the sofa, “I hear you have better things to be doing.”

“Nothing happened,” Jim started, indignant, then flushed with embarrassment when he had to amend the statement. When he had to confess in stilted faltering tones that something had happened but that it had meant nothing.

That it was never going to happen again.

Harvey shrugged, seemingly indifferent. Gazed fixedly at the television and said that he didn’t need to deny himself on his account. Kept up the same nonchalant approach even when Jim demanded that he look at him.

“I love you,” he protested, not knowing how else to make Harvey see sense, and Harvey only gave him a bitter smile and said sarcastically,

“Sure, Jim. Of course you do.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go - how things between them were meant to be.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Jim said, meaning the drink and everything that went with it, and rather than argue, rather than fight for the life they were building together, Harvey only gestured expansively and told him that he knew full well where the door was.

That his only request was that he closed it properly behind him.

“We both knew what this was when you started it. You felt guilty and didn’t know how else to make amends. Now you want out, I know - I’ve just been waiting for you to admit to it.”

Jim frowned at Harvey, appalled. Reeled, almost, with the force of realization.

“That’s what you really think?” He managed, and thought of all the things he could do to make Harvey feel just as wretched as he did in that moment. How he could have kept going, indifferent to the damage it would cause, and how he could pick right up where he had left off, and just not care whether Harvey found out about it.

Then he looked at the resigned expression on Harvey’s face. The tension in his shoulders, and the pall of misery hanging over him.

Because Harvey had never said that it was how he felt or what he wanted. For perhaps the first time since they had started this Jim was beyond certain that Harvey wouldn’t be unmoved if he turned around and walked out of there.

“If you want me to go, I will. But,” Jim hesitated, took a deep breath and left himself open and vulnerable, “I don’t want to. I’m never going to want to.”

Harvey didn’t look up at him. Looked like he was struggling to keep it all together, and said so quietly Jim had to strain to hear,

“You have no idea how much I wish I could believe you.”

Jim didn’t know how to make it any clearer. Had been trying - futilely - for months to make Harvey understand that he wasn’t willingly going anywhere. The only thing he had left to offer was action. Slid a palm along Harvey’s jaw, fingers pushing into his hair, so that Harvey had no choice but to look at him.

To see how sincere he was, how desperate for this to work, before Jim had to press in closer and kiss him.

He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull away, because this was nothing like the clumsy press of lips he had shared with Yardley. This had his heart pounding and his head spinning, and when they finally broke apart it was only for him to whisper into Harvey’s ear, emboldened by the fire in his veins,

“Do you think that I could fake what you do to me?”

Harvey made a frantic sound at that. Pulled him in close until he was all but in his lap, and kissed him so perfectly he lost himself completely to it.

Manoeuvred them both until Harvey was blanketed on top of him, and didn’t care what kind of damage they did to the furniture, nor to his shirt buttons. All that mattered was that Harvey didn’t stop, didn’t dare let up for more than a moment, so that by the time Harvey was shuddering helplessly against him they were both rumpled and overheated.

A total mess, really, and Jim rasped out a quiet confession that Harvey had to know how much he loved him, because who else had he ever been content to be dishevelled and sticky for. Because he didn’t even want to wash up yet, not when they were still wrapped around each other, and maybe he should have tried that angle months ago because Harvey huffed a strangled laugh that sounded suspiciously tear-logged.

“I don’t trust you because I can’t understand what you get out of this,” Harvey offered in turn, words muffled into the crook of his neck like it made them less difficult to push out into the open, and Jim shifted to press an awkward kiss to Harvey’s forehead.

Clung to him, determined, and told him simply,

“I get you.”

For the first time he got the impression that Harvey understood that that was everything he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	235. Chapter 235

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because seraphyne13 commented _'Omg this just makes me want a continuation in which Os and Jim confront Harvey and invite him in. OT3!!! <3'_ on the [gobblepot + Harvey fill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8250412/chapters/31782858) I wrote the other day. :D

“You can look but you can’t touch. I’m sure you remember how it works.”

Harvey scowled at the other man’s pale pointed features. Things had been different back then, when they were making the memories being referred to - Cobblepot cowering from Fish’s displeasure and him so desperate to feel something that he didn’t need to be told twice to follow her orders.

He wasn’t proud of the man he had been. The things he had done.

Couldn’t take any of it back, regardless, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight now, smiling nastily as he pointed out that, really, whether or not he kept his hands to himself was Jim’s decision.

Jim held all the cards here, they both knew that, and the Penguin’s face blanched for a moment. The sure sign of a man who had overplayed the hand he had been dealt with. He wanted Harvey to see that he had truly made it, that he was nothing at all like the wretch who had bowed and simpered his way to the position of Fish’s umbrella boy, but he had forgotten that Harvey had seen the entire transformation.

He had already identified all of his weak spots.

What Jim was getting out of this, now that was less clear. Jim had never struck him as an exhibitionist.

He had never struck him as the kind of guy to fuck his way up the chain of command, either, and that just proved he had long been blinded to the truth when it came to Jim Gordon.

Because in hindsight it was all too obvious. Barbara’s money and Lee’s family contacts. Sofia’s leverage and Penguin’s hold over the city. God only knew what he had left to offer but maybe that was the point entirely.

Jim had already taken everything of value.

His job, and his heart, and now Jim could strip the remnants of his self-respect into the bargain.

Stole his breath from his lungs just by entering the room, tie already pulled loose and hair a touch dishevelled.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jim said, always playing the nice guy, and Harvey only slouched more comfortably into the plush armchair Penguin had provided for the occasion, affecting an air of what he hoped looked like indifference.

“You’re the one on display, Jim.”

Jim nodded at that, a sharp stilted movement that Harvey would once have believed meant he was feeling lost and vulnerable.

He no longer believed Jim capable of feeling anything.

Hated him almost as much as he wanted him, at least that was what he told himself, and he gripped tight at the armrests as Jim gave up on uncertainty and pressed in close enough to kiss a guy he had originally been tasked with killing.

Penguin was trying to appear in control. Was obviously reaching for cool and sophisticated. Couldn’t hide the fevered flush blooming across his skin, and couldn’t hold back the breathy whimper when Jim put a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers teasing just the same way Harvey had watched him do with one leggy broad after another.

That had always been Jim’s problem - he struggled to tailor his actions to the situation at hand. Just went barging in, no forethought and no back-up, and Harvey concentrated on mentally cataloguing what he would do differently, rather than think about the way Jim was straining out the front of his dress slacks.

Rather than dwell on the scenes he was about to be subjected to.

Except things didn’t play out the way he had been expecting. It was sweeter than he had been preparing for, less vicious and far more respectful. They were familiar enough with each other to know what worked and what didn’t, had clearly been at it longer than Harvey had wanted to accept possible, but when things started getting serious it was Jim who was pushed into position on hands and knees, and Cobblepot who met his eye as he slicked up his fingers.

For the first time he felt painfully out of place, no longer the invisible audience, and Oswald spoke to him even as Jim let out a low moan, lashes fluttering against his cheek as long digits began working him open.

“How many times have you thought about doing this? How much do you wish our roles were reversed?”

This wasn’t part of the deal, this wasn’t something he would ever have agreed to, but Jim whined helpless at a series of carefully calculated jabs and Harvey couldn’t walk away now.

He didn’t think his legs would even stay steady.

Instead he sat there, fingers clenching ever tighter into the upholstery as Cobblepot’s voice continued to wash over him.

Jim was a wreck, flushed and panting, face buried in the mattress, and perhaps this was how Jim had been talked into this scenario. There was no doubt that he was getting off on it.

“He feels so good,” Cobblepot told him conversationally, “Can you see how badly he wants it?”

That wrenched a sound from his own mouth, for all that he had sworn he wasn’t going to humiliate himself, and he couldn’t even look away as Cobblepot added another finger, the sights and the sounds obscene as Jim tried to push back as his body begged for more.

As a frantic sound escaped him, frustrated, when Cobblepot intercepted the hand he was relying on for relief, and pinned it behind his back.

Harvey dug his fingernails in so hard he was sure he was going to rip something, his own dick pulsing in thwarted interest as Cobblepot finally seemed to take pity on Jim and unfastened just enough clothing to be able to push into him.

“How does it feel, Jim? Go on, tell your partner.”

The stress Cobblepot put on the word made his own blood boil. Had Jim shaking his head in shame, all stubborn refusal, until Cobblepot held stock still and Jim finally opened his eyes to meet Harvey’s gaze through moisture laden lashes.

“It’s good,” Jim managed, barely audible, and then moaned in response to the slaps Cobblepot delivered, dark gaze still caught in his own as he ground out, “please, I need to come.”

Cobblepot grinned, triumphant, and raised red marks all down Jim’s back with his fingernails.

“I don’t think so. Not yet. I think I’ll watch while our guest decides what to do with you. Don’t you want to know how much he wants you?”

Jim groaned, shivering, even as Harvey swallowed back a potent mix of lust and revulsion.

He had never had the upper hand here. Cobblepot had known from the beginning exactly what he was doing.

Because he was being offered up the sloppy seconds. And he was going to sink so low as to take them.

He was going to sit there, pulse racing with anticipation, and then he was going to stagger clumsily to his feet, watching as Cobblepot cleaned himself up and tucked himself away, smirking too knowingly as he moved to sit primly in the armchair.

As he told Jim to be a good boy, to let Harvey decide whether or not he deserved to come, and it didn’t matter how much Harvey knew he was going to regret it later - he couldn’t turn down his one and only chance to touch Jim.

To taste him.

To roll him over so that he couldn’t pretend to be anywhere else, to be with anyone else, and to slide his fingers easily in and out of slick heat, Jim torn between need and embarrassment.

Attempting to look away, his neck and ears burning, until Cobblepot told him coolly to do what he was told and Harvey twisted his fingers sharply to ensure that he was the focus of Jim’s full attention. He used his free hand to tease Jim’s dick. Felt like something was breaking in his chest, every sound Jim made another sharp stab of agony.

He pressed forward to kiss Jim’s mouth. Cradled Jim’s head with one hand and fumbled with his belt buckle with the other. Jim wound his arms around his neck. Kissed him back so frantically Harvey could almost blot out the reality of the scene he was taking part in.

Almost.

Except every time he glanced up Cobblepot was smirking knowingly at him, smug face so entirely punchable, so that when Jim whined out his name it hurt like nothing he had ever known, even as it had him trembling with the effort of clinging to his self-control.

Of at least attempting to be careful and considerate, and not slamming forward like an animal. Not biting into the crook of Jim’s neck, desperate to leave his own mark on him, and not hissing out any of the filth burning on the tip of his tongue about how this had to be so much better - how Jim could surely tell the difference in size, and how he wanted to fuck him so hard Cobblepot could never match up again.

He didn’t need to ask to know the answer. Could hear it in the cry of his name when his hips started moving, and felt it in the way Jim clawed at his back, every thrust knocking the breath out of him.

“I wish I had a camera,” Cobblepot piped up, determined to ruin things, and Harvey couldn’t keep quiet.

Growled into Jim’s ear that they could have been doing this for years. That if what he most wanted was to be held down and pounded then he should have come to somebody who could do the job properly.

Should have just come to him, obviously, and he gave in and raised a bruise on Jim’s throat.

Jerked him off with firm, possessive motions, and sobbed with the force of it when Jim’s climax wrung his own from him.

Slumped over him, exhausted, and felt sick to his stomach when Penguin reached out to pet at Jim’s sweat damp hair and laughed delightedly.

“That was such fun, wasn’t it? I told you it would be.”

Jim just looked lost - shame faced and embarrassed for what he had done, and the way had done it. Who he had done it with, Harvey guessed, now he was no longer trapped in the heat of the moment.

“Harvey, don’t go yet,” Jim tried as Harvey sorted out his clothing, so that he would have sounded panicked if Harvey didn’t know him better, “we should talk -”

He snorted at that, at the concept of Jim being the one who wanted to communicate, and shook his head. He needed to get out of there before he humiliated himself still further.

Before the pair of them succeeded in crushing him completely.

“It was just a bit of fun,” he said, dismissive as he could manage, though he couldn’t meet Jim’s gaze any more than he could Cobblepot’s, “nothing to get worked up over.”

“But -” Jim tried, apparently forgetting that his mob boss of a boyfriend was sitting right beside him. That this was the way things had to be - that he was the one who had made it so.

“I’ll see you around,” Harvey finished for him, closing all conversation down.

Jim had won already. It was over.

It wasn’t his fault that Jim was never satisfied.

He had taken what he wanted - Harvey had nothing else left to give him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	236. Chapter 236

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey, after spending a night spent crashed on Jim’s couch following some drinks shared between the two, accidentally walks in on Jim “manscaping” in the morning. How does he react? Does he laugh? Or get hot and bothered at the sight?_

x

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Jim jumped, visibly, and yelped like a scalded cat.

Made him kind of regret the outburst because the last thing he wanted was to be the cause of permanent injury. For all that it would still be mostly Jim’s own damn fault for having the business end of a scissors that close to his scrotum.

“Do you not knock?” Jim demanded, face flushing up like a lobster with the embarrassment, and then he was cursing and running the faucet because that really was a couple of drops of blood staining his fingers.

Harvey felt guilty at that. Worried enough that he ignored the fact Jim was half naked, clad in nothing but his undershirt and the boxer shorts pushed down his legs, and pushed the lid of the toilet closed so he could sit and tell Jim to let him take a look at the damage.

That he really didn’t want to just ignore whatever it was he had done down there.

Jim had to be coaxed into moving his hands out of the way. Had to look away as Harvey gently took hold of his wrist and pressed his hand to his side, so he could see what he was dealing with. It was a relief to see that it was nothing serious.

Was less of one to realize he had his hand on Jim’s balls, and not so distant parts of Jim’s anatomy were really sitting up and taking notice.

“You never told me you’d bagged yourself a date,” Harvey chastised, trying to dispel the tension, and Jim only mumbled out a stilted explanation that he wasn’t seeing anyone.

This was just part of his regular routine, Harvey realized, because it fit right in with the sparkling clean bathroom surrounding them, and the obsessive way Jim fixed his hair and his suit throughout the day. Jim was always so neat and clean and enticing, and even now Harvey could smell the scent of fresh soap mixing with the natural musk of him.

Was all too aware of the silky soft skin beneath his fingers, and the rasp in his own voice as he said,

“It’s just a scratch, you’re okay.”

He didn’t pull away though.Rubbed his thumb lightly over sensitive skin, and swallowed thickly when Jim shivered in response. When he couldn’t help but rake the fingertips of his other hand through the neatly trimmed hair at Jim’s pelvis, and Jim sucked in a shuddery breath at the sensation.

“Harvey,” Jim tried, not at all steady, and when their eyes met it felt like the culmination of a hundred nights spent sitting too close and watching too openly. Of crashing on one or the other’s sofa, and pretending in the morning that they hadn’t hoped for something to have happened in the darkness.

He didn’t overthink it. Didn’t think at all, really, because he kept eye contact with Jim until he was pressed right in close - close enough to brush his lips over the healed nick he had sustained.

“There you go,” he breathed, one hand curling around Jim’s hip, “all kissed better.”

Jim twitched, helpless, and pushed his own hand into Harvey’s hair. Stroked fingertips against his scalp, so that his whole body felt like it was tingling, and now he had touched Jim - got a taste of him - all he could do was repeat the experience. Got his tongue in on the action, just to hear the gasp it tore from Jim’s lips, and finally sucked first one, and then the other of Jim’s balls into his mouth, losing himself to the way Jim’s thighs trembled at the contrast of wet heat and the scratch of his facial hair.

Ran his palms up and down the length of his thighs before sliding his hands around to Jim’s backside, kneading the firm flesh encouragingly as he started kissing up the underside of Jim’s shaft. As he swirled his tongue around the head, loving the bitter pulse of pre-come, and then he slowly sank down on the length of Jim’s dick, hot and hard and wanting as he swallowed him down to the root.

Jim wasn’t a big guy, was just the right size for Harvey to be able to yank him in close and not gag on the uncontrolled thrust of Jim’s hips. Could have him do it again and again, one hand splayed across Jim’s abdomen to feel the shift of the muscle, and the other on Jim’s ass, just the way he had imagined too many times to keep track of.

Pulled back only to rub his cheek along Jim’s dick, and press sloppy kisses around the head, the thrill of getting Jim into a mess so great that he had to reach down to palm himself through the slacks he had slept in, Jim’s groan of ‘oh, God,’ making his head fuzzy.

Having him look up at Jim through glassy eyes, his heart hammering at the sight of Jim’s hair falling prettily out of place, and the hand Jim couldn’t keep away from himself, its movement so slick with his spit that Harvey’s stomach clenched at the obscene sound of it.

“Bedroom,” Jim managed, low and desperate, and this was not what Harvey had been expecting when he woke to the soft sounds of Jim moving about the apartment. Was what he had been hoping for though, for longer than he was ever likely to admit to.

Then again, perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had been dreaming of this for a long time.

Who had been left to resign himself to never getting what he wanted.

Because Jim plundered his mouth like he could never get enough of it, and didn’t waste any time stripping him out of his shirt and his trousers. Pushed him back against his bedsheets, already made up with neat hospital corners. Didn’t seem to care a damn about the mess they were about to get in, and scrabbled eagerly to do his bidding when Harvey had him plant his knees either side of him and thrust into his waiting mouth.

The noises Jim made were better than he could have imagined, breathy little pleas for more as he panted into the wall and looked down at him with eyes that were so swamped with lust they were almost black.

Harvey couldn’t deny a request like that. Got to act out a few of his filthiest fantasies, taking full advantage of the effort Jim had put into grooming himself, until Jim was writhing at his touch and pushing back onto his fingers, straddling Harvey’s hips so that his leaking dick rubbed along his gut with every movement.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Harvey praised and set about teasing him with the head of his cock. Rubbed it along Jim’s cleft, Jim’s fingers curling on his chest as his eyes fell closed, the heat streaking his cheeks spreading down his neck and up to his ears. "Tell me that you want it.”

He didn’t expect Jim to actually do it, no more than he had expected any part of this, but Jim just made a fevered sound that was beyond perfect and ground out,

“Quit playing around and fuck me.”

Harvey grinned at him, surprised but proud. Pushed his fingers back in, twisting just the way Jim seemed to like best, and hungrily soaked up the sight Jim made, telling him,

“That’s not very polite, is it? If you’re gonna behave like that I’m not so sure you deserve anything.”

Jim looked at him with wide eyes. Shuddered against him, visibly, and seemed startled by his own reaction. By how much he was getting off on being spoken to like a miscreant in need of a spanking, and Harvey responded by chuckling deeply and pulling him into another kiss.

In touching and teasing, and working Jim up just a little more, until he croaked a broken ‘please’ into his ear.

Until he simply had to reward him, spilling still more slick over his fingers and fisting it over his dick for a moment before lining it up, his grip on Jim unrelenting so that he couldn’t push back and take it too quickly.

To help keep hold of his own self-control, the tight clenching heat threatening to rob him of his sense of reason.

Jim choked out a curse when he was finally done. Shifted ever so slightly, experimentally, so Harvey had to squirm against the pillows, head tipping back against the wall because of his half seated position. Jim felt so good, looked even better, and then Jim was taking control of the situation, using his dick even as he clutched tight to the hand Harvey offered him.

Even as Harvey bucked up into him, helpless, and wrapped an arm around him to crush him closer, close enough to suck at his nipple.

Jim cried out at the extra stimulation. Lost the rhythm he had been working on in favor of rutting, frantic, and there was nothing Harvey could do but encourage it. Get a hand on his dick and start jerking, and follow Jim up and over the edge, the fact that it was Jim clenching up around him completely overwhelming.

Had him kissing Jim, prolonging every tremor, and his heart twisting up in happiness when Jim collapsed atop him. Clung to him, limbs heavy and sated, and pillowed his cheek against his chest as he caught his breath.

“I’d better be getting breakfast out of this,” Harvey joked eventually, fingers petting through Jim’s hair, because it was either that or start attempting to recite poetry, “I can see that I’m going to need to keep my strength up.”

“It was all your fault,” Jim groused, rolling over enough to look at him, “I’m not the one who goes around manhandling other guys’ balls.”

“I try not to make a habit of it - at least not uninvited.”

“You’ve always had an open invite,” Jim confessed, a bashful smile playing across his face, and what else could Harvey do in response to that but push him back into his sweat sodden sheets and start working on another round.

Really, it would have been rude not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	237. Chapter 237

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey sees Jim’s new mustache and expresses his feelings about it._
> 
> This is totally the fault of gordlock_nsfw_fanart and [THIS](https://gordlock-nsfw-fanart.tumblr.com/post/171433214792/serenwib-gordlock-nsfw-fanart-ii-should-be) very inspiring picture! :D

This was the longest he had spent away from Jim since the night a near death experience hit too close for comfort, and they ended up kissing desperately in the sterile surroundings of the hospital, blood and tears mingling as they promised each other that nothing else was ever going to come between them.

He hadn’t counted on residential training programs though, and the last few weeks had been such torture he hauled his ass out of bed at the crack of dawn just to catch an earlier train.

Just to be able to clap eyes on Jim a couple of hours sooner.

He went straight to the precinct from the train station, Jim still having no inkling of his changed plans, and left his case with the desk officer while he bounded up the stairs to Jim’s office, as breathlessly excited as a kid at Christmas.

“He’s got a surprise for you,” Harper told him as she passed, just a hint of a smirk playing across her features, and he only rapped at Jim’s door eagerly before pushing the thing open.

Before taking one look at the man he loved - the man who never failed to get his heart pounding and his skin tingling - and burst into laughter.

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” Harvey soothed later, arm winding around Jim’s waist as he aimed for contrition, “you never said you were growing it.”

“It’s still early days,” Jim pouted, the action only highlighting his wispy little mustache, and Harvey had to bite back the urge to laugh all over again. Only half succeeded, in spite his best efforts, and Jim looked so affronted Harvey knew he had to act fast for damage limitation.

Had to play to Jim’s sense of pride, to his deep seated need for validation, and he pushed Jim up against the side of the car when they reached it, nuzzling his nose along Jim’s cheek before saying into his ear,

“I think it makes you look smart - distinguished. You’re absolutely gorgeous. All I’ve thought about for weeks is getting you home and showing you how much I’ve missed you.”

Jim’s eyes were dark when he pulled away. His cheeks flushed pink and his breathing a little rapid. Harvey grinned at him, just as besotted now as he had been years earlier, and kissed him softly for a few moments before reluctantly giving some consideration to the fact they were still standing in the precinct parking lot.

It was a mercifully short drive to their apartment, the roads quiet but the tension building thickly. Jim kept fidgeting beside him. Shifted in his seat and tugged at his collar. Brushed his fingertips over the mustache, obviously a new habit he had been forming since it started growing in, and suddenly the very last thing on Harvey’s mind was laughing about it.

He knew exactly what he was going to do to show Jim how much he appreciated his new facial hair.

“I missed you so much,” Jim confessed, the moment the door was shut behind them, and Harvey had to brush the backs of his fingers gently along Jim’s jaw and kiss him sweetly. Had to take a moment simply to breathe in his scent, and soak up his presence, because he never wanted to be apart from him for that long again.

“I missed you too,” he pledged. “I missed your snoring, and your nagging, and even the way you always hog all the blankets.”

Jim glared at him, mock serious, and Harvey let his fingers wander to the perfect column of Jim’s neck, knowing exactly what effect it had on him.

“Most of all I missed your mouth though,” he said, voice going low and gravelly, “nothing compares to your mouth.”

“Yeah?” Jim breathed, quickly latching on to his meaning, “and what do you propose we do about it?”

He loved it when Jim played along, adored the fact that Jim felt comfortable enough to do, and he shed his hat and his overcoat purposefully as he walked them further into the living room. As he slumped down onto the couch, legs spread wide, and gave Jim a heated look as he told him he could think of one or two ideas.

That he hated to think of how hungry Jim must be, how absolutely starved for a taste of him, and though the line was terrible Jim just dropped heavily to his knees and then shuffled forward a little. Didn’t even loosen his tie or take off his jacket, instead looking up at him through his sinfully long lashes and saying that it wasn’t fair for Harvey to just sit there and tease him.

“You taste so good,” Jim told him, as close to a request as he could manage, and Harvey didn’t waste any time shoving his pants down around his ankles. Twitched in the confines of his boxer shorts, helpless, at the sight of Jim swiping his tongue over his lips, and then groaned like he wanted all their neighbors to hear when Jim traced his tongue along the outline of the head, through the fabric.

Sucked at it a little, wet and hot and perfect, and then pulled back to watch the way his dick bobbed anxiously for more attention.

“You really did miss me, didn’t you?” Jim crooned, and it was so rare for Jim to actually opt for the dirty talk that it sent a white hot thrill through him. Had him breathing hard, dick aching, and Jim just went ahead and nosed at the fabric of his underwear. Sucked the head back into his mouth, forehead pressed into the soft flesh of his stomach, and hmmed around him in a way that threatened to have it all be over before it started.

“You’re going to make me come,” he warned, kind of awed by the truth of the statement, and Jim only gave him a smug little smile that made his heart turn somersaults,

“You’ll come when I say you can.”

That had his spine turning to jelly. Had him slouching down into the cushions, and cupping Jim’s cheek with a hand. He was so sickeningly lucky, was so disgustingly in love with the man in front of him, and when Jim turned his head and kissed his palm, they didn’t need words for him to know that Jim returned both sentiments in equal measure.

“Look at how bad you want it,” Jim rasped when Harvey dropped his hands back to his sides, fingers digging into the upholstery to keep them from wandering, “I bet you touched yourself every night thinking about my mouth on you.”

That wasn’t a gamble on Jim’s part. Wasn’t even an educated guess because Harvey had told him as much, panting into his cellphone as he fucked up into his fist, thighs trembling when Jim’s own breathing went harsh and unsteady. Jim’s words had him straining for more though, desperate, and when he was hard enough that his dick was jutting out of the leg hole of his boxers, Jim only teased him with fleeting licks to the head and more whispered filth about how visibly eager Harvey was to feel his mouth around him.

He could have sobbed in relief when Jim finally pulled his underwear down. Had to fight not to buck up into Jim’s beautiful mouth as he slowly started swallowing some of the shaft down, and tipped his head back into the sofa cushions, fighting for self-control as Jim began bobbing his head, the thrice damned mustache feeling so amazing that he couldn’t keep his own mouth shut.

Told Jim that there was no rush, that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he was entirely at Jim’s mercy, always, and that everything he had - everything he was - belonged to him. Tilted Jim’s chin up with his fingers and bent down to kiss him, needing to feel the slide of Jim’s tongue against his own, and then played tenderly with Jim’s hair when he went back to kissing his way up his dick, his abdomen clenching up with lust when Jim let him wrap a hand around himself and rub the head over Jim’s perfect lips.

Through the rasp of his mustache, and the sound he made at the sensation was so wanton that Jim smiled mischievously at him.

Drove him still further out of his mind and said knowingly,

“I grew it for you, you know. The least you can do is prove to me you like it.”

“Can I?” Harvey begged, dick pulsing harder at the mere suggestion, and Jim just lapped his tongue against the underside, moving carefully so that the mustache stroked along his over sensitized skin in a way that was absolutely maddening.

Jim blinked up at him, at once too innocent and beyond filthy, and Harvey had to use one hand to cradle the back of Jim’s head in place, while the other jerked his dick with half desperate movements. Babbled incoherently about how impossibly hot Jim was, and thrust forward carefully so that his dick pushed through Jim’s facial hair.

“Come on,” Jim encouraged, his own hand in his pants now, stroking frantically, “come on my face, Harvey.”

Hearing Jim ask for it, demand it, was more than he could take. Was so hot he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t hold back a moment longer, and he was shaking, groaning way too loud as he pulsed hot and wet across Jim’s cheek, and all over the mustache.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned when he was spent, thighs still quaking, and Jim only panted for air, hand moving desperately even as the flush spreading down his neck burned brighter and brighter.

Harvey pushed his thumb through the mess he had made. Gently smeared it over Jim’s lips and all through his mustache, swearing again at the sight Jim made like that, come dripping from his chin and ruining his still pristine shirt and tie.

He had to push forward enough to kiss Jim then. Plundered his mouth, making a mess of both of them, and then hooked his arms under Jim and tugged him up and on top of him. Took over from his hand, never once letting up from his mouth, swallowing down Jim’s soft moans and breathy whimpers, his own body aching in sympathy at the way Jim thrust frantically into his touch, so close it had to be painful.

Jim clung to him when he came. Didn’t seem to care a damn that he had spurted messily over his own shirt, his clothing sticking to him as he shivered in his arms.

“So what do you think now?” Jim asked him eventually, skin still flushed and dewy when he pulled away enough to meet his gaze, and Harvey pushed a thumb through the mess on Jim’s upper lip as he thought about it really shouldn’t be such a turn on.

“I’m a fan,” he croaked out, honest, and only grew more convinced in the face of the smile Jim bestowed on him.

“Maybe I should grow a full beard,” Jim suggested, so that Harvey had to close his eyes for a moment at the memory of Jim bestubbled and decked out in a leather jacket, like something straight out of one of his late night fantasies.

“Don’t get carried away.”

“Why,” Jim queried, “you don’t think I could pull it off?”

“No, Harvey countered, stroking a hand down Jim’s arm and planning out a long hot shower to soften the blow, “I just don’t think my blood pressure could handle it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	238. Chapter 238

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _After Harvey’s rejection of him, saying he didn’t miss him and telling him to get lost, Jim’s self-destructive thoughts peak once more, and he decides that Gotham (and the world) would be better off without him. Does his attempt at ending his existence succeed? Or does someone come to the rescue just in time? How does Harvey feel about Jim’s attempt on/taking of his own life?_

Roger told him once, during some childish argument over something or other, that life would have been better if he had never been born. Jim had been given plenty of reason in the years since to concede that perhaps Roger knew exactly what he was talking about.

Their father wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t had to ferry Jim to yet another appointment, and their mother wouldn’t have ended up so shut off and lost to them. Roger’s own life might never have veered so badly off course, and Jim would never have left a long line of people behind who were so unspeakably worse off for having known him.

Lee, and Vale, and Barbara - right back to the high school girlfriend who cut her wrists the same night he told her he had joined the army, too much of a coward to simply say that he had no interest in getting married.

Harvey was just the latest, even as he was far from ‘just’ anything. Harvey knew him better than anyone. Had put up with more than he should have. Had been there when anyone else would have long given up on the mess of a man he had become.

But even Harvey wasn’t a saint.

Even Harvey had finally had enough of him.

He thought of Harvey as he walked aimlessly. Picked over every syllable of their one sided conversation, and all the things he ought to have done differently.

Went back earlier still, lost in his memories, and dreamed of how things might be if he weren’t the man he was. If he were capable of reaching out instead of closing people out, and acting rash when it was something that could actually benefit him.

Instead he overcomplicated matters with thoughts of what was likely to go wrong.

All the ways he would ruin things before they ever really got started.

Then he jumped head first into some new idiot decision, and destroyed all his chances.

He recognized where his thoughts were heading. He had all the training and the personal experience. It didn’t make any difference, truthfully, because there was nowhere he could go to see the face of someone happy to see him.

There was nobody he could call, even, not about something that wasn’t directly work related.

He tried Harvey anyway, having noted down his new number from dispatch, thinking of the look of disgust on Lee’s face earlier that night, and what little was left of the Barbara Kean he had been engaged to marry. He had done that to both of them, it was all his fault, and Harvey only cancelled the call because he had already made it more than clear that he wasn’t willing to hold Jim’s hand and tell him that he wasn’t so very bad.

Pull him in close the way Jim wanted, and pet at his hair until he felt almost human.

Until he could shut his eyes and imagine a world in which he had nothing to live up to - nothing but the faith Harvey placed in him to not throw what he was offering back in his face, even if he wasn’t able to accept it.

How he wished he had been able to reach out for what he truly wanted. That he could have overcome his fear of being left alone long enough to try being together, and that he could have stopped caring that the picture they made would never have been the one his father envisioned.

All his father really wanted for him, he had said once, was for him to be happy.

There was no one to blame but himself for the fact that had proven impossible.

Jim didn’t feel entirely in the moment. Reached his apartment without memory of how he had got there, and drained a third of a bottle before rethinking what he was doing. If he got drunk he would only feel worse for it in the morning.

He had things to do and places to be, and he would never allow himself to lay in bed and forget about duty.

He hit the call button again, heart hammering with a potent mixture of fear and a strange sense of excitement. If Harvey answered he would beg for forgiveness. Whether he got it or not he wouldn’t do anything stupid. If Harvey didn’t answer.

Well.

He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

There was no answer. Not that time, nor the time after. He flung it at the wall then, helpless, and drank down the rest of the bottle he had been carrying around, knowing that what he was about to do was no real solution, yet determined to go through with it anyway.

It was so easy. Too easy. He should have done it years ago, before he had had chance to ruin the lives of everyone he had ever held dear. His bathroom cabinet was full of pills, leftovers from hospital visits and near death experiences, and he supposed that in a way it was better to choose the time and the place.

To have the end be at his own hand rather than left to the vagaries of fate.

He collapsed against the bed when it was done, the world spinning and his limbs trembling. Now it was too late he wondered if perhaps he ought to have been so rash.

If he wasn’t making yet another terrible mistake.

He tried for his cellphone. Succeeded in hitting the floor, sweat beading on his brow, fingers curling as he reached for the thing. His vision was swimming when he grasped hold of it, his chest aching with the strain of it all.

It wasn’t working, wouldn’t turn on, and his last thought before he passed out was of Harvey.

The smile he used to give him, besotted with just a hint of longsuffering, as he pressed a kiss to his temple and told him that he was his own worse enemy.

He should have listened to his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	239. Chapter 239

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey shows Jim how he REALLY feels about having to sit by idly whole Jim fucks Sophia... be it through violence (beating the shit out of Jim like Jim clearly deserves!) or something else._

“Don’t give me that look.”

Alfred held his hands up, placating, “I’m not giving you any look. You and Gordon, that’s your business.”

Harvey glanced to the ceiling for a moment, as though seeking guidance. Gave it up as a bad job and downed another glass of whiskey instead. That was the real thing he liked about tending bar - nobody could try and fob you off with the cheap shit.

Truth was, seeing Jim had shook him up bad. Had undone all the weeks of telling himself that he couldn’t care less if Jim never again darkened his doorway. That he wasn’t secretly hoping Jim was laying awake at night thinking about him.

Tracking him down so he could fall to his damn knees and beg for Harvey’s forgiveness.

“For what it’s worth though,” Alfred started up, fingers trailing around the rim of his own glass, “I think he means it. He’s just not the most perceptive guy in the world, yeah?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harvey tried, even as he knew it was no use. They both knew exactly what Alfred was referring to.

He was just too obvious.

Alfred was the only one who dared call him on it though, and Harvey couldn’t begrudge him the regular grilling, not really. Not when the other man was careful to keep it to times when his punters weren’t listening, and not when it felt like it was tearing him up inside, trying to lie to himself that he had never wanted anything from Jim Gordon.

“You ever?” Harvey asked one night, drunk enough not to care that it was a bad idea, “Thomas Wayne, maybe?”

He had worked that break-in at Wayne Manor and seen how close they were. Had heard the story of how Wayne Snr had given him a job and a purpose, and had jacked off, shameless, at the mental image of Martha Wayne ordering both the men in her life to do her bidding.

The other man didn’t punch him, at least. Shrugged into his drink and confessed, “I might have thought about it, once or twice. I don’t rightly know what I would have done if he had asked me outright.”

Harvey mulled that over. Looked Alfred over in a new light, gaze lingering on the man’s hands and then his adam’s apple, entirely too obvious.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Alfred warned, shaking his head, “I’ve got enough problems without dealing with you on the rebound.”

“You can’t blame a guy for looking,” Harvey offered, magnanimous, and then because he really wanted that punch to the face, “not unless they’ve yet to turn legal.”

“You’ve only got yourself to blame,” Alfred told him later, resting the bag of frozen peas on his swollen knuckles for a long moment before handing it over and letting him gingerly place it over his poor bruised eye socket. “That boy is like a son to me.”

“I know,” Harvey sighed. Looked around his dismal fleapit of an apartment and admitted, “sometimes it’s either pick a fight or hire some company, and I’m a little low on funds right now.”

The girls were sick of his face anyway. Fed up of having to deal with his issues, his dick laying soft against his thigh even after he had handed over the money, refusing to get with the program. Pining for his uptight bastard of a partner, so that he had them screw each other instead, imagining all the while how hot it would be if Jim were sat beside him and in need of a helping hand.

Helping mouth, maybe, because there was little Harvey wouldn’t do to feel the weight of Jim’s dick on his tongue.

“What you need,” Alfred opined, perhaps the one guy in the whole of Gotham who currently had life worse than he did, “is to get Gordon out of your system.”

Harvey thought about that long after he was left alone for the evening. He thought about it when he drank too much on his night off, and he thought about it when Jim dropped by to claim yet again that he had changed and the Department needed him.

He told Jim to get lost, to quit coming to him for sympathy, and then rolled Alfred’s words around his head and finished off a bottle of whiskey.

Hauled himself to his feet, a touch unsteady, and headed off in the direction of Jim’s last known whereabouts. Maybe they would fight it out like schoolboys in the playground. Perhaps Jim would finally see what it was that made Harvey keep coming back for more, and he’d fuck Jim so good he’d scarcely be able to walk in the morning.

Maybe Hell would freeze over, and a couple of pigs would fly past his high rise window.

Jim wasn’t heading home anyway. Was so laughably easy to trail, a real credit to the US army and the police academy, and Harvey felt something ugly settle low in his gut when he realized exactly what Jim was planning.

Who he was planning it with too, because months after he had first sworn that he would have nothing more to do with Sofia Falcone, Jim still couldn’t pass by an opportunity to stick his dick in her. Was still the exact same hypocrite he had always been, so that Harvey skulked about in the shadows for almost half hour before Jim emerged from her fancy town house.

Before he strode off purposely, not even looking where he was going, until Harvey twisted a hand in the back of his overcoat and shoved him down the nearest alleyway.

Slammed him up against the wall and used his earlier words against him, making a mockery of Jim’s promises that he had changed and that he was sorry.

“Get off me!” Jim spat, angry and stubborn, and they brawled just as clumsily as he had predicted, both of them breathing hard but his weight and his rage ultimately helping him come off the victor.

“I was going to accept your apology,” Harvey hissed, wishing that he could slam his fist into Jim’s pretty face over and over again. Wishing that he could give in to the ugly depths of his own depravity, and simply take from Jim what he wanted. “I should have known that it was just another lie. You’re a fucking liar, Jim, aren’t you?”

Jim fought against his hold all over again. Succeeded this time, where he had failed, until Harvey could feel his head pounding where it had been banged into the brickwork, and his lip swelling up where Jim had socked his fist into it.

“I’m not a liar,” Jim growled, “I went there to tell her to do her own dirty work. I want to make things right, Harvey.”

Harvey laughed at that, incredulous, and Jim responded with his self-righteous hard done by look, the one he had been pulling on Harvey right from the very beginning of their association, and asked Harvey what more he wanted from him.

“I’m trying my best. I don’t know how else to prove to you that I mean what I say.”

“Don’t you?” Harvey challenged, and maybe in some better frame of mind such ugly thoughts would never have occurred to him.

Or maybe he was a liar himself, playing at being the wounded party when really it was all his own fault for endlessly pushing and pushing. Wanting more from Jim than the other man could ever give, until he went running into the arms of a mob boss’ daughter, just to be free of his pathetic obsession.

It must have shown on his face, at least something of it, because Jim’s eyes went wide with shock and he felt his own heart rate pick up, the filth and squalor of their surroundings in no way lessening his willingness to go through with this.

To screw up any last chance they might have had of reconciliation.

“I’ve never -” Jim stuttered, so suddenly unsure of himself it was comical, and Harvey only pushed further,

“Is that another lie, Jim? You telling me you never got lonely - none of your little army buddies never offered you a helping hand?”

The uncertainty gave way to anger, sharp and unrestrained, and before he had chance to react Jim was kissing him like he was going into battle, hard and desperate, and one hand twisted so tight in his hair it was bringing tears to his eyes. Something about the situation was, at any rate, and he couldn’t help the way he clutched Jim closer as he kissed back.

Gave just as good as he got, so that somewhere along the way there began to be less teeth and more tongue. Less fighting for dominance, and more rocking up against each other, his hand finding Jim’s jaw, the nape of his neck, fingers tender as they stroked through the soft rasp of Jim’s hair.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was meant to be getting Jim out of his system. Taking what he wanted from him - using him - and finally being free of the addiction that had held him tight in its grip since the moment he set sight on Jim Gordon.

He saw now that he had miscalculated. Had misjudged entirely because he never wanted to let go. Followed Jim helplessly when he pulled away, feeling drunk on the other man’s heat and proximity.

“Do you believe me now?” Jim asked, so that Harvey could only blink at him stupidly, unable to pick up the thread of conversation. Gazed at Jim stupidly, lost to the flush in Jim’s cheek and the soft look in his big blue eyes, until Jim elaborated, “I want to make things right. There’s nothing going on between me and Sofia.”

He did believe it. Perhaps he was an idiot, but he did.

Felt guilt wash over him in a sickening wave and withdrew his hands from Jim’s waist.

“You don’t have to do this to prove yourself,” Harvey said, as though what had already happened hadn’t been at his own suggestion.

Jim frowned at him, his hair dishevelled and his collar askew from both the earlier scuffle and the way they had been groping at each other, and it was all Harvey could do not to look away. To stand his ground and not act the coward. That was what had brought them to this mess.

Except Jim only reached for his wrists and pulled his hands back into position. Pressed in close and buried his nose in the crook of Harvey’s neck, breathing in deep while a hand wound back into his hair, gentle this time.

“Maybe I want to,” Jim murmured, breath hot against his skin and tone so sincere that Harvey’s heart clenched up with the force of it.

He ought to the noble thing, and take the choice out of Jim’s hands. Should do the sensible thing and walk away without looking back. All he actually did was seek Jim’s mouth out, too sweet and too tender, and suggest that they move things somewhere more comfortable.

If it was Jim wanted, then who was he to dissuade him?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	240. Chapter 240

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Ok, that lack of closure is killing me... can we get a sequel to[238](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/32064099) where someone finds Jim or his body? Who’s the one to realize something’s horribly wrong? Is it that same night? Or is it days, or worse, weeks later until someone finds him? How does Harvey cope with the knowledge of his former partner’s suicide attempt/death by suicide?_
> 
> The original plan was to make this completely miserable but I've been sick most of the week and I just want happy endings!

Harvey Bullock couldn’t sleep.

His pillow was too lumpy and the traffic still winding its way through the city streets below too loud. It was too warm with the covers on and too cold with them off. Too uncomfortable on his left side, and too bright on his right, and when he rolled to lay flat on the back he finally gave it up as a poor show and reached for his cell phone to check once again how little time had elapsed since his last look.

The real reason he couldn’t sleep was that seeing Jim had left him on edge. Had riled up the storm of emotion he had been working to put behind him and then, just to add insult to injury, Jim had ignored his order - his plea - to simply fuck off and rang him just as he was closing up for the evening.

He had known it was Jim, knew the other man’s number off by heart, and though he cancelled the call he couldn’t erase the impact of it quite so easily.

Jim probably wouldn’t even care if he knew what that attempt to get in touch represented. Wouldn’t give a damn that it was like pouring salt all over the gaping wound that was his heart. So long as he absolved Jim of responsibility, told him that his shitty behavior wasn’t so bad, not really, Jim would go right back to doing what he did best.

Being a grade A dickhead.

Well, he wasn’t going to fall for it. Not this time. Jim had made his bed, now he could damn well lie in it. Harvey pounded at his own pillow in determination. Squirmed about, and counted sheep, and balled his fingers into fists as two more of Jim’s calls went through to voicemail. He didn’t care. He wasn’t interested.

There was nothing Jim could say that would make things better, at least nothing short of Jim grovelling on his goddamn knees and somehow keeping a straight face as he told Harvey it was him he had always wanted, not any of his knock out women.

Harvey had to stifle a bitter laugh at that, too aware of how pathetic his life had become. All he wanted from Jim was something Jim could never give, and all Jim wanted was for him to carry on with the same hopeless, endless pining regardless. Until it killed him. Until it drained him dry, left him a broken shell of a man, and then Jim would find some new sucker to prop him up and play at being his shoulder to cry on.

Some new loser to fall head over heels in love with him, and offer up everything they had, everything they were, on a platter.

He thought of the misery etched on Jim’s face at the bar. The pain in his beautiful blue eyes as Harvey delivered a few home truths, striking exactly where he had known it would most hurt. It had felt satisfying, in a cruel kind of way, to see Jim suffer a little of what he had been put through.

It had hurt, at the same time, his dumb heart aching with the desire to reach for Jim and promise that it was okay. That they could get over this, if only Jim was willing to compromise.

Maybe Jim was compromising. Maybe he had been ready to offer up the apology to end all apologies.

Maybe Jim could wait until a reasonable hour, like every other idiot in the city.

In the end he couldn’t take it. Couldn’t rid himself of the knot of anxiety in his stomach, the worry that something had happened, that Jim had been calling him insistently for assistance, overpowering his anger and his outrage that Jim would drop it all on his shoulders the very first moment he found out his new phone number.

There was no answer on Jim’s end though. Nothing but an automated voice telling him that the number he was calling was unavailable. That wasn’t like Jim though. He and the cell phone were natural extensions of each other, never parted willingly, and before Harvey could second guess what he was doing he was out of bed and pulling his pants on, cursing colorfully all the while.

Jim was probably asleep and had forgotten to charge the damn thing. Else he had been called out to a job in a no signal area. Was in bed with Sofia or some other floozy, and was trying to seem like a gentleman.

When Jim opened his door, Harvey decided on the drive over, he would punch him in his pretty face. Tell him to stop calling, to quit dragging things out, and then he’d go home and get some well deserved shut eye. That was what was going to happen, obviously. Either that or Jim would blink up at him, all unshed tears and clenched jaw, and actually admit that he was sorry for being such a backstabbing lowlife.

Then Harvey would punch him in the face and go home.

It was a win-win situation.

He still hesitated when he made it to Jim’s floor. Felt his face heat up with embarrassment as he imagined how it must look to an outsider, him so desperate to know what Jim wanted to say to him that he had driven across the city in the early hours of the morning.

So afraid that Jim was in trouble that he came running at the very first opportunity.

He had come this far though. Had done far worse, sunk far lower, for his partner, and he banged a fist against the door, shifting impatiently from foot to foot as he waited for Jim to answer it. Ran a hand through his hair, unease mounting, and then spent a few moments weighing up his options. The light was on, spilling under the door, and it was that which proved the deciding factor and had him digging the key he had pledged to throw away from his pocket, and letting himself across the threshold.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Drink and sick and stagnant air, and he made straight for Jim’s open bedroom door, his heart hammering harder with every step forward.

It didn’t necessarily mean anything. It wasn’t any reason to jump to conclusions.

Then he was met with one of the most horrific sights imaginable, and dropped to his knees beside Jim’s body, praying to God that he wasn’t too late to be able to do something. Jim’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch, and deathly pale in a way that made his own heart falter in his chest for a long moment before it started thumping again.

Because Jim was breathing, just, and he was barking out a request for an ambulance into his cell phone, even as he cursed Jim out for being the stupidest wretch of a man who ever lived.

For putting him through this and for not thinking of the consequences.

“Did you even stop to think what this would do to me?” He demanded of Jim’s unconscious form, tears on his cheeks and his throat seized up in agony, worse than anything the Pyg’s blade had inflicted. “Did you just want me to live with this on my conscience for the rest of my life? You’re such a bastard, Jim. Sometimes I really wish I could hate you.”

He was still at it when the paramedics arrived, stroking trembling fingers across Jim’s forehead as he berated him for his selfishness. He kissed it briefly, when they arrived at the hospital, before Jim was whisked off for treatment and he was left to sit and wait and wonder if he was ever going to see Jim alive again.

It didn’t bear thinking about. Was all he could focus on, regardless, and he ended up in the chapel of rest, face in his hands as he gave way to tears because Jim was supposed to have it all now. He had the job and he had the girl. He had the support of all of their treacherous colleagues who hadn’t bothered to furnish him with so much as a ‘good luck for the future’ card, and in a few months from now he would have unburdened any trace of guilt as to how he got it.

Jim had too much going for him to throw it all away, no matter what might have happened between them.

The idea of Jim not being there in the morning, even if they weren’t speaking to each other, was so awful that he just didn’t know how to deal with it.

It was light outside when they finally let him see Jim, the dawn rays weak and delicate as they filtered through the blinds at the window. Harvey stroked the backs of his fingers down Jim’s cheek. Swallowed back a fresh swell of emotion and collapsed heavily into the chair beside the bed, the exhaustion catching up with him.

He had done this so many times. Sat and prayed and waited, and then pretended that it was simple friendship that kept him at his silent vigil. That his heart wasn’t breaking in two with the need to gather Jim up in his arms and let him, not protect exactly, but shield him from some of the shit Gotham was so intent on throwing at him.

To love Jim like the others had never managed. So much that Jim wasn’t afraid to love him back. So devoutly that not one of the inevitable stupid arguments mattered. They would come through it. There was no other option.

He woke with a start a few hours later, the strain having got the better of him, and for a moment the surge of blind panic was so great he felt sick with it. Then he was back in the moment, aware of his surroundings, and Jim was gazing up at him solemnly, his face pale and wretched but his eyes just as beautiful as they had ever been.

“Why did you do it, Jim?” He heard himself croak. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I want to be happy,” Jim rasped in turn, scarcely more than a whisper, “but I fucked up. I wasted my chance, Harvey.”

Harvey frowned at that, attempting to make sense of it. They had to be talking about Lee. Had to be referring to the revelation that the Doc was back in Gotham and still wanted nothing to do with Jim. But it was him Jim was staring at. His hand Jim was reaching out for, clumsily, fingers cold as they made contact.

“Maybe she’ll take you back one day,” he said anyway, “there’s always a chance. So long as you’re still here to fight for it.”

“Do you mean that?”

He nodded, still beset with the idea that they weren’t quite on the same wavelength, and then Jim was ridding him of lingering doubt, tugging gently at his hand until he could press a kiss to it.

“I’ll fight then,” Jim pledged, eyes rolling a little as he began to sink back under, and Harvey simply sat there frozen for a long time, not quite convinced that he hadn’t dreamed the last few minutes.

Not quite able, in spite of his best efforts, not to start getting his hopes up. Not to think of impossible scenarios - Jim clinging to him and meaning it, and a sickly sweet future where Jim claimed there was only one thing he put before the job, and that was family.

He was still lost in the fantasy when Harper turned up, half frantic with stress and full of accusation for the fact he had failed to inform the precinct of Jim’s whereabouts.

“I had more pressing concerns,” Harvey told her drily, and she apologized then and asked him how he was bearing up.

If he knew why Jim had gone and done something so monumentally stupid.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “why does he do anything?”

“You ought to go home and get some rest,” she said, not unsympathetic, and he just managed a wry smile into the God awful coffee she pressed on him.

“I ought to do a lot of things. But we both know I’m gonna sit right here until he tells me he doesn’t want me to.”

She gave him a small smile at that, understanding, and he spent the whole day in the same cramped seat, only leaving when Jim was aware enough to assure him that he didn’t begrudge him having a job and bills to pay.

“You’ll come back though?” Jim asked when he was almost out the door, so soft and so quiet it cut to the quick, and he could only nod silently and stalk through the corridors before he did something really pathetic like cry over the fact Jim wanted his company.

In truth Jim couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Smiled at him, bright and genuine, when he turned up the following morning, and though it slipped, though he couldn’t maintain it in the face of the questions Harvey wanted answered, it never disappeared completely.

Not until it was time for him to leave again.

He felt wrecked at the bar that night. Wrung out and sleep deprived, and he replayed Jim’s words over and over in his head - his stilted confession that he just hadn’t been thinking, not really, but he had just known that Harvey would be better off without him.

“You know that’s bullshit,” was what Harvey came back with when Jim repeated the sentiment.

“It’s how I felt,” Jim shot back, defensively, then visibly took a moment to calm down and cool off, and said reasonably, “You asked me why. It’s the only answer I have to give you.”

That one weighed on him even more. Kept him awake at night, no matter how many sheep he counted, and finally had him agreeing to meet Jim for dinner after he had been for his psych assessment to be cleared for active duty.

“They took you back then?” Harvey queried, trying to keep it casual, and Jim just shrugged a little and said,

“Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

Harvey snorted. He knew all about the recruitment shortages and the retention problems. Was glad to be free of the headache entirely, in many respects, but Jim went quiet and serious, and once the food was on the table looked him full in the face and asked,

“If I begged you to come back to the Department, would it make any difference?”

“I don’t like being pressured into anything,” Harvey admitted, more honest than he had planned on being, so Jim nodded just slightly and shifted to other topics of conversation. Seemed to be doing well, was doing better than Harvey had dared hope for, and when they lapsed into comfortable silence Harvey found himself simply watching, unable to express what it meant that Jim was healthy and whole in front of him.

“Can we do this again?” Jim asked when it was time to call it a night. “I’m not trying to pressure you - I just. I love spending time with you.”

“You love spending time with me,” Harvey echoed dumbly, uncertain why Jim would go out of his way to taunt him. Why he would choose to word it like that, after all the talking they had done to clear the air between them.

Jim stood his ground though. Fixed him with a hopeful smile and explained, “I already said that I’m trying not to pressure you.”

“What if I wanted to be pressured? Just this once, as an exception.”

“Then I’d invite myself back to your place. I’d say -” Jim swallowed, gathering his determination before continuing, “I’d tell you that I love you. I love you, Harvey.”

“It wouldn’t mean that everything’s forgiven,” Harvey warned, heart thumping.

“I wouldn’t expect it to.”

Harvey nodded. Smiled, helpless, and flagged down a cab with an armful of Jim Gordon.

He wasn’t going to get much sleep that night but, for the first time, he didn’t think he was going to have reason to complain about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	241. Chapter 241

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Thanks to Harvey's s fuck off speech, Jim realizes how much he has taken advantage of Harvey's friendship. Cue Jim have an epiphany that it wasn't just out of friendship that Harvey was always there for him. Now it's time for Jim to make for the fact that he was so oblivious to the fact that Harvey is in love with him or Jim at least hopes he still is._
> 
> Just a little bit of fluffiness.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you, I thought we established that.”

Harvey had his arms folded across his chest, closed off and determined, but Jim was no quitter. He had never expected this to be easy. He was committed, 200%, so he ignored the curious stares of the other patrons and climbed up onto a bar stool.

“I just need a drink. I was hoping you might join me.”

He could hear the plea in his own voice, even as he tried not to put any pressure on his partner.

This was about playing the long game.

“I’m working,” Harvey said, though made no move to actually do anything. The place was almost empty, and there was clearly nothing pressing that needed doing.

Jim simply nodded his head in acceptance and ordered a whiskey. Told Harvey to keep the change and at least buy himself a drink, and then had to smother the instinctive smile when Harvey did just that. He made his drink last as long as he could, wanting to fidget every moment but forcing himself to sit still and act as though he were in complete control of the situation.

He wished Harvey a good night when he left, getting nothing but a suspicious glare for his troubles, but Jim brushed that memory aside on the journey home in favor of the pull of Harvey’s shirt over his broad shoulders, and the enticing way his hair had been brushing his collar.

Harvey had looked good, really really good, and Jim renewed his pledge to secure the other man’s forgiveness.

To seize the chance with both hands that he had never realized Harvey had been holding out to him.

Because he had replayed Harvey’s words that first night over and over again in his head. Twisted them this way and that, torturing himself, and saw what always should have been obvious. Heard in Harvey’s bitter assessment of his arrangement with Sofia something that he had previously been convinced could never move beyond the realm of wishful thinking.

Harvey was jealous - of her.

It was like a dream come true, even as he stood in the middle of a nightmare. If he could just make things right with Harvey, if he could just prove to Harvey that he was worth taking another chance on. They could be so happy together, Jim knew it.

So he went back the next night, and the night after. Turned up just before closing on the third, stressed and bloodied, and though Harvey only slapped a clean wet cloth down on the bar in front of him and went back to tidying up, the proof that Harvey still cared warmed Jim through from the inside.

He worked through the next night, too busy to even think about anything but the latest crisis, but when he turned up the following day Harvey didn’t wait for him to speak, instead placing a whiskey tumbler down in front of him and returning to a discussion with two guys who looked like they only had three teeth left between them.

As the days formed weeks Jim worried that he had made a mistake when coming up with this plan. He had expected to make more progress by this point. The reality was that Harvey was still barely civil, and when he attempted to push, to strike up conversation, Harvey did his best to act as though he were invisible.

He kept at it though, all the same, and after a long harrowing day dealing with a child murder case Jim ordered two drinks, then when Harvey handed them over he passed one straight back. Harvey opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Jim let what he was feeling show on his face.

“Please.”

Harvey hesitated, long enough for Jim to think that it was all over, that they were never going to be able to fix the mess he had made of their relationship, then finally sighed and leaned against the bar top.

“Come on then, get it over with. Ask me how I’ve been doing and tell me how much the Department is missing me.”

“You look good,” Jim said instead, gaze lingering on familiar features, “bartending agrees with you.”

“You look like shit,” Harvey countered, “Must be your guilty conscience outing.”

That stung. Riled up his temper so that he had to force it back into submission.

“There was a kid today,” he said instead, hand not quite steady as he drained his whiskey in a single swallow, “she was only eight.”

Harvey looked away for a moment. Swirled the amber liquid around his glass and said quietly,

“I don’t miss the job. I thought I would, but I don’t. I’m sick of spending all day every day with the dregs of humanity.”

Jim stiffened at that, stomach twisting at the awful implication Harvey included him in that number. He put the glass down carefully, afraid that he was going to drop it to the floor his fingers were so numb. Except Harvey took a sip of his own drink, eyes dark with emotion, and told him,

“Some days you were the only thing that made that place bearable.”

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t the first time he had said it, far from it, but it felt different somehow. It felt like it was being wrenched from the very depths of his soul.

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“I know,” Jim said sadly, “but I’m sorry anyway.”

After that night Jim always bought two drinks and, providing the place wasn’t overwhelmed with actual customers, Harvey spent a few moments with him drinking and talking. More than a few moments, sometimes, until one night Jim looked around him only to realize that everyone else had left and they had been talking - Harvey wisecracking, and him beaming up at him like a school kid with their first crush - for over three hours.

Harvey seemed just as startled at the fact. Downplayed it immediately, and told him gruffly that it was time he got moving. Jim didn’t argue, just made for home feeling kind of like he was floating on air.

Like things were finally falling into place.

He let himself imagine that night, a future with Harvey at his side. Harvey’s touch, and Harvey’s support, and Harvey’s mouth on his own. He imagined that last one until he was flushed and panting, aching with the need for stimulation, and when he came he trembled with aftershocks, blown away by the force of it.

“I’ve got next week off,” Harvey told him a few nights later, the clock showing a scant five minutes to closing and Jim having only just crossed the threshold, “so you can take a break from these pity visits.”

“I don’t come here out of pity,” Jim stated, reflexively, and before Harvey could say anything he started elaborating, “I come here because I want to see you. You’re my best friend. We’re partners, Harvey.”

Harvey scoffed at that, more incredulous than angry, but Jim refused to back down.

“I haven’t been a good one, I know that. I just want a chance to make it up to you.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, and when Harvey eventually broke it it was only to say,

“I’m locking up now, if you want a drink there’s a liquor store around the corner.”

“Can I see you next week?” Jim asked, stubborn as usual, and watched as Harvey raked a hand through his hair. As he shut his eyes for a second and tipped his face skywards.

”No. Now get lost before I kick you out.”

Jim did leave, albeit reluctantly, hurt and disappointed. Angry, even, because things had been going well, had seemed to be getting somewhere, and now it was apparently over. He couldn’t work out why, didn’t understand the reason, and then Sofia called him in for another favor, and smiled slyly at him as she informed him of what she had let slip to Harvey.

“I only said that I still see plenty of you. I can’t be held responsible for how he may have misconstrued my meaning.”

“You had no right,” Jim growled, frustrated and ashamed of the behavior that had led him to this juncture, “you play your stupid games with me. You leave Harvey out of this.”

“Harvey, is it?” Sofia stressed the name, mocking, so that Jim flushed up despite his efforts not to.

“Just leave him alone,” Jim warned, nowhere near as threatening as he had hoped to sound, before stalking out with the distinct impression that Sofia had just won that round.

She won most every round, truth be told, and though he lingered over his paperwork, eventually he had no choice but to go home to his cold and empty apartment. It was so miserable, so spartan and impersonal, and he ended up laying fully clothed on his bed, the weight of his own loneliness crushing down on top of him.

Time was, of course, that the answer to that problem was only ever at the other end of a phone call. A text message, even, because he would think up any excuse he could, and Harvey wouldn’t ask any questions beyond whether or not he already had any beers in. They would sit too close and talk too intimately and occasionally, when the fates were smiling on him, Harvey would wrap an arm around him and let him lay his head against his shoulder.

Jim thought of the way Harvey smelled, comforting yet exciting, and felt his vision blur with the possibility that he was never going to be that close to Harvey again. Not physically, and not emotionally either. Harvey would find somebody else, somebody better, and it wouldn’t matter how much money he spent down in a Narrows’ bar that was no place for a police captain.

Harvey was never going to be interested, not now.

Perhaps not ever.

Jim dismissed that idea as quickly as it came to him. He had spent months poring over every detail of their relationship. He was certain that Harvey had wanted him once, at the very least. It was enough to have him reaching for his cell, to text some insipid nothingness, and then he lay awake on tenterhooks, pleading with a higher power he didn’t really believe in to let Harvey respond and put him out of his misery.

There was no reply, not by the time he fell asleep a few hours later, and not in the morning when he woke up feeling groggy and out of touch with his surroundings. He supposed it was only to be expected, really, because it was the first time he had dared trying to text Harvey’s new number. Harvey had made it clear enough he didn’t want Jim bothering him.

It didn’t stop him counting down the hours until Harvey was back at work though. The minutes and the seconds during his last shift of the week, desperate for it to be over so he could go and catch a glimpse of the guy he had his heart set on spending the rest of his life with.

Except when he got there, Harvey was nowhere to be found.

“He never turned up,” some other man told him, sounding less than pleased about it, and Jim deliberated over the whiskey he ordered anyway, weighing up the pros and cons of actually using the address he had abused police resources to get hold of.

Harvey could be in trouble, he reasoned. He might be tied up and in need of assistance. He was more likely in bed with company who couldn’t look less like him, that was the truth of the situation, but once the decision was made Jim had to go through with it.

Banged on the door while his heart hammered, and then tried it again, unable to accept that he had worked himself up into such a state of anticipation for nothing. He was just about to leave, to finally give in and give up, when suddenly the door was pulled open and he was staring at the pale shaking wretch that was his partner.

“Whatever it is, I’m not in the mood,” Harvey said, words brusque but voice little more than a whisper.

“You look like death warmed over,” Jim offered, never one for originality, and before Harvey could protest he was stepping over the threshold and taking charge.

Harvey would have argued, probably, but then he turned a few shades paler and disappeared through a door Jim assumed lead to the bathroom. Jim used the time to get a feel for the place. To change Harvey’s bedsheets and clear the bedside table of used tissues and empty bottles. Harvey had clearly been sick for days, looked like he was reaching his limit, and maybe Jim wasn’t the world’s most compassionate nurse, but he knew a thing or two about how to order a sickroom.

Jim was just finishing the task when Harvey re-emerged, sweat beading on his brow and fingers visibly trembling. Harvey said nothing as he collapsed onto the bed, nor as Jim settled the clean covers over him. He did moan, a pitiful sound, when he curled in on his side, so Jim took the initiative to go and get a damp washcloth.

Laid it carefully across Harvey’s forehead, and then moved to sit on the other side of Harvey’s bed, perching gingerly as he reached out and tried rubbing a hand over the back of Harvey’s t-shirt.

“You don’t have to do this,” Harvey ground out, squirming a little with the discomfort, but Jim just continued with what he was doing.

Shifted closer, tentatively, until he was all but lying on the bed behind Harvey, the better to stroke his back.

The better to soak up his unnatural body heat and reassure himself that Harvey wasn’t going anywhere.

“You should have called me,” he admonished quietly, “I’m not that bad at this.”

Harvey’s only response was lurching to his feet to go be sick again.

Jim stuck with it though. Had Harvey sip carefully at a glass of water, and do as Jim told him, until his breathing finally evened out in sleep, and Jim sat watch over him for long minutes, heart all twisted up in his chest at the sight he made.

It wasn’t as though he set out to stay the night after that, it just kind of happened, because when he made to find his shoes and get going, Harvey reached clumsily for his wrist and mumbled out a plea for him to stay where he was.

Right where he was, in Harvey’s double bed, like he didn’t care a damn what germs he might be picking up.

He didn’t, that was why, and in the morning he made Harvey eat a few mouthfuls of food and announced that it was his own day off, and that he didn’t need to go anywhere. Somehow they ended up on Harvey’s new second hand sofa, only this time it was Harvey who lay his head on Jim’s shoulder, wrung out and exhausted from the illness.

Jim thought about doing it for almost a full hour before he finally worked up the guts to put his arm around him. Bit at his lip, anxious, and only realized how tense he was when he relaxed, lulled into a sense of security by the way Harvey only sighed and slumped more fully against him.

“You’re gonna end up sick too,” Harvey told him, “and I ain’t up to nursing you.”

“Don’t care,” Jim assured easily, “not now I’ve got what I wanted.”

Harvey pulled back a little, just enough to look at him quizzically, but Jim’s arm was still wound around his middle, and there was no suggestion of him being kicked out on his ear. Not at any point in the near future, at least, so Jim confessed,

“You’re talking to me. You don’t hate me. It’s not everything I want, but it’s getting there.”

“What do you want?” Harvey asked and, even with the dark smudges under his eyes and the unhealthy pallor of his face, Jim felt his stomach flutter with the proximity and the undivided attention.

He shifted to face Harvey properly. Was determined to make Harvey understand just how important this was to him.

“I want us to be partners, Harv. Real partners - life partners - the way we always should have been.”

“You’ve got to spell it out, Jim,” Harvey managed, looking hopeful but sounding terrified, “my head’s all over the place.”

Jim kissed him, soft and chaste on the lips, then pulled away to see the startled look on Harvey’s face. Fought back the surge of panic until Harvey said,

“Why didn’t you try that weeks ago? You could have been saving a fortune in whiskey.”

Jim grinned in response, helpless. “I was worried you might punch me?”

Harvey nodded a little, conceding the possibility, then squirmed back into his previous position, using his shoulder as a pillow and linking their fingers together, like a silent pledge that they would make this work even as he said solemnly,

“I’d have kissed it better afterwards though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	242. Chapter 242

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can you please write a Gorldlock fic where Harvey is pining for Jim, but doesn't think he is good enough because of Jim's past of turning Penguin down due to his criminal activities and Harvey just assumes he will always be a crooked cop in Jim's eyes. And Jim is just oblivious to Harvey's feelings because he is so affection starved he can't tell the difference between friendship and love. Also Jim thinks the world of Harvey, obviously. Thanks._

“She was hurt because of me, Harvey. Because of the mistakes I’ve made.”

Jim had been beating himself up all evening, gaze damp and tone maudlin as he gave him the blow by blow of how Lee had looked at the hospital. The injuries she had sustained, and how Sofia was so obviously behind it.

Harvey stared into the depths of the beer bottle in his hand and saw his future unfolding ahead of him. He’d listen to Jim blame himself for all the world’s ills, then he’d play the role of the comedy best friend. Crack a few jokes and smile like a clown, finding solemnity long enough only to assure Jim that it wasn’t his fault.

That he was a great guy who didn’t deserve anything less than complete and total happiness.

He’d feel like he was dying on the inside, like his heart was cracking in two, and then Jim would sneer at him in the morning as though it wasn’t for his benefit he had fallen asleep on the sofa.

That was how it would go, over and over again, until he had nothing left to give and Lee either took Jim back or he moved onto some new woman he was just as unsuited to.

“I can’t do this,” he said suddenly, interrupting, and put the bottle down on the coffee table. Stood before he could rethink it and added, “best of luck and all that but I’ve gotta get going.”

Jim gaped at him like he was witnessing him lose his mind. Frowned when Harvey began shrugging into his jacket and said plaintively that he thought they were okay. That Harvey had accepted his apology.

He snorted at that, bitter if resigned. Jim had never even said he was sorry.

“It’s done, I’m over it. I wish you the best with all of it,” the job, Lee, Sofia - everything.

He didn’t wait for Jim to say anything. Shut the door behind him and paused for a moment, just long enough to wonder if he was making the right decision.

It didn’t matter, really, because if he stayed he would be dead before the year was out.

Back at his apartment the choice was easier. Donnie was gone, one of the nicest kids he had ever met, and the bar was closed up for being a biohazard. All he had worth salvaging from a life of fifty years fit in a single suitcase. He shoved his hat on his head when he was done. Nodded at the silent rooms and walked out of the place for the final time.

It should have felt frightening, leaving everything behind to start over someplace else. Turning his back on the only life he had ever known. Instead he felt free, almost giddy with the possibilities, and at the central station he threw a metaphorical pin at a map and asked the clerk which platform the next long distance train was leaving from.

He loitered for a moment or two, unable to completely vanquish the pathetic fantasy of Jim out of breath and panting, eyes full of fear as he begged him to stay. Then he pushed the dream out of his head and boarded the train.

Slumped into a window seat and marveled at just how easy it was.

Watched Gotham disappear into the distance then looked forward for the first time in years.

Checked into a cheap motel when he arrived in Metropolis and slept better than he had for months, the worst of the stress eased from his shoulders.

He found a job without any trouble and without any questions. Quickly proved he was capable of pouring drinks just as proficiently as any of the homegrown losers, and signed on the dotted line of a lease for an apartment that made up in views and amenities what it lacked in floor space.

Got his private investigator’s licence after a few months, and carried on tending bar when business was slack. Made, if not friends, acquaintances who didn’t ask more from him than he could give, and hired a broom cupboard of an office down town, from where he spent the next few years working a steady stream of cases involving cheating spouses, insurance fraud, and missing teenagers.

Sometimes all for the same client.

It wasn’t the life he had once hoped for but it wasn’t the unrelenting misery he had been about to resign himself to either.

The sun wasn’t always shining in Metropolis, not the way it looked in the movies, but it shone often enough to make life bearable. The MPD were more laid back than their Gotham counterparts, were always happy to share information for the right price, and even when there was no work forthcoming Harvey took solace in the fact it was warm enough to sleep on a park bench without freezing to death.

He still thought of Jim, inevitably, but he liked to think Jim was shacked up with some stunner now, maybe even with a kid or two into the bargain. Jim had made Deputy Commissioner, he had read it in the newspaper, and if he had stashed the clipping away in one of his filing cabinets.

Well, nobody had ever declared him 100% cured.

He wondered, occasionally, what Jim would think if he could see him now. If he would be pleased for him, for the life he had managed to carve for himself. Or if he would look at the palms he greased and the corners he cut and deem him just as expendable as he had in the wake of the Pyg.

Not even worth a damn apology.

That was the thought he clung to in his moments of weakness. When he considered picking up the phone or writing a letter. Turning up on Jim’s doorstep, just to catch a glimpse of him, because his picture in the paper had been proof positive that Jim was still so beautiful it took his breath away.

Then the moment passed and he remembered what he had gained once he had let Jim go. The acquaintances who had become friends, good friends, and the old colleagues from the bar who came to him to ask for and listen to his opinion. The guys he played guitar with on the weekends, at all the little pubs and clubs on the circuit, his on - off relationship with a woman who swore ignorance of the entire embezzlement ring that had brought down her husband.

“I still want to know what is you went running from,” she told him one night, in between pool boys so back slumming it with him for the time being, “I think you miss it sometimes.”

“I’ve got everything I need right here,” he said, like they didn’t both know she would be gone come morning, and when the inevitable happened he didn’t bounce back from it the way he usually did.

Couldn’t quit thinking about what had been, what he had wanted to be, and then felt his heart stutter in his chest when he put the key in his office door only to find the thing already open.

Pulled his gun and pushed it further open with trepidation, something that wasn’t quite relief hitting him at the sight of a familiar figure sat in his swivel chair.

“It’s been too long,” Jim said, blue gaze beseeching, and Harvey only jabbed an accusing finger at him and told him he couldn’t be there.

“We’re done, Jim. Finished. Remember?”

“You disappeared. It wasn’t my decision.”

He wanted to yell back. Wanted to shove Jim out of his life before it unraveled in front of him. His next door neighbors were listening in though, and had no real option but to take Jim back to his cramped apartment, and offer him a drink like a good little host before pulling himself together.

Before demanding to know what the hell Jim wanted to get it over with.

“It’s official,” Jim said, sitting on his couch with a calm sense of presence the guy he had left behind in Gotham never could have pulled off, “I’m going to be the next police commissioner of Gotham City.”

Harvey shrugged, heart aching but unable to see how it impacted on him. “Congratulations? An email would have sufficed, Jim.”

Jim shook his head, adamant, “No, it wouldn’t have. I needed to do this in person.”

He sat in the only other chair in the room, waiting, while Jim fidgeted just a little before recapturing that outward calm,

“There’s going to be a dinner for the announcement. Black tie, nice food. I need a plus one to take with me.”

It was Harvey’s turn to gape at Jim incredulously. The man could not be serious.

“I’ve stayed away, Harvey. I’ve done what you asked me to. But there’s not been a day gone by when I haven’t thought of you. When I didn’t wish that you’d given me another chance.”

He wanted to get angry. Wanted to feel anything but the desperate urge to go and sit beside Jim, and apologize for putting himself first. All he actually managed was a weak,

“I did, Jim. You wanted Lee. I couldn’t bear the idea of it.”

It was so much more honest than he could have been back then. He would have had to pretend, wouldn’t have been able to confess to Jim why he hated the thought of them together, and now he realized how stupid that would have been, because he could tell from the look on Jim’s face that he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I thought I did,” Jim corrected simply. “I thought I understood what it meant that the love I had for the two of you felt so different.”

That caught his attention. Had his entire body on hyper alert, unable to believe what Jim was saying.

“It took me a while to work it out. Took me longer to work up the courage to actually tell you.”

“I don’t own any black tie,” Harvey said, dumb, in lieu of any of the swirling questions threatening to overwhelm him. Jim just smiled at him, the same smile that had first convinced him he would throw it all away for an idiot named Jim Gordon, and said that was a problem he was confident he could fix.

So somehow Harvey found himself back in Gotham, groomed and starched into his new suit, trying to remember all the reasons why this was such a terrible idea. Why he needed to stay strong in the face of the vision Jim made in his formal wear, and how big a gulf the last few years must have put between them.

Instead the conversation flowed naturally even without any drink to act as lubrication. Jim had grown up in the time they had been apart. Had learned to accept help when he needed it, rather than simply demand it, and delivered a speech that was just as much fire and brimstone as it was compromise and responsibility.

It was going to be difficult to tell Jim that it couldn’t work. It was going to hurt like nothing he had ever known.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Jim said to start, and Harvey opened his mouth to deliver the blow. Jim got in before him. Touched a hand to his arm, serious, and said quietly, “and I want to say that I’m sorry. It’s long overdue, I know, but I mean it.”

It was the last thing he had expected. The one thing he hadn’t prepared his defenses against.

“I was going to say no,” he admitted, helpless as they slowly inched closer.

“I know.”

He gazed at Jim. Let out a shaky sigh as Jim put a hand on his cheek and pressed their foreheads together, memories flooding over him and mingling with his hopes for the future.

“I can’t.”

Jim kissed him, just the barest hint of pressure on his lips, and relaxed into his hold.

“I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	243. Chapter 243

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Based on that Gobblepot chapter... inevitably, Oswald betrays Jim. Now Jim needs help picking up the pieces and, as always, runs to Harvey for help._
> 
> I just kind of went with a generic 'Jim realizes too late' plot.

He wasn’t the fresh faced rookie he had once been, Jim knew that. He was tainted by the things he had done, the terrible choices he had made, and all he could do was throw himself on Harvey’s mercy.

Trust in his partner’s ability to forgive and forget, and wait with nervous anticipation for the moment Harvey swept him into his arms and promised him forever.

Because he had never really doubted the outcome of his confession. Was beyond certain of Harvey’s feelings for him. So when Harvey shook his head sadly, when he told him they could never have a future, it hit him with greater force than he had ever imagined possible.

“We would be perfect for each other,” Jim countered stubbornly, determined not to watch his one chance at being truly happy slip through his fingers, “we’re a team, Harv. We’re partners.”

“Were,” Harvey offered reasonably. “You’re just confused and lonely. I know you, Jim.”

It was the kind of assessment he deserved, no question, but Jim knew how to be persistent. Refused to give up or give in, trying declarations and late night talks, and even a spectacularly stupid bunch of flowers because he had been drinking heavily and because he was running out of ideas.

Harvey only raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with the gesture or the state of him - or both - and finally spelled things out in the way he had obviously been going out of his way to avoid during Jim’s previous attempts at humiliating himself.

“You ever consider that maybe I’m just not interested? You ever think that maybe you had your chance and blew it?”

Jim didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the clawing sense of despair that had him dropping down onto Harvey’s beat up couch, head in his hands as he tried to make sense of the mess he had made of everything.

He had waited too long, been too much of a coward to admit to what - to who - he had really wanted, and now the guy who was meant to be his counter-balance, the man who was supposed to be giving his life real purpose, was telling him that he just wasn’t interested.

“I can change,” Jim tried, desperate even as he dashed the tears from his cheeks, “please don’t turn your back on me.”

Harvey was crumbling. Looked at him for a moment the way he did in Jim’s dreams, tender and wanting, and then it was gone, it was all over, and he must have imagined the liquid that swam in Harvey’s gaze as he told him firmly,

“Go and find somebody else, Jim. You’ll thank me one day.”

Jim made a reckless pledge that he would never do either. Reneged, eventually, on the first part but it only made him more certain that he would never manage the latter part of Harvey’s order. He was still confused and lonely. Miserable, along with it, because his confession had only served to lose him the best friend he had ever had.

To deprive him of the one person who might have had a chance of saving him from himself.

He had planned on saying all that when their paths crossed a few years later. Banged on the door of the address he had been given determinedly, rejection and accusation festering in his stomach alongside the aching helpless want he had never managed to vanquish.

Except when the door opened the entire tirade died on the tip of his tongue, withering at the sight of a man he might have passed in the street without recognizing.

Harvey had lost weight. Too much weight. Was pale and gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes and his face framed by lank lifeless hair.

“You look awful,” Jim said, before he could censor it, and Harvey struggled for breath even as he wisecracked in turn,

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re not so hot yourself, you know.”

Jim might have tried for levity, for some of the banter they were always batting back and fore, but Harvey started coughing then, wracking at his frame, and the last thing Jim felt in the mood for was laughing and joking.

“It won’t be long now,” Harvey admitted when they sat facing each other in the run down surroundings of Harvey’s cheap apartment, “I thought that cold snap we had last month might have done it.”

He had to choke back a sob at the twist of a smile on Harvey’s face, a mockery of the happiness that should have been there, and when he couldn’t help but press the heel of his hand to first one eye then the other, Harvey was the one to comfort him and say that it would be okay.

“I’m the one dying,” Harvey tried, and moved to sit beside him so he could place a hand on his shoulder, “so you’ve got no excuse for the waterworks.”

Jim didn’t trust his voice to work. Only swallowed convulsively and focused on the feel of Harvey’s thumb rubbing soothingly over his jacket, and the sound of his voice as he asked for news on how he had been doing. If he was well, and if he was happy, and whether or not their was a soon to be Mrs or Mr Gordon filling all his spare time.

The truth of the situation struck him then. Knocked the breath from his lungs and had the tears brimming and falling again, unchecked.

“You knew. You already knew you were ill, didn’t you?”

The comforting motion on his back faltered before continuing,

“It’s no fun waiting for somebody die, Jim. Trust me. I didn’t want that for you.”

It sounded so logical when Harvey said it like that. Like Harvey had done him some kind of favor.

All Jim could do was stumble to his feet and claim he had to be going.

Howled in the privacy of the squad car, shoulders shaking as he sobbed into his arms, and then went back the following day with his face swollen and heart battered, resolute.

He didn’t argue with Harvey’s reasoning. Didn’t talk about what they could have had or what might have been. There was no point and still less time.

It wouldn’t change anything.

Instead he clung to Harvey’s hand as he faded away before his eyes, and forced a smile to his face as he lied that he was happy and settled and optimistic about the future.

“I’m happy for you,” were the last words Harvey ever said to him, choked and painful but completely genuine, and Jim hoped Harvey never understood what his own silence signified.

He couldn’t imagine ever being truly happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	244. Chapter 244

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _an AU I'd love to see is Harvey as a PI and Jim needing help on a case, I think that'd be really fun :D_
> 
> Just a little mini fill. <3

He had been in the army but he had never been any good at taking orders.

That was one of the first things Harvey noted about Jim Gordon, right after the expensive cologne he wore and before the way his lashes swept against his cheek just so.

If times hadn’t been so lean he’d have turned Jim down flat. Would have shown him the door without listening to a single word of his sorry tale, because he was too old to lie to himself about what he wanted.

He was too old to get it, at least. Too unfit and too worn down - except Jim didn’t seem to notice. Saw in him things that Harvey wasn’t sure had ever been present. He played pretend, all the same, decency and righteousness wrapped around his shoulders like an ill fitting suit, until Jim fell from his pedestal and threw him down in front to cushion his landing.

“You didn’t think we were -” Jim tried when he hit rock bottom, drinking from the bottle and sleeping the days away, “You must have known I would never -”

Harvey knew. He had known it right from the very beginning.

He had let himself hope though and for that he had only himself to blame.

“There are dozens of guys in this city with a licence,” Harvey said instead, “what brought you to my door?”

Jim met his gaze at least, wide and blue and so very captivating, and drove the final nail into the coffin,

“They said you wouldn’t ask too many questions.”

“And you stuck around because you knew I’d never ask too much of you?”

Jim ducked his head, guilt coloring his cheeks, and Harvey took another long slug from the bottle in his hand.

“Do me one favour, Jim, that’s all I ask. Don’t come here again.”

He didn’t know why he bothered saying it. Watched Jim leave with a twisting pain in his chest that no amount of drink was ever going to soothe.

Jim never listened to a word he said. Would do exactly what he wanted.

Because he had seen it from the first, and had gone ahead anyway.

Jim was no good at taking orders - and Harvey wasn't strong enough to make him keep his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	245. Chapter 245

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from Adara_Rose: _Is it too much to ask for a continuation of[Chapter 185](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/30018045) where Jim didn't get there in time and has to deal with the consequences and the loss of the man he loved?_

A single second could make all the difference, that was what they had taught him in the army. Just a moment of indecision, of hesitation, and it could be too late to do anything.

Might be game over, bar the condolences and the three-volley salute.

So when the knot of unease formed in the pit of his stomach he should have done something. Ought to have picked up the phone, or turned up on Harvey’s doorstep. Instead he ignored it, dismissed it, until a street informant told him about the state Harvey had been in. About the drink and the desolation, and still he forced himself to take the stairs at a controlled pace, unwilling to shoulder the blame for Harvey’s decision to accept hush money from the Penguin.

For giving everything he had and failing anyway, as though Jim had never had any experience of hitting rock bottom.

Of driving himself too hard and faltering from the path of righteousness.

There was no answer when he rapped at the door of Harvey’s apartment. No response when he tried Harvey’s cell either, though he could hear the sound of the thing ringing through the cheap ply.

“I know you’re in there,” he called, frustrated and sick with the way the anxiety in his gut was churning, “Don’t be like this, Harvey.”

He slammed his fist against the door again. Thought of walking away and leaving Harvey to deal with his own problems. Hated himself, instantly, for the role he had played in contribution, and lingered for long moments before he couldn’t take it any longer and fished Harvey’s key from his pocket.

Pushed his way into the place that had once felt like his second home - more familiar than home, even - and stood frozen to the spot for another second of inaction, ice cold fear washing over him.

Because he didn’t know what he had been expecting. Harvey drunk and insensible, perhaps, or an angry stand up shouting match.

Not his partner hanging from the ceiling, face pale and lips blue. Hair hanging lank across his face, and hands clenched at his side - absolutely textbook.

Jim played it out as though he had burst through the door twenty minutes earlier. Cut Harvey down with clumsy movements of his penknife, and tried to force air into his lungs, tears spilling unnoticed down his own cheeks because he refused to accept that it was useless.

Didn’t want to give up and didn’t know how to give in, not even when strong hands were forcibly pulling him away, his emergency call finally generating some assistance.

“He’s going to be okay,” Jim said stupidly, shock and grief and regret in control of his thought processes, “He has to be.”

It was the pitying look on the EMT’s face that brought reality crashing around him. Had him breaking down like he had never even made it through basic training, shaking and trembling and stumbling through to the bathroom to retch up the lunch he had only eaten as an afterthought.

The next few days passed in a blur of surreal denial. He signed forms and made arrangements, and almost forgot why he needed to for minutes at a time before the horror of it hit him all over again.

It still didn’t feel real. Perhaps he just couldn’t grasp the finality.

Because there was nobody but him to sift through Harvey’s belongings, and nobody but him to stare blankly at the priest and admit that he didn’t know the answers to any of the questions he had about the homily. He’d never know, he realized with a sickening sense of certainty.

There weren’t going to be any more liberally embellished stories. No drunken evenings propped up against Harvey’s shoulder listening to his jokes. No drunker nights slumped against Harvey’s chest, Harvey’s fingers in his hair as he told him rambling tales until Jim couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Instead he racked his brain for some comment that might serve as indication of Harvey’s thoughts on an open casket, and breathed in the too familiar scent of death when he pressed Harvey’s badge under his cold palm.

“You might not need it,” he said, voice gruff and throat constricted, “but I want you to have it.”

He lingered for a long moment, paralysed with indecision once more. There were other people waiting behind him, fellow officers and the girls Harvey was always slipping money to, like he wasn’t perpetually three months in arrears.

When he did it, when he decided not to care what any of them thought, it didn’t make him feel any better. Didn’t make any difference, didn’t change anything, because he had been clinging to a mythology he didn’t even believe in.

Harvey was gone, and the kiss he pressed to unresponsive lips wasn’t for his benefit.

Was still the closest he was ever going to get to the half formed fantasies he had spent years harboring. The dreams of understanding and belonging, and not being the spineless coward who hid behind his own posturing.

When it was over, when Harvey’s body was in the ground and the rainwater was trickling down the back of his shirt collar, he was subjected to all the platitudes. Told that Harvey was in a better place, and that time was a great healer.

Put his fist through the mirror in the restroom of the precinct’s favorite dive bar, and stood there uselessly as blood streaked his dress uniform, feeling like it was his will to keep going that was dead and buried.

He moved eventually. Held his hand under the faucet and swaddled it with paper towels. Sat silent and unflinching as it was stitched up in the ER, then went back to his empty apartment to stare at the ceiling and think about how good the weight of Harvey’s arm had felt, whenever it was wrapped around him.

To think about could have beens and should have dones, night after night, the loneliness crushing down upon him.

Dragged himself through crisis after crisis, lurching from one disaster to the next, until one night a stranger stared back at him from the window on the subway, older and harder and completely lost.

“Cheer up,” a homeless guy a few seats down called, either not seeing or not caring about the badge clipped to his belt, “it might never happen.”

Jim managed a bitter twist of a smile, and blinked back the sting of tears that had become one of his most constant companions.

It was too late - it already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	246. Chapter 246

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _I NEED a Jim and Harvey fic where they’re even remotely happy._
> 
> Some fluff set after S4:E16.

“Come on, Jim, spit it out.”

Jim had been glancing over at him, less than subtle, for a good twenty minutes now. Had opened his mouth as if to speak a few times, only to reach for his drink instead of dragging whatever the problem was out into the open.

Harvey wasn’t willing to stand for that. Wasn’t willing to risk the fragile bonds of their newly mended friendship with festering resentment or unaired grievances.

“It’s just,” Jim started, cheeks flushing with the after effects of the two whiskeys he had allowed himself, “it doesn’t matter…”

Harvey waited. Gave Jim what he hoped was an encouraging look and braced himself for some new revelation that was probably going to hurt like hell.

“You cut your hair,” Jim blurted, face reddening still further, and though he tried to hide behind the glass in his hands Harvey had already got a good look at his expression.

Was already staring back at him, frozen, because a few months ago he would have fallen to his knees and thanked God for answering the prayers of a hopeless sinner.

A few weeks ago he would have punched Jim right in his stupid face for waiting until their entire partnership lay in tatters to see what Harvey had been hoping for since almost the first moment he had been forced into proximity with an idiot rookie. Since the first time Jim’s big blue eyes had flickered to his mouth and back again, his own breath catching in response and all his barriers beginning to crumble at their foundations.

Here, now, he didn’t know what to feel. What to do, or how to act, or whether or not he was simply setting himself for the kind of heartache there was never going to be any recovering from.

“Yeah,” was what he settled on, draining his glass and grimacing as the booze burned its way down his throat, “you’re always telling me I ought to smarten up some.”

Jim frowned at that, no doubt rolling the words around his head and testing their veracity.

“I say a lot of things. Sometimes I’d be better off keeping my mouth shut.”

It was true, Harvey couldn’t deny that. Had told Jim as much, had made it clear that the only way to get past his deception was to keep quiet and to live with it. The people of Gotham needed a hero, not a guy who had tried and failed anyway.

He, on the other hand - he had no problems with a saviour who was a little tarnished. He’d sat through enough church services, surplice over starched and unruly hair combed into submission, to know that even the holiest of the holy had done things they weren’t particularly proud of.

“Not with me,” he said quietly. “Out there, yeah, you’ve gotta be above reproach. You’ve got to bite your tongue and play at being perfect. In here, with me,” he trailed off a little, forced himself to meet Jim’s blue gaze, heart rate picking up with long vanquished hope, “all I want is for you to be honest.”

“Even if you won’t like what I’ve got to say?”

“Especially then. What’s the point in any of it, Jim, if we can’t trust each other?”

It was more than he had meant to say. So much less than he truly needed to.

Jim nodded anyway and leaned forward to place his glass down on the coffee table. Swiped his tongue across his lips, clearly nervous, and gave him the kind of look Harvey usually only encountered in his pitiful fantasies.

“You didn’t need to cut it. You don’t need to change anything for me. I -” Jim gave a self deprecating shrug. Glanced away, long lashes sweeping against his cheek so that Harvey’s heart constricted in his chest. “I like you the way you are. I’m just no good at showing it.”

Harvey put his own glass down. Prayed that he was making the right decision and reached for Jim’s hand instead, Jim going wide eyed at the contact.

“Why don’t you give it a go?” Harvey suggested, sounding calm but quaking on the inside, “You might surprise yourself.”

He had pushed too far. Had pressed too soon. Should simply have known better.

But then Jim’s hand was gripping at his own, eyes flashing with something that looked like determination. He was leaning in close, slow and careful, and then the fingers of his other hand were touching his cheek, less than steady as Harvey sucked in shallow breaths, flustered with the agony of anticipation.

Jim’s lips were dry, chapped, but Harvey didn’t care a damn. Made a breathy sound that ought to have been embarrassing, and tangled a hand in the hair at the back of Jim’s head, cradling him closer still at the first heated swipe of Jim’s tongue. Groaned, helpless, when Jim found his confidence, pressing him back into the cushions of his couch as he kissed him with a growing air of desperation.

“You’re gonna crease that shirt up,” he murmured into Jim’s ear when they finally broke apart for a moment, “neither one of us is gonna look smart at this rate.”

He was trying to keep it light hearted. Didn’t want to admit how nothing more than Jim’s kiss had stripped away all of his defenses.

“Don’t care,” was what Jim told him, and backed the words up with action. Shrugged out of his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor, and tugged hurriedly at the knot of his tie, so hard his tie clip went flying. “All I want is your hands on me.”

Harvey couldn’t deny him. Didn’t even want to try. Instead he let his hands wander beneath Jim’s shirt, his undershirt, stroking hungrily across the expanses of his heated skin, lingering tenderly over the scars and the bullet wounds while Jim kissed him possessively in gratitude. Straddled his lap and rocked into him, proving that he wasn’t faking any of those reactions.

Gasping, loud and startled, when Harvey succeeded on working a hand between them.

It was too fast, went against everything common sense had to say on the subject, but Jim grinned at him, pleased and just a little mischievous, and suddenly it felt like all the pieces fitted together. Like they were right where they were meant to be, like this was the natural next step for them, and the last of the awkwardness drained away so that Harvey was pushing Jim down to lie on the couch, the two of them groping like teenagers.

Jim couldn’t keep quiet when Harvey got his collar open. Latched onto the skin of Jim’s neck, kissing and sucking, and he could just imagine what Jim would have been doing with those extra few inches of hair, judging by the sting of the hold he was using to keep Harvey’s head in place.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he soothed, his own hands wringing the most perfect sounds from Jim’s mouth, “we’re partners, yeah?”

The death grip loosened a little. Jim nodded, gaze swamped with emotion. And then they were simply staring at each other, his heart racing and his entire soul aching with the sweetness of the moment.

“Partners,” Jim affirmed, as serious as Harvey had ever seen him, and then they were kissing again, giggling stupidly as they fought with clothing and the couch cushions, Jim moaning happily when he finally succeeded in wrapping a hand around the both of them.

The friction was so good. Really kind of amazing, so that Harvey couldn’t help the way his mouth went running off, praising Jim for the way he was clutching at his back, and the strength in his thighs as he rutted up into his movements.

“We should have been doing this years ago,” Jim panted out as he pushed closer, fingers twisting back into his hair like he had no control over them, “We should be doing this every spare moment.”

Harvey laughed into the crook of Jim’s neck. Groaned right on the back of it, muscles trembling with how desperately turned on he was. How close he was, how much he needed this, and then Jim was clinging still tighter, muscles taut and straining as he came apart beneath him. He couldn’t help but follow, couldn’t do anything but take in the beauty of Jim’s flushed face and dishevelled hair, and crush their lips together in an attempt to explain to Jim what it meant to him.

“I think we’ve made a mess of your sofa,” Jim managed finally, showing no inclination to move or let Harvey shift anywhere.

“Don’t care,” Harvey assured, echoing Jim’s earlier words. Smiled soppily at Jim as the other man’s fingers petted at his hair, “We can make a mess of it again in ten minutes.”

Jim laughed, bright and easy, “It’s nice that you think you’re up to it, but some of us got shot up pretty bad a few weeks ago.”

“Any excuse,” Harvey groused, beaming from ear to ear all the while. As he sat up and pulled Jim with him, careful not to jostle at the still healing scar tissue.

“We really should have done this years ago,” Jim said into his shirt front, cheek resting on his shoulder, and Harvey felt his heart twist in his chest at the sincerity. At hearing Jim voice something he had believed in - seemingly hopelessly - for so long he found it hard to remember what life had been like before it.

“There’s no joy without sorrow,” Harvey said, dredging up memories of school literature lessons, “nobody gets where they want to go without suffering on the journey.”

“I love your optimism,” Jim joked, smile pulling at his lips, and for once Harvey didn’t worry at all about what the consequences would be and said simply,

“I love you, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	247. Chapter 247

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I said I was just gonna finish my requests and move on... Yeah, not happening. 
> 
> Here's some more fluffy stuff. :)

Harvey was insatiable. Claimed to be ready and willing any time, any place, and no matter how fucked up the day had been - no matter how terrible - Harvey never chose an early night or the embrace of drink over the chance to be intimate with him.

At least he hadn’t until a few weeks ago.

It was understandable, Jim told himself. Harvey had been sick, had been to ill to even think about it, and it was always going to take a while before things went back to normal. It didn’t mean anything, wasn’t a sign that Harvey was getting bored of him, and yet he still spent every spare moment attempting to elicit some kind of interest.

Shamelessly wore the shirt and tie combos Harvey had professed to like best, and pressed up close in bed at night, as subtle as a sledgehammer.

“I’m not up to it,” Harvey said apologetically at the three week mark, in response to the way Jim’s fingers were stroking up and down his forearm, “I haven’t got the energy.”

“I don’t mind doing all the work,” Jim breathed, trying to sound seductive, because just the thought of it was enough to have his blood pumping. His skin tingling. His dick straining hopefully against Harvey’s thigh, aching with how long it had been, and how much he wanted Harvey to touch him.

Harvey only sighed and gently took hold of his wrist, picking his hand up and dropping it back into Jim’s own personal space.

“I’m not in the mood, Jim,” he said, leaving no room for argument, and Jim had to swallow thickly against the sting of rejection, blinking wetly up at the ceiling.

Berated himself for being too sensitive, for acting like an idiot, but rolled on to his side all the same, facing the wall as he did his best not to let on how he was feeling. He needn’t have bothered, truly, because Harvey was snoring within minutes, and the following morning acted as though they really were nothing more than roommates, so that he didn’t even get a kiss to the cheek as he swallowed down black coffee in lieu of breakfast.

That night it was the same story, and the night after, until he ended up staring critically at his reflection in the precinct locker room, prodding at the latest set of scars blemishing his torso and wondering if they could really be enough to put Harvey off him. If maybe it was his nose, or his face, or if it was just the same thing that always happened when people got to know him.

When they saw the real him. Once they understood what it would mean to have to spend their future with all his issues and his insecurities.

It had him staying later than he needed to. Accepting another pile of paperwork instead of leaving it for the morning, and by the time he got home Harvey was already asleep on the sofa, face bathed in the eerie blue glow of the television.

Jim took a moment to simply look at him. At the dark smudges under his eyes, and the furrow in his brow. He couldn’t help but reach out and try to smooth it away. Tucked the ends of Harvey’s hair back behind his ear, and had his heart clench up in anxious terror, the fear that this was going to be ripped away from him worse than anything the inmates of Arkham could throw in his direction.

“The bed’s more comfortable,” Jim said when Harvey blinked blearily at him, by way of explanation, and Harvey only frowned and looked about himself before saying,

“I thought you’d have been back hours ago.”

There was no accusation in it. Not even any disappointment. It was just a simple statement of fact followed by Harvey hauling himself into a sitting position, looking tired and ill from the effort, and then disappearing off to collapse under the covers.

Jim dropped into the seat he had vacated. Stared unseeingly at the TV set for long minutes, despair weighing down upon his shoulders. It was his own fault for thinking that Harvey could be happy with him.

For believing that anyone could ever be content to set up home with a liar and a hypocrite.

He didn’t go to bed, couldn’t face it. Dozed fitfully on the sofa instead, breathing in the scent of Harvey lingering to the cushion under his cheek, and woke to find Harvey standing over him with an unreadable expression.

“Good movie, was it?” Harvey asked, gesturing at the shopping infomercials playing over on the TV screen, and Jim wished he knew how to get rid of the cold hard edge to Harvey’s tone.

They didn’t meet up for lunch, though it was the one thing Jim felt kept him sane when the job was chaotic and crazy, and Harvey was nowhere to be found when he wanted to do some old school groundwork. He had to take Alvarez instead, against all his better instincts, and the day ended with him getting his arm stitched up at Gotham General, Alvarez less than sympathetic as he told him that he had filled out the requisite forms and would now be clocking for the evening.

“I called Bullock to come pick you up,” the other man said, because their living arrangements were common knowledge, and Jim didn’t have time to say a word on the matter before he could hear Harvey arguing out at the nurse’s station, demanding to know where Jim Gordon was, and how he was doing.

Jim was usually unconscious when Harvey arrived to see him in hospital, and the obvious concern had his chest aching with smug happiness, even as his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Alvarez didn’t hold it against him, at least, intent on making his mistake before some new crisis had him working overtime. As he left, Harvey entered, and it didn’t matter that he was a grown adult - the Captain of the central precinct and a decorated war veteran. All he wanted was for Harvey to wrap his arms about him and promise that he was never going to leave him.

He wanted it so much he didn’t dare make eye contact, didn’t dare open his mouth in case he started voicing it, and then Harvey was crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, pulling him into a one armed embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You can’t be trusted on your own for two minutes,” Harvey told him, the words patronizing but the tone laced with good humor, and in spite his best efforts to keep quiet Jim heard himself say in turn,

“You shouldn’t leave me on my own then.”

He glanced up at Harvey, afraid of what he might see but needing to know, bad news or good, and this time Harvey was the one to look away, uncharacteristically quiet as he told him he had spent the afternoon at the doctor’s office. Jim clutched at Harvey’s hand without thinking about it. Could scarcely draw breath, gut churning with all the things that statement might mean.

“I’m okay,” Harvey assured, but squeezed back at his hand. “Just run down. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are we okay though?” Jim managed, the general chaos just outside the door fading away into nothingness as he waited for an answer.

If Harvey wasn’t ill, if the problem wasn’t physical, then it stood to reason that it went a whole lot deeper.

“I don’t know, are we?”

That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, didn’t do anything to ease his worrying, but Harvey just went on,

“You know I’d understand if you had to look elsewhere? I don’t expect you to be a saint, Jim.”

The truth was that he didn’t sound like he would understand at all. He sounded kind of like it might break his heart in two.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said simply, stubbornly, and maybe it wasn’t the time or the place but he couldn’t think of anything more important than proving to Harvey that he was being completely serious.

He put his all into it, lost himself to it totally, and by the time a nurse was stood at the foot of his bed, clearing her throat impatiently, his heart was racing and his breathing was wild - just like the state of Harvey’s hair now that he had dragged his fingers through it.

“I can’t see any need to prolong your stay with us,” the nurse told him curtly once she had checked his vitals and fixed his dressing, then gave him a half smile born of long familiarity through the amount of time he spent in the place and added, “I don’t think you’re going to be too disappointed.”

Harvey gave him a sheepish grin from the chair beside the bed, newspaper all but forgotten, and Jim didn’t waste any time once they were finally away from prying eyes, pressed close together in some little used stairwell. He had to kiss him again, had to pick up from where they had left off, and hoped he could blame the painkillers for the way he whispered into Harvey’s ear that he didn’t care how far they got, so long as Harvey didn’t push him away again.

“It’s not you, Jim,” Harvey said, “you have to know that.”

“I know,” he confirmed, as though he hadn’t spent the last few weeks agonizing over the possibility, and Harvey only kissed him again before leading him out towards the direction of the parking lot.

“I don’t know how far I’ll make it,” Harvey told him truthfully when they were finally home, finally alone together, and Jim just picked up the conversational thread for him, heart light and smile infectious,

“But sometimes the journey’s just as much fun as the destination.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	248. Chapter 248

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _In response to[chap. 235](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/31835748) \- Harvey had been the one Jim truly wanted this whole time, but he’d never had the guts to say it. It was much easier to use someone with a pretty face for his own pleasure than to admit what he TRULY wanted. How does Jim react to knowing that he’s just lost perhaps his only chance at telling Harvey how he feels? Does he make a move? Or choose to bottle it up inside for the rest of his miserable life?_

Things could never be the same between them, that much was obvious. It was always there, festering beneath the surface, the knowledge of what he had done - and what Harvey must think of him.

Because they’d be working a case or grabbing some lunch. Simply sharing a quiet moment. And then Harvey’s arm would brush against his own, or their gaze would catch for a fraction too long, and suddenly Jim was back in one of Oswald’s private rooms, the air burning up around him as Harvey worked his thick fingers inside him.

As he gasped and sobbed and begged, Oswald’s smug smile reminding him every second of just how low he had fallen. He had gambled his self-respect and his dignity for just one chance at what he wanted, and lost it all anyway.

Harvey couldn’t forget, and Jim supposed he couldn’t blame him for being unable to forgive either.

They had mended more bridges than he had believed was possible. Harvey had taken back his gun and his badge, and sometimes they even went for drinks after work, the weight of the city’s troubles resting on their shoulders.

It was the final step they couldn’t take, to actually talk through what had happened between them, and as the weeks became months Jim began to doubt that they’d ever find the words to address the problem.

Not until another near miss, at least, the dust from the bomb blast still clinging to Harvey’s hair as they set about drinking the horror of the day away in a bar not far from his own apartment. Kept at it long past the point common sense should have had him heading home for the evening, until his limbs felt heavy and clumsy, and he had to reach over and pluck away a piece of debris that had been stubbornly clinging to Harvey’s suit jacket.

Their eyes met, the fact that they weren’t alone fading into insignificance, and Jim stood frozen in place for a long moment - fingers pressed to Harvey’s chest and his own heart thumping wildly. He swiped his tongue across his lips, nerves mounting, and Harvey followed the move closely.

“What is this, Jim? You angling for a repeat performance?”

It was the first time Harvey had openly acknowledged it. The first time Jim had let himself hope that perhaps he hadn’t destroyed his chance of actually being happy.

Then Harvey shook his head, disgusted, and said quietly,

“You’d better tell Penguin that it’s gonna be just the two of you.”

Jim felt the blow of his words like something physical. Wished he knew how to explain that he and Oswald were over. Had never even started, not really, because it had only ever been about convenience.

About making do with somebody who couldn’t say no, because neither one of them could have the man they truly wanted.

“I never meant for it to go that far,” was what he managed to stutter, desperate, “I - I wasn’t in a good place back then.”

He wasn’t in much of a better one now, not by any standards, but Harvey was back in his life at least. If he looked at him like he was scum, less than maybe, it was still better than Harvey wanting nothing at all to do with him.

“You seemed more than happy with the arrangement,” Harvey said, tone flippant but expression haunted, and suddenly Jim saw with clarity what was going to happen. Harvey was going to walk away and he would let him. He would bottle it all up inside, deep down with everything else that really mattered, and in the cold light of day they would both go back to acting as though this never happened.

As though they didn’t understand how there came to be an insurmountable barrier between them, and weren’t thinking of what the event had entailed every time they made physical contact.

He reached for Harvey again, panicked, because he had to do something. He had to try and change the inevitable.

“If I was given a chance to do it over, I still would have gone through with it.”

Harvey smirked, bitter and triumphant, but Jim kept right on talking,

“To have you touch me - anything would have been worth it.”

It was trite and over dramatic, doubtless, but he was drunk and miserable and afraid of being alone for always. There was silence, thick and torturous, and Jim barely recognized the sound of his own voice as he croaked out,

“Please, Harvey.”

“This isn’t a damn pay per view,” Harvey snapped, not at him but the bartender watching them too closely, and clapped a hand on the back of his shoulder. Grabbed his coat from the stool and steered him out into the cold night air, whether for privacy or for something else Jim didn’t dare question.

Not as he shrugged into his overcoat, glancing anxiously at Harvey with every other step, and not even when they made it through the entrance of his apartment building.

“Are we -” Jim began finally when they stood in front of his door, key in his hand, and Harvey only pressed him up against the wood, eyes dark and voice rough with something that wasn’t all anger,

“I won’t share, Jim.”

Jim’s heart was hammering. His breath coming shallow and shaky even as he set his jaw stubbornly and pointed out,

“I’m not asking you to.”

Harvey’s gaze didn’t waver but his voice cracked, helpless,

“I _can’t_.”

Jim couldn’t bear it. Surged forward to kiss Harvey, frantic and needy, and it was only when Harvey reached for his hand and took the keys from his grip that he realized they were still out in the hallway.

“Does this mean you’ll stay?” Jim asked, breathless but hopeful, and Harvey only pressed their foreheads together for a moment, free hand tenderly finding the side of his face, and told him honestly,

“It means I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	249. Chapter 249

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I really want some more fluffy friends with benefits Gordlock with pining?_

“I just want things to be the way they were before,” Jim told him after his quick thinking had saved him from being scraped up off the sidewalk, “I don’t want to lose you, Harv.”

Harvey gazed wetly into his tumbler and wished that he knew how to say no to Jim. How to explain to him, in words of one syllable, that he didn’t want things to return to the status quo. That he was hard pushed to imagine anything more awful.

Because it had started out as simple stress relief. Jim had finished with Barbara, and he had been knocked back by a pretty brunette at the bar, and it had seemed inevitable as they fell through the door of his dive of an apartment, blind drunk and both their right hands pushing down the front of the other’s trousers.

They had kissed, even, open mouthed and sloppy, and later Harvey liked to pinpoint that as the moment he lost his mind and fell for his uptight righteous prick of a partner.

The truth was that he had already been well on the way there. Had probably been halfway there from the second he first caught sight of Jim’s trim figure and his big blue eyes. No matter how much he had complained, irrespective of how much he had postured, he had still gone home that first night and beat one out dreaming of how he could get Jim to shut the hell up for a few minutes.

From there it had all been downhill. He grew to respect Jim and to put his faith in him. Fell head over heels in love with him, a little further each and every day, until he needed Jim the same way he needed oxygen.

Jim didn’t feel the same way. Obviously.

Groaned miserably the morning after, and told him that he was giving up drinking. That they needed to make sure they never got into such a state that a repeat performance seemed desirable.

Later, cramped up in the car with take out cartons strewn between them - along with Jim’s version of lunch in his single cup of coffee - Jim set his jaw and asked him awkwardly just how far they had gone the night before. If they had used protection, and whether or not Harvey had been tested any time recently.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Harvey assured, Jim’s suspicions wounding, and Jim only took another slug of his coffee and tried to joke,

“I just don’t know where you’ve been. I’ve seen the kind of company you keep.”

It made him want to hit out at Jim. Lash out verbally, at the very least, because he realized in that moment that regardless of what happened between them, he would never get what he really wanted. Jim was the good guy, the white knight sent to save them all, and in Jim’s eyes he was soiled goods.

Convenient, maybe, but that was as far as it went.

A wet mouth and a helping hand, so long as they never talked about it in the morning.

Then Jim was sent away to Arkham in disgrace and didn’t waste any time in bagging a date with the lovely Dr. Thompkins. Kissed her and held her in front of him, as though he had no idea what a kick in the teeth it was.

Or simply didn’t give a damn.

He wasn’t in quite so deep then. Really thought that he and Scottie might have a chance at something. Truly believed that he could turn his back on Jim Gordon.

That he could watch Jim walk away and be happy with what he had, rather than pining pathetically for something he had always known was impossible.

He couldn’t, that much quickly became clear, and by the time Jim was shipped off to Blackgate he had given up attempting to lie to himself. Instead he called in favors and leaned on informants. Paid through the nose for assistance and sold his soul to get Jim out of that hell hole.

Clutched Jim to him, helpless, when he finally had him safely back in his apartment, and within minutes the embrace went from brotherly to frantic. It was intense, desperate, and in place of the impersonal touching he usually strove for, Harvey couldn’t stop kissing Jim. Gazed into his eyes and stroked at his face. Made love to him for the very first time, everything perfect but for the absence of love confessions, and held him close in the aftermath, daring to let himself hope that this was the turning point.

Except the next day Jim announced his plan to track Lee down. To try and win her back, to rebuild their life together, and Harvey put a fist through the drywall when he got home because it was that or burst into tears.

He was used to being second best. Even better accustomed to being the last resort.

Was under absolutely no illusion as to how Jim saw their relationship when he returned to Gotham and fell straight into bed with him.

It became a regular thing, became simultaneously the best and the worst thing in his life, so that sometimes he could almost believe that they were a real couple. Until he saw the way Jim looked at Lee, the way he still dreamed Jim would look at him, and it was only force of will that kept him from drawing blood, when she turned up at the precinct to tell him that she was in the process of committing murder.

That was what tipped the scales. What finally twisted the situation from something less than ideal but bearable to something that felt like it was going to kill him. Because he almost lost Jim. Couldn’t find him, wasn’t good enough, and later - when Jim was blinking up at him tearfully and explaining that he didn’t know how long he could fight it - it was all he could do to make it through the crisis.

To pretend afterwards that he wasn’t falling apart, wasn’t pushed to the absolute limit, and he started staying later and later at the precinct, because he wasn’t strong enough to actually say no to Jim. To explain to him that if they carried on the way there were, it was going to break his heart in two.

Instead they started pulling apart. Jim recognizing his white lies and looking at him with hurt eyes, and him unable to admit to any of the problems piling on his shoulder, afraid of falling still further in Jim’s estimations.

Of Jim hating him.

It happened anyway, Jim disgusted enough to leave him all alone in his sterile hospital room, and when Jim signed the Captaincy papers right in front of him Harvey swore to himself that it was over.

He either moved on or had all that he had left crushed out of him.

Now Jim was waiting for him to say that he’d pick up where they left off. To worship him with his body while he tried to hide how much pain his heart was in.

Jim picked up on his hesitation. Ran a hand through his hair, highlighting his pallor and his exhaustion, and said quietly,

“I won’t ask for more than you can give this time. I won’t keep pushing for it to be more than it is.”

That had never been the problem, not once in all the time they had known each other. Jim wasn’t interested in more, didn’t want anything he was offering - except Jim was gazing at him with wet eyes, completely sincere, and Harvey thought suddenly of mornings when he woke to find Jim gone and the scarcely civil tone Jim used with every woman he knew or suspected Harvey had been with.

Saw for the first time self-preservation and jealousy in place of indifference and judgment, and struggled to control the rising hope in his chest as he shifted close enough to put his hand on Jim’s arm.

Jim’s expression was the same mix of hope and rigid self-control. His breath caught, even, as if his proximity was almost too much for him.

“All I ever wanted from you,” Harvey said, solemn, heart hammering frantically, “is everything.”

Jim startled at that, the hope beginning to overwhelm his natural inclination to expect the worst, and maybe it was the fact he had almost died, or maybe it was just the culmination of years of painful wanting. He just felt shaky, way too emotional, and when he tried smiling at Jim in assurance his throat choked up with the enormity of the moment.

“You always get poetic after a near miss,” Jim told him, smiling stupidly even with his voice reduced to little more than a croak, and all Harvey could do was pull Jim to him and kiss him with the gentle possessiveness he had always wanted to.

“You always get kind of clingy,” he said in turn, unable to tear his gaze away, and Jim admitted gruffly,

“I try not to be.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Harvey said, hands stroking across Jim’s back, and Jim just kissed him eagerly all over again before giving him the soft eyed look he had spent the last few years dreaming of.

“Maybe I’ll quit trying then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	250. Chapter 250

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Testaferra put this idea in my head - Jim being sick with jealousy over Harvey liking Lucius - and I just had to have a go at writing it! :)

“That guy is a genius.”

Jim looked from Lucius’ retreating back to Harvey’s awestruck face and felt the familiar surge of bitter jealousy. It wasn’t fair, not at all, because what did Lucius have that he didn’t?

Aside from the master’s degree and the ability to make Harvey’s knees tremble.

It rankled in ways he couldn’t explain. Drove him to distraction, hard done by and frustrated, because he and Harvey could be a perfect match. Half the Department were already convinced they were either screwing each other or on the path towards it.

Everyone else they encountered too, so that he found himself stood on an almost empty club dance floor, teeth gritting together as Harvey hung off every word of Lucius’ blatantly obvious explanation.

“Aw, Jimmy,” Barbara crooned, whispering mockingly into his ear as she helped herself to an early morning cocktail, “I remember that expression.”

“I’ll want your statement in a minute. I wouldn’t get too comfortable.”

Barbara only smiled sweetly. Toyed with the rim of her glass, the way she knew had always used to get him going, and told him that it was cute, really, but what other outcome had he been expecting. He had bored her into another’s bed, and it wasn’t as if Harvey didn’t already have a long string of failed relationships behind him.

Jim tried not to let it get to him. Did his very best to ignore her proficiency at pushing all his buttons.

Looked over at his partner, the other man’s gaze categorically not on the blood spatter Lucius was bending over to point out to him, and pledged there and then that he was going to prove Barbara wrong. If this was a competition for Harvey’s affections, he was going to win it.

Obviously.

So he set about being charming. Paid for Harvey’s lunch the next time they managed not to work straight through it, and bought him a drink after shift, the plan backfiring spectacularly when Harvey waved over a contingent of their colleagues and proceeded to tell him, none too sober, that Lucius really knew how to wear a suit, didn’t he?

Jim held his glass so tight it was a wonder it didn’t shatter. Set his jaw viciously and glared at the man in question. It was just a suit - Jim wore one every day. Looked good in them, really good, so everybody he had ever been with had assured him, and if Harvey couldn’t see that. Well, that was his problem.

Except the very next day he spent his lunch break running personal errands, after loitering pathetically around the labs, waiting for the moment when he was alone and could search the jacket Lucius had left on the back of his chair for a label. He bought one just like it, refused to think about what a sad act he was being, then took his time over getting ready the following morning, knotting his new tie and checking himself over in the bathroom mirror.

He still wasn’t convinced by it, preferred his usual wardrobe, but if it got the kind of reaction from Harvey he was hoping for then it would be well worth it.

Harvey was in court when he arrived at the precinct, giving evidence in a case Jim was relying on being cut and dried. He should have known better. Nothing was straightforward in Gotham City. Nobody bothered appealing through the proper channels.

Instead Reilly’s supporters turned up at the court house with automatic rifles and a suitcase of gelignite.

They averted the worst of the crisis. Evacuated the court and contained the effects of the blast. His new suit was ruined though, scorched through and blood stained, and when Harvey finally lay eyes on it he smiled at him fondly, like the proud owner of an ill trained house pet, and chided him for being such a magnet for danger.

Lucius turned up looking pristine and perfect, pulling his gloves on, and Jim sat in the back of an ambulance watching Harvey put a hand on his rival’s shoulder with a pain that surpassed anything the EMT could do with surgical thread and a needle.

He might have given up then. Might have resigned himself to being lonely and miserable, but then Harvey was clambering in beside him and telling him they’d ring for takeout as soon as he was deemed fit enough to go home for the evening.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jim offered, voice gruff with repressed emotion.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Harvey grinned, stroking that same hand over his shoulder blades, “you’re paying for it!”

It made him more determined - renewed his commitment.

Had him sweating buckets in the precinct gym for all that Harvey had never shown a hint of interest in sculpted abs or bulging biceps - quite the opposite, really - and dressing down in the slim fit black shirt and tight jeans Harvey had once described as his pulling outfit. They were on observation duty, needed to blend in a little, and Harvey just smirked at him as the bouncer turned him away for not having proper footwear.

Jim sputtered with indignation. Had a good mind to flash his badge and demand they apologize, but Harvey tugged the guy aside for some quiet conversation, and somehow they were both being waved in, Jim’s neck prickling with the certainty of being watched all the way up the stairwell.

“What did you say to him?” Jim hissed as they paid the cover price, leaning in close because of the pounding music, and Harvey put a hand low on his back as he steered him forwards and confessed,

“I appealed to his better nature.”

Jim frowned at him, not understanding, and Harvey laughed and pressed against him to speak into his ear,

“I told him I’d already paid good money to secure your company for the evening.”

“You what!?” Jim demanded, ears burning with the humiliation, but Harvey only flagged down the bartender and told him simply that if he was going to dress like a rentboy, they might as well make the most of it.

After that he stuck to suit and tie - his own suits and ties - and concentrated on making sure his hair was perfect, and that the worst of the bruises he was always sporting were under cover. Leaned attractively up against walls and draped himself over chairs as best he could, feeling like a prize idiot but desperate for Harvey to notice what he had right in front of him. He was so intent on batting his lashes up at Harvey out on a job that he didn’t hear the warning until it was too late, and he was stood there coughing and cursing and dripping God only knew what, Harvey laughing helplessly even as a couple of unis barreled up the fire escape to lecture people who threw their trash from an upstairs window.

The only balm was that Lucius had taken what hadn’t hit him, and they both went back to the precinct to make use of the communal showers. Jim scrubbed at his hair until his scalp stung. Turned his skin red and raw, and then glanced over at what Lucius was doing and seriously began to dislike the man because there was no way Jim could measure up to him.

Maybe that was it, perhaps Harvey really was that shallow, and still Jim couldn’t help himself day after day. Preening and pouting and standing far too close for propriety. Deliberately leaning over his desk rather than going around, his own cheeks flushing with the utterly brazen display he was putting on for his partner. Harvey didn’t seem to notice. Was too busy swotting up on the tox reports Lucius had offered to go through with him, so that Jim slammed his locker door shut with more force than was strictly necessary, then kicked a dent into Alvarez’ just for good measure.

“Lucius says I’m improving,” was Harvey’s opening line when they gravitated back towards together to do some good old fashioned door knocking, and in response Jim muttered something less than civil under his breath.

He bet Lucius did.

“I’m not the dullard you peg me as,” Harvey went on, coming to a halt in front of him and jabbing a finger to his chest in emphasis, “you just hate the idea of anyone being cleverer than you.”

“No, I don’t,” Jim shot back instantly, temper rising, “I don’t care a damn what you two talk about behind my back.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow at him. Raked his gaze over him as though he could see right through to the depths of his soul - all the secrets he tried to keep hidden, and all the wistful hopes he kept on clinging to.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

Somehow he got the impression Harvey didn’t believe him.

They made it through the end of the shift without further incident. Didn’t bicker or argue in front of the public, and when he made to storm angrily off home, Harvey put a soothing hand on his arm and asked if he needed a drink after that as much as he did.

Jim bit back the nasty comment on the tip of his tongue, instead relaxing into the arm Harvey flung around his shoulders and conceding that maybe some liquid refreshment was sounding kind of good about now.

Harvey ordered and steered him to a corner booth in place of their usual bar stools, slouching into the worn upholstery and clinking their glasses together. It was cozy, intimate, and Jim drank more than he otherwise might have, already drunk on their proximity.

“So, come on,” Harvey said when his lips were beginning to feel ever so slightly numb, “rest day tomorrow. I’m gonna help you make the most of it.”

“I can’t get too drunk,” Jim warned, holding a clumsy finger up like it would add some extra gravitas to what he was saying. Harvey only nodded, mock serious, and waved over the young guy tending bar who deposited a whole line of shot glasses on the table while Harvey grinned happily.

Jim shook his head.

“No way. Not happening.”

“It’s gonna work like this,” Harvey said, as though he hadn’t even spoken, “you either answer a question - truthfully! - or you drink a shot.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Not an option. The loser is whoever passes out first. Off you go then.”

Harvey was looking at him expectantly, like this was a perfectly acceptable way for two grown men to spend an evening, and in spite of it all Jim did have a thousand and one questions he wanted answering. The drink already flowing through his system was enough to have him actually voicing one of them.

“You told me once that office romances always end badly. Were you talking from experience?”

It was a prelude to what he really wanted to know. A warm up to talking about the present day. Harvey looked distant for a moment, lost in another time and place, then said quietly that he had been.

Shook off the solemnity just in time to ask him which of his ex-girlfriends he most often jacked off to the memory of, so crass and disgusting Jim wished it would make him stop wanting to press closer, and he swallowed down the first of the shots rather than dignify the question with an answer.

He should have realized then what Harvey’s game plan was. Should have seen the way Harvey pushed his own shots over to Jim’s side of the table, and understood why he asked a series of repulsive questions, until Jim was slurring when he told Harvey to stop living down to his reputation.

“If you had to, you know, with someone from the precinct, who would it be?”

“You know, huh?” Harvey mocked gently, smiling at him so sweetly it made his heart flutter in his chest. “Well, I think we both know exactly who it’d have to be.”

“You have to say it,” Jim insisted, because the room was spinning, just slightly, and the least Harvey could do was stick to the rules of the stupidity that was the cause of it.

“He’s good looking,” Harvey said, tone calm but eyes bright with enthusiasm, “really good looking. Well dressed. Smart. Funny too - when he wants to be.”

Jim scowled, too drunk to hold back the reaction. He could really learn to hate Lucius.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Harvey went on, “there are other pretty faces about the place but this guy is really something special.”

Jim slumped back into his seat, the fluttering transformed to a cold weight in the pit of his stomach. A sick sense of despair that washed over him as he listened to Harvey wax lyrical about someone who wasn’t him.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. It was him Harvey was supposed to fall in love with.

He had to push his hand to his forehead. Had to lean his elbow heavily on the table and suck in careful breaths, afraid he was going to be sick or break down and cry - or both.

“You should go say this to Mr. Perfect,” Jim managed, wincing at the accusation audible in his tone, “Don’t let me stop you.”

Harvey snorted softly with laughter. Got up from his seat, Jim’s chest clenching up with the knowledge that he had really gone and done it now, but then big hands were encouraging him to shift over, Harvey dropping down to sit next to him.

To pull him in close, so that his head rested against Harvey’s shoulder, and say quietly,

“Jim, how can a smart guy be so stupid? I was just having some fun with you. I didn’t think you’d ever admit to anything unless you were blind drunk or at death’s door.”

It didn’t make sense, the words swimming around his swamped head, so he clung tighter to Harvey and breathed in the comforting scent of his aftershave.

“I’m not stupid,” he mumbled, adamant. He might not have diplomas lining his office wall, but he wasn’t an idiot. “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You. It’s been real nice you showing how you feel, but now it’s time to say it. Because only a dumbass like you could think that I’d pick someone else when you’re sitting right in front of me.”

Jim scarcely dared believe it. Couldn’t quite get his limbs to co-operate, gaze bleary as he stared into Harvey’s familiar features.

“But,” he tried, thoughts tripping over each other in his head, because last week he had practically sat in Harvey’s lap. Had sucked syrup from his fingers at the diner over breakfast, heart hammering in hope at the color streaking Harvey’s cheeks, and Harvey had just called over the waitress and told her to turn down the heater.

“You hurt me, Jim. You let me fall and you kicked me ‘til I didn’t think I could get up again.”

“I -”

Harvey talked over him and his guilty conscience, expression tender as fingers touched Jim’s face,

“I had to be sure you were serious.” Harvey gave him a sheepish smile, “It was one hell of an ego boost.”

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” Jim managed, with all the tattered dignity he could muster, though he only pressed closer. Clung tighter and let his fingers make contact with Harvey’s hair, the fulfillment of endless hours of wistful daydreaming. “Maybe I’ll tell Lucius he’s welcome to you.”

Harvey just beamed at him and stroked across his cheek, fingers moving then to tease over the ridge of his ear.

“Nah, he’s more discerning than you are.”

Just in case Jim leaned in - every bit as breathless and eager as he had always known he would be - and sealed the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	251. Chapter 251

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because @geekrambling said the last chapter just cried out for some Harvey/Jim/Lucius with Harvey in the middle. :D
> 
> (I suck at writing threesomes so I went the easy route and sex pollened everyone...)

“What’s the verdict,” Jim asked, hands on his hips as he cast his gaze over the strangely hued vegetation, “Poison Ivy up to her old tricks again?”

“If is her,” Lucius answered seriously, “she’s branching out into something new.”

“Branching out, ha. I like it.”

Jim rolled his eyes, too used to Harvey’s terrible sense of humor, while Lucius put on his professional voice and told Harvey to be careful. Warned him not to touch the stuff, nor to get too close to it, and really Jim should have seen it coming. Gotham was the kind of place where you could always rely on the situation to take a turn for the worse.

Because Harvey took a step backwards, obedient, and trod right on one of the trailing little pods they had both been so careful to avoid on the way into the room.

Got a blast of something from the tropical looking flowers hanging from the ceiling, and instead of doing anything sensible like covering his face or waiting for the experts, Jim just stumbled forward blindly because Harvey had outright confessed that he was relying on Jim to save him.

It had been for a specific circumstance, maybe, but Jim loved nothing better than getting to play at being somebody’s hero.

Really got off on being Harvey’s hero, especially these days, and Jim only had to take one look at Harvey to know that this time he wasn’t going to be having an easy ride of it. Harvey was panting for breath, gaze drugged and unfocused, and rather than start putting training into practice all Jim could think about was how intensely attractive Harvey looked.

How good he smelled and how hot the room was, so that he was yanking at his own collar and tie, struggling against the haze descending over him.

“This isn’t good,” Lucius said, his voice sounding distant and distorted to Jim’s ears, and then he went from stroking a tender hand over Harvey’s heated forehead to baring his teeth at his chief forensic officer, half wild with the notion that he would dare reach out and try to touch his partner.

He wanted to draw blood, wanted to claw the man’s covetous eyes out, but then there was a heavy hand on his shoulder and the flood of want that crashed over him drove away all other considerations.

“What I was trying to tell you,” Lucius explained, and he didn’t sound quite as in control as he usually did, “is that it acts as an aphrodisiac. A powerful aphrodisiac.”

“An aphrodisiac,” Jim echoed dumbly, even as the truth of the statement began to make itself known. As he swallowed, helpless, his entire body aching with the need to press closer. Trembling with the conflicting messages, because Lucius needed to stay the hell away from Harvey but, at the same time, maybe it would all be okay if somebody would just touch him.

If he could just touch somebody in turn.

Harvey chose that moment to whine his name. Tacked a please onto the end of it that hit Jim low in the gut, had him frantic with the need for contact, and then he was latching onto Harvey’s neck like some kind of vampire, because Lucius had already crashed their lips together.

It should have been off putting, ought to have been setting off his ill hidden jealousy, but seeing Harvey clutch at him desperately was so hot that he could only rut up against Harvey’s leg and pull at his shirt buttons.

He needed more, needed it now, and somehow they managed to stagger over to the apartment’s unmade bed, though in his right mind Jim wouldn’t dream of touching some unknown stranger’s bedsheets without a pair of gloves for protection.

Harvey pulled him to him this time, the wet heat of his mouth only stoking his arousal higher, one hand tugging just right at his hair when Lucius wrapped a hand around him. Jim had to watch for a minute. Reached out for the other man, experimentally, and Harvey rewarded him by groaning low and loud and looking at him like he was exactly the hero Jim had always wanted to be.

His grip grew a little more confident. Twisted just so on the upstroke, so that a fresh jolt of lust sparked across his skin - he had never once heard Lucius curse before. Decided he liked it, a lot, and then they were kissing, clumsy and desperate as his head swam and his vision blurred along the edges.

From there it was just inevitable. He didn’t play well with others, that was what Harvey told him, but he could try for Harvey’s benefit. He could share, just this once, because Harvey was so hard it looked like it hurt, and if it was going to help to have his mouth on him, it would surely help all the more if both he and Lucius took turns.

Went at it at the same time, even, sucking and lapping and kissing, until Harvey was all but sobbing with every breath, turning the air blue as he cursed and begged in equal measure.

Harvey looked so good spread out between the two of them, always looked good enough for it to be distracting, and Jim couldn’t help but pet at his hair when he stole another kiss from him, his dick throbbing with need even as Harvey writhed wantonly beneath him.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jim promised, voice reduced to a rough croak, and gently stroked Harvey’s sweat damp hair away from his face to seal the pledge he was making. Cupped his cheek, just for a moment, and pressed their foreheads together so he could tell him that he was going to give him what he needed.

What all of them needed.

Then he slowly pushed a spit slick finger inside him, the clenching heat so perfect he had to look away from the sight of Lucius kissing him, one hand stroking him firmly, in order to regain what was left of his composure.

Had to focus on something else, something he could lose himself in, like the way Harvey wailed his name when he lowered his head and set about working his tongue in alongside his fingers.

“Are you sure about this?” Lucius asked when Harvey was pushed to the limit, when he clearly couldn’t take anymore, and though it must have been torture Harvey looked to him first for confirmation. Jim nodded as solemnly as he could in the grip of some delirious superheat, choosing to plaster himself up against Harvey’s side and go back to marking up his neck so the rest of the world could see that he was off limits.

Suckled at his nipples, always Harvey’s weak point, loving the way Harvey held his head in place, too far gone to worry about being demanding.

Eventually though, he had to watch. Had to see the shifting expression on Lucius’ face as he sank into Harvey, and had to see the way it looked, Harvey gasping for air as Lucius hitched his legs up higher.

Thrust into him like he knew exactly what he was doing, unspeakably hot even as it stirred up all his insecurities, so that it meant the world that it was his hand Harvey reached for. His hand he clenched, beyond desperate, leaving Jim’s other hand free to stroke himself with a frantic sense of urgency.

He couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back, even when Lucius had to sacrifice one of the hands holding him up to help Harvey up and over the edge. It was the sound Harvey made that did it, the helpless gasp of satisfaction, and then the oversensitized moan as Lucius just carried right on pounding into him.

As he pushed nearer and nearer to his own climax, so that Jim was still spurting over his own fingers when Lucius’ groaned and shuddered and finally collapsed down into the only free space that was left.

“We need to cordon off this building,” was the first thing Lucius said on getting his breath back, voice muffled into the sheets, while Harvey lay there worn out and sated and complained that he wasn’t going to be walking anywhere just yet.

“I don’t think anybody else needs to know what happened here,” Jim managed finally, trying for composed and professional, and succeeding only in Harvey pressing a clumsy kiss to his cheek and admonishing playfully,

“Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m going to be bragging about this for decades.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	252. Chapter 252

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim cheats. Harvey wishes he could be angry.

Harvey had never doubted Jim would do this to him.

He had hoped, and he had prayed, but deep down he had always known that he was going to end up heartbroken.

Jim was just out of his league. Smart and strong and righteous - and so good looking it sometimes took his breath away. Had him feeling like the luckiest man alive, even as it played on all his insecurities.

Got him anxious and paranoid, and all but convinced that wherever Jim had said he was going was only a cover story for a secret tryst with someone who actually had a chance of holding Jim’s interest. Someone younger and slimmer, with a damn sight more to their name than a mountain of debt and an open invitation at some of the city’s seediest brothels.

Perhaps Jim hadn’t understood that he had given all that up, though he pledged forever and always to Jim every time they fell into bed together. Maybe Jim just felt that his familiarity with paying for it meant that they could never be exclusive.

That he simply wasn’t a suitable candidate for that kind of commitment.

“It wasn’t like that,” Jim croaked, gruff and damp eyed when Harvey tried to make excuses for him, “what happened isn’t your fault, Harvey.”

Harvey had to smile at that, a painfully pathetic quirk of his lips, because this time Jim was completely wrong.

It was his fault for wanting too much, and it was his fault for being too soft hearted to take it on the chin and act as though it wasn’t killing him.

He had wished he could be angry the first time he had really been in this situation, the cheap wedding band cutting into his finger, and Lisa holding her chip up defiantly, bags packed and ready at the door. She was trading him in for a better model, somebody who could offer something other than late nights of worry and long days of scraping by, and instead of putting his fist through the dry wall all he could do was swipe tears from his face and beg for just one more chance, because he didn’t want to be left alone again.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Jim said in the present, his big blue eyes so full of pain it almost hurt to look at them, “I never set out to do it.”

That was the juncture where he ought to lose his temper. Snap and snarl and tell Jim to get lost and not bother coming back. Else, he was supposed to be indifferent. Just a touch disappointed, maybe, so that he could pat Jim on the shoulder after helping him pack his overnight bag, and tell him that there were no hard feelings.

The reality was that he wasn’t capable. Couldn’t pretend to be glad to see Jim go, and couldn’t claim to be anything but devastated that he couldn’t hold on to Jim for just a little longer.

“Don’t cry,” Jim commanded, sounding horrified, but Harvey had always managed to fall short of Jim’s expectations.

It was hardly likely he was going to start changing now.

He wondered if Jim had enjoyed it more than he did with him. If he hadn’t needed to hide his face away in the crook of her neck, ashamed of how desperate he was for something that would have gotten him kicked out in disgrace from the military.

Jim had never been comfortable with it, not really. Didn’t want anyone to know, to have it confirmed, because it was one thing to swap spit with Lee Thompkins in the middle of the precinct, but quite another to allow Harvey to introduce him as his _partner_ to his family.

There was the bitterness, the ugly flash of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it came because he knew exactly what it was like to be afraid of other people’s reactions, and he had no right to begrudge anyone the slip slide back into the arms of temptation.

He wept in earnest then, helpless as his dignity deserted him, and suddenly Jim was clinging to him, fingers clutching tight in the back of his shirt and eyes full of fear. Harvey wished it was justified and that he was actually going to bust up that pretty face of his. He wouldn’t though.

Couldn’t.

Buried his face in Jim’s shoulder and hated himself for asking Jim to stay.

For being weak. For not being able to walk away from his own addiction.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” Jim managed, fingers tangling in Harvey’s hair. “It was a mistake. I swear I’ll never make it again, Harvey.”

That was a promise Jim couldn’t make. Wouldn’t be able to keep, Harvey was certain. He held Jim closer all the same, the relief making the tears flow still harder even as the ice chill of reality crept between them.

Jim would never see him in quite the same light after this - would probably lose what little respect he had for him. Harvey would be more suspicious, more panicked, and eventually they would be forced back into this moment again, Jim a little less remorseful.

“I love you,” Jim said, like it would solve all their problems, “it’s you I want to be with.”

Harvey wished he could believe. Wished he could trust Jim not to hurt him, not even when he was groveling at the other man’s feet, overwhelmed with the simple joy of his proximity.

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispered finally, sounding every bit as sincere as he did when he made his speeches about his fight against corruption, “can you ever forgive me?”

Most of all he wished that he was strong enough to let Jim go.

They both already knew his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	253. Chapter 253

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion piece to [Chap 252]() because ishipallthingssaid: _Is it bad that I kind of want Jim's POV to this, with a ton of regret and him realizing he doesn't deserve Harvey?_

Jim had always known he would ruin things.

It was what he did, the one thing he was good at, because every time he had a chance of actually being happy, he couldn’t help but do something catastrophically stupid.

Choose the job over their welfare, or put his faith in a friend who turned out to be an enemy.

Fall into bed with a colleague he was supposed to have nothing more than a professional relationship with, while his partner was waiting for him at home, accepting his vague excuses about needing to go through a mountain of case reports with a fine tooth comb.

“I remember how that is,” Harvey told him over the phone, the sound of the TV playing in the background, “I can’t say that I envy you.”

There was something off in his tone - bitter memories, perhaps, of how correcting the rookies’ reports came to be his responsibility - and Jim could have called an end to the whole affair right then. Should have simply walked out of there, head held high, and lost himself in Harvey’s embrace.

He didn’t deserve it though. Not the way Harvey looked at him, like he was some kind of gift from above, and not the words Harvey said to him, promising him forever and always.

It was late when he got back, showered and changed but still feeling filthy, and he holed himself up in a bathroom for a second time, scrubbing his skin raw. It didn’t make any difference. He didn’t feel any better and he certainly didn’t learn his lesson.

Made the same mistake, over and over, because when he was in her arms it was all so simple. He knew what he was doing, never doubted that she was enjoying it, and when somebody finally saw them together he didn’t have to worry about the ugly slurs he had so feared hearing directed at him back in the army.

For the first time he tried on the notion that maybe he didn’t care anyway. Why should it matter what strangers thought of his preferences? They were safe, and they were legal, and the only person he was hurting with them was the one he ought to be doing everything in his power to protect from his own toxicity.

Because Harvey acted tough. Cracked foul jokes and told tall tales, but underneath the bluster he was soft and vulnerable. Was so afraid of getting hurt he all but invited it, and Jim knew before he even found the words to tell Larkin it was over - he was going to deliver the body blow himself and dump the whole sordid affair on Harvey’s shoulders.

He wasn’t strong enough to carry the secret, couldn’t bear to lie while Harvey continued to place him on a pedestal, and it was less than two weeks before he cracked, gut twisting itself into knots as he haltingly confessed what he had really been doing when he claimed to be working late.

Harvey didn’t get angry. Didn’t rant or rave or throw anything at him. He didn’t seem disappointed in him either, though it had to be shattering illusions. Or not, maybe, because Harvey started talking as if it had been practically inevitable, making excuses for him because perhaps Harvey had misunderstood how serious Jim was about them.

Perhaps Harvey had never made it clear enough that he wasn’t interested in so much as looking at anyone else now.

“It wasn’t like that,” Jim forced himself to croak, heart aching at what he had done to this man in return for his loving him, “what happened isn’t your fault, Harvey.”

He wanted Harvey to rise to that. To yell at him that of course it wasn’t - to drive home the fact that Jim had brought all this misery down upon himself. Instead Harvey tried to smile, like the most important thing was to reassure him that he was all right, and Jim had to blink against the tears blurring his vision.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Jim tried to explain, the words so entirely inadequate for the purpose, “I never set out to do it.”

That was when it really hit him. The true scope of what he stood to lose, and how right Harvey would be to simply walk away from him. Because he had hurt Harvey badly. Had abused his trust and lied to his face, and rather than punch him square in the nose for his awful behaviour, Harvey was the one struggling to hold back tears.

“Don’t cry,” Jim managed, his voice so strained as to be almost unrecognizable, and something flashed across Harvey’s face for a moment.

Regret, maybe, for ever taking a chance on him, or remorse for the rejection he was going to have to deliver to him.

Except Harvey was pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Clung to him, a touch frantic, and buried his face in Jim’s shoulder as he shook with the force of his own sobbing. Jim clung to Harvey in turn. Clutched at the back of his shirt, as tight as he could, terrified that it was all going to be over.

That he was never going to be given the opportunity to try and make it up to Harvey.

“Stay,” Harvey said finally, muffled into his suit jacket, “Please don’t give up on what we have, Jim.”

The relief of it hurt like something physical. The anguished delivery made him want to claw his own flesh from his bones, even as Harvey’s stuttering breathing made him want to hold him still closer and never let go.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” was the best Jim could manage, tears sliding silently down his own cheeks as he touched fingers to Harvey’s hair, “It was a mistake. I swear I’ll never make it again, Harvey.”

It wasn’t the sort of promise he ought to make because he always repeated his mistakes. Always made things worse, hurt people further, and if he was any kind of man at all he’d leave now and let Harvey build a better life.

A life where he would be happy, adored by somebody who never gave him cause to doubt their sincerity, instead of wondering whether Jim was telling the truth this time, and if he needed to be looking out for lipstick stains on his work shirt collars.

“I love you,” Jim pledged, like the act of saying it would solve all their problems, “it’s you I want to be with.”

Harvey was still crying, still hadn’t been able to pull himself together, and Jim hated himself in that moment even more than usual. He hated what he had done and what he would go on to do, because even if he never again screwed up in that way, he would surely find some new avenue with which to inflict more pain and suffering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, the words every bit as difficult to push past his lips as they always had been, “can you ever forgive me?”

It was a cruel question to ask, right there and right then, but Harvey didn’t hesitate to give him the answer he was most afraid of.

It didn’t matter what he did, how obvious it was that he was never going to be the man Harvey deserved - they both knew Harvey wasn’t lying when he said he would forgive him anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	254. Chapter 254

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim mourns the loss of Harvey’s long, luscious hair!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)

In many respects, Jim was a predictable kind of guy. When they went to a bar he always ordered the same drink, and whether they made it to a swanky restaurant or a downbeat diner he did his best to eat the same blandly serviceable meal.

He never changed his cologne or his laundry detergent, and every time he had a suit ruined beyond redemption he went straight out and bought another that looked almost identical.

It manifested itself in other ways too, Jim’s love of the familiar. Because while he might live to enable fundamental change in the workplace, away from the job he could be relied upon to spurn change and fall for the exact same attributes over and over again.

He liked knowing smiles, and teasing banter, and hair long enough to run his fingers through. To sit and mess with, the two of them curled up close together, loving the smell and the feel and the intimacy.

Not that he had ever got to do it as much as he wanted to, not when Barbara invariably complained that he was ruining her style, and Lee was just as bad as he was at relaxing enough to sit still for more than a few minutes. His girlfriend in high school had liked to wear her hair in tight rows of braids he was under strict instruction not to even think about touching, and his boyfriend in college went home for spring break and took it upon himself to come back with a buzz cut.

That had hit him for six, reeling with the shock of it, and as he glanced out of his office window on Monday morning, eager for a glimpse of his partner, he felt the same sensation wash over him all over again.

It wasn’t a buzz cut, thank God, but it was nowhere near a simple trim either.

He stared at it, helpless, when they were supposed to be concentrating on their caseload, and berated himself silently because how shallow must he be to mourn the fact that Harvey’s hair was no longer brushing his shoulders.

It had just looked so good though. Had been featuring extensively in his pathetic fantasies. Jim supposed that the cut was kind of symbolic, really, because the truth was that Harvey was never going to want Jim’s hands on him.

He didn’t want Jim’s baggage, and he didn’t need all Jim’s insecurities.

That was what Jim was thinking as he stared at his never decreasing pile of paperwork that evening, heart aching in his chest because there wasn’t much he wouldn’t give if it meant knowing just once what it would be like if his pitiful crush wasn’t so completely one sided.

He looked up at the sound of a knock at the open door, his insides twisting at the sight of Harvey.

“You planning on going home at all tonight? People generally work a whole lot better when they at least have a plate of hot food inside them.”

Jim opened his mouth to say that he had too much work to do. That he wasn’t hungry anyway. But his stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear it, and he ended up smiling sheepishly as Harvey took his coat from the peg and held it out for him to put on, like some gallant gentleman in a black and white movie.

Harvey wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he walked him out. Let him press in closer to the solid heat of him once they were outside in the cold wintry night, and didn’t protest when Jim kept it up back at his apartment, the two of them all but snuggled up on the sofa with their dinner in their laps.

The TV droned on in the background, signaling quiet domesticity, and Jim was just gazing at the shorn edges of Harvey’s hair, fingers itching to reach for them, when Harvey demanded melodramatically,

“So when are you going to compliment me on my stylish new look? I got it cut regulation length for you, you know.”

Jim was horrified to hear that. Must have shown it too because Harvey gave him a sad little smile and put some space between them. Cracked a lackluster joke about no amount of paint being able to cover a hole in the wall, and generally sounded so rejected and maudlin that Jim had to put his own pride on the line.

Finally allowed his fingers to make contact with Harvey’s hair and said earnestly,

“Some rules are made to be broken, Harvey.”

Harvey blinked at that. Sucked in a breath when Jim pushed his hand further into Harvey’s hair, fingers sliding along his scalp, then let it out shakily.

“You kept staring at it,”Harvey said quietly, as though afraid to break the spell and for things to return to normality, “I figured it was making you uneasy.”

Jim tugged a little at the hair between his fingers, not enough to hurt but enough to gauge Harvey’s reaction, good or bad, to the feel of it, and the helpless breathy sound Harvey made had the blood flushing to Jim’s cheeks and flooding somewhere southwards. Had him throwing caution out the window, a strange sense of certainty settling over him now he had made the first faltering step.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off it,” he confessed, “it was all I could do not to touch it.”

“I’m giving you an open invite,” Harvey pledged, tilting his head to give him better access, “do you have any idea how long I’ve wished I could do this?”

He demonstrated with a kiss to his lips, soft and tender and perfect, and then Jim had to offer up a kiss of his own, one that quickly went from chaste to exploratory. To both of them frantic and breathless, desperate to get closer to each other, his fingers tangled tight in Harvey’s hair as Harvey held him, and kissed him, and rutted up against him so perfectly that Jim had to grind his hips up in a fevered rhythm.

“Don’t stop,” he begged, hoarse and needy, and Harvey did just as he was told, yanking at their pants with one hand so that they could rub together through their boxer shorts.

It was too much. So good Jim couldn’t control himself.

“Come on, Jim,” Harvey panted, flushed and sweat damp and gorgeous, “You’ve gotta let me watch you come for me.”

Jim moaned, the plea pushing him still closer, and then Harvey was hissing out gratitude at the tight grip in his hair. Was babbling about how he loved it, how he needed Jim to never stop doing it, and Jim jerked and shuddered as he reached his peak, pulse after pulse sticking the material to him while Harvey whispered hotly in his ear how absolutely perfect he was.

“Promise me you won’t cut it again,” Jim whispered later, fingers possessive as they petted gently through the thick short strands, though it was hardly his place to go demanding anything of the sort from Harvey.

He felt Harvey’s smile, where his cheek was resting against Jim’s chest, and then Harvey reached out clumsily for his other hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he said mischievously, thumb stroking soothingly over the back of his hand, “it all depends on how you’re going to make it worth my while.”


	255. Chapter 255

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For meowitskatmofo who said: _For your consideration... what if Harvey is just all talk and he's actually a virgin? I have a mighty need for an awkward and sweet smutty first time with Jim._
> 
> TW for homophobia.

Finish school, get married, have kids. Not necessarily in that order.

That was how it worked in the Bullock clan and Harvey had never considered that his life would play out any differently. Not when he was having his hair combed into submission to attend family weddings, and not when he was being forced into his Sunday best to go and watch another baby being christened.

Not as his school friends began to change their opinions, one by one, on how gross it was to have to sit next to a girl, and not even when a family gathering fell silent and awkward at his childish declaration that he was never going to kiss a girl ever.

The realization came later, slowly dawning when nobody wanted to tell him where his favorite cousin was, then crashing over him when the news filtered through that Kevin was dead but he didn’t need to go shine his shoes or get a haircut.

They weren’t going to the funeral.

Nobody was. They weren’t supposed to talk about it, even, as though one day all the adults had woken up and collectively decided that Kevin had never existed.

Harvey wasn’t content to settle for that. Asked and cajoled and badgered, and finally got an excruciatingly uncomfortable explanation from his mother about birds, and bees, and sexually transmitted diseases.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about,” his Ma said when it was finally done, clearly glad for it be over, and Harvey lay awake in bed that night into the early hours. Twisted her words around in his head, this way and that, and embarked on a lifetime of being terrified that he was going to end up just like Kevin.

Because he wasn’t a late starter and he certainly wasn’t too much of a gentleman. He just wasn’t interested - not in girls at any rate.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t try. Of course he did. Went on dates and played along when his friends talked about who they found attractive. Hid dirty magazines under his mattress because it was what was expected, and stared at them when his Ma was out working late, willing himself to feel something other than panic that the images did less than nothing for him.

Not until he flicked to a page that wasn’t just some scantily clad woman gazing sultrily at the camera and put the thing to its intended use, though afterwards he felt sick to his stomach and sobbed helplessly into his pillow because it was proof positive that all his prayers had gone unanswered.

That was the moment it really started, the lie he was going to spend most of his adult life living, because the only option open to him was pretence and secrecy. Not unless he wanted to disappoint his family and burn in Hell for eternity into the bargain.

So he got a date for prom, and exchanged awkward kisses in the darkness of the local lovers’ lane. Dutifully put his hand on her breast, when she dragged it halfway there, and almost let out of a sigh of relief when a uniformed GCPD officer tapped his flashlight against the car window.

For his school friends it was enough not to clarify the matter, to let them jump to their own conclusions, and when Kristen smacked him across the face for spreading groundless rumors it only had them more convinced that he had really lost it on the backseat of his rustbucket.

At home his Ma chose to believe that he was a good Catholic boy, just the way she’d raised him. Accepted him at his word when he said that he was waiting for the right person, the one he would want to walk down the aisle with, and then she fell sick and anyone could forgive him for not having a thought to spare for dating.

She went downhill fast, until she looked like nothing but skin and bone and Harvey had to rigidly hold himself in check at the sight of her, all too aware that it could be any day now.

“All I want is for you to be happy,” she told him one night, struggling for breath and gripping weakly at his hand, “I want to be able to look down on your smiling face and all my beautiful grandchildren.”

He burst into tears at that, shame warring it out with a sense of failure - with the fear that this was God punishing him for the black sin within his own soul - while his Ma misunderstood and promised that she might be gone, physically, but she would never once stop watching over him.

That weekend she slipped away, expression peaceful for the first time in months of painful treatments, and he wandered through the next year almost like a ghost, not knowing what to do with himself. He was lost, aimless, and on the anniversary of her death he got so drunk he set out to do something stupid, heart hammering with nerves as he stepped over the threshold of one of the city’s most notorious gay bars.

The air was hot and thick with cigarette smoke, and the music was so loud that he had to practically yell in the bartender’s ear before he could hear him. He downed the drink too fast when it was delivered, and when he placed it back on the counter it was to find a stranger pressed into his personal space, offering to buy him another one.

Harvey looked the guy over, from his mustache to the leather of his expensive loafers, and nodded as though he had the first clue as to what the hell he was doing. He was asked his name, and whether or not he came there often, before being steered over into a more private little corner, gut churning with a mixture of nerves and drink and adrenaline.

He could do this.

Needed to do this.

There would be no turning back afterwards. No more pretending that he didn’t know exactly what he wanted. Why his gaze lingered on the blond guy who worked at the video store he spent too much of his time in, and why he was never going to be able to introduce his family to the girlfriend they insisted he had to be hiding from them.

Then the guy was kissing him, all slick tongue and the bristle of his facial hair, and Harvey had to get away. Had to run, as far as he could manage, until he was bracing his hands up against the wall of some nondescript alleyway, retching violently.

That night served as a wake up call. Told him that if he wasn’t going to find fulfillment the way he had always imagined he would, he had to do something with his life. He needed to have something to aim for. So he quit the latest dead end job he was working and signed himself up for police academy.

It surprised him how much he enjoyed it. How quickly it became a vocation. He was good at it, had the potential to really make a career of it - so long as he kept his big mouth shut and nobody ever suspected. Because he was getting a reputation for being by the book and refusing to take backhanders, and it wouldn’t take much of a push for him to get what many of the lads would see as his comeuppance and be left bleeding out on the sidewalk, everyone too busy to provide back-up.

He heard the things the others said when they patrolled the clubs on the East Side. The barely concealed disgust and the outright refusal to offer first aid assistance to a guy who had been knifed in the gut, red spilling over the ground around him.

“We don’t get paid enough,” his partner said, folding his arms across his chest after calling it in, so it was up to Harvey to drop to his knees and pull the gloves they were issued for these situations from his duty belt.

“A life is a life,” he said afterwards, numb and blood covered when the doctor came to tell them that the man hadn’t made it, and rather than laugh or mock or lecture, Morley clapped a hand on his shoulder and admitted that he’d done a good thing by trying.

Things started to get a little easier after that, as though he had proven himself somehow. He was invited to drinks after shift, and to the poker nights and the bachelor parties that marked the supposed highlights of the departmental calendar. It was on one of those that he slipped up, revealed something of his ignorance, because for all his bluff and his bluster he had managed to reach the ripe old age of 26 without ever once making a home run.

He went on dates, sometimes. Nice Catholic girls he was introduced to through family, who he kissed close lipped on the cheek when he walked them home and declined their offers of coffee. A girl who was anything but, once, who stuck her tongue in his mouth and her hand down his pants, before giving up in frustration when the initial excitement of the touch faded and he couldn’t maintain an erection.

“You haven’t lived,” the others joked, assuming it was the single act and not the entire repertoire he was lacking familiarity with, and the night ended in some third class brothel, all his protests falling on deaf ears.

“They’ll see you right,” Pierce told him, all lecherous wink, and Harvey gave in and accepted his fate, because Pierce was a Sergeant with the Vice division.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. All he needed to do was close his eyes and think of Gotham.

“I’m not here to force you to,” the woman said finally, kindly like the whole reason for his being there was tea and sympathy, “We could just talk if you’d rather.”

He would. Nodded his agreement and thanked God for the drink in his system, and the way it was dulling the sting of painful embarrassment as he asked her plaintively if she was going to tell anyone. She just smiled at him, genuine, and said of course not. That it wasn’t unusual, not particularly, and besides he was still going to be paying her for the privilege.

That raised a smile of his own, just a small one, and he took a few moments to simply be before he had to go back to the playing the part of someone he wasn’t, ever more perfectly until he forgot that it had been an act in the first place.

“You’ll find someone,” she told him sincerely when his allotted time was up, “you don’t need this place.”

Harvey just offered her a strained smile in acknowledgement and wished that he could take her words at face value.

Maybe there was something of the fortune teller about her though, because a few weeks later he was standing guard at a crime scene when his knees went weak - and it had nothing at all to do with the violence the poor old soul under the tarp had suffered before meeting his maker.

The new assistant medical examiner was flashing his badge, apologizing for not being entirely au fait with GCPD procedure, and Harvey could only stare stupidly until a senior detective came over and muttered something about the degenerating state of the uniform ranks. That should have been it, a few transient moments of idiocy, but he had to go and make the fatal mistake of falling for a man who by rights ought never to have reason to do more than glance in his direction.

He tried not to let on. Did his very best to ensure that nobody noticed. But he couldn’t help but go out of his way to find reasons to speak to the man, and after a particularly awful case he found David shaking as he lit a cigarette, asking him rhetorically how the hell anyone was supposed to get used to it.

Harvey glanced back towards the police tape. Thought of the little figures inside, bound and beaten, and said quietly that he didn’t think you were. You just got better at hiding what it did to you.

From there they exchanged words every time their paths crossed. Chatted over drinks sometimes, at the precinct’s favorite dive bar, and from there it was hanging out on his rest days, and him inviting David around to his apartment, to eat take out and watch the ball game.

What he wanted was wrong, he knew that. The Church said so, society said so, and even his own Mother - the best and kindest person he had ever known - would likely have cut him out of her life rather than be tainted by it. But still he couldn’t help hoping. Dreaming. Spending time in the gym and trying to look something approaching presentable.

He bought a new shirt and went for a haircut. Underwent such a transformation that his aunts were all convinced he was planning to pop the question to someone, and Harvey felt like he was going to fall apart with nerves because it had to mean something that David was happy to spend so much time with him. Had to be symbolic of more than just his wishful thinking, the way David looked at him.

Except when he finally took the risk, when Harvey dared to reach out and touch David’s hand across the table, pulse crashing in his ears, David just pulled away. Flinched like his touch was repulsive. Yelled at him, and swung for him, and three weeks later he announced that he was moving upstate to become some backwater’s Chief Forensics Officer - but not before telling the station grapevine exactly what Harvey had been hoping for from him.

Told him to his face that he was disgusting, that he ought to be ashamed of himself, and it didn’t matter that the wider world was changing according to the articles he read in the glossy magazines on observation duty. Harvey saw in that moment that his life was going to carry on just the same way it always had.

It didn’t take long for word to get around. Only took a few days to undo the hard won gains of years of self-denial - for graffiti to appear on his locker, and for his own partner to go to the Captain and request a transfer. First he tried ignoring, then he tried denying it. Quickly moved on to fighting back, and got reprimanded for giving a fellow officer a black eye and a broken nose, so that it took another try entirely to pass his Detective’s exam and get a transfer of his own over to the 21st.

He was working Vice now, and it turned out that Pierce had been a moral paragon compared to the rest of them. A genius detective too, by all accounts, so he let the rest of the team believe what they obviously wanted to, when he took girls for breakfast and built up informant networks. Slipped them cash on nights so cold his breath misted in front of his face, and accepted offers of coffee and cigarettes in dingy little back rooms, sitting on unmade beds as he collated the snippets of information that were going to change Gotham for the better.

It had come to him, not in a dream, exactly, but something not so very far from it. He had been at church, his monthly concession to his mother’s memory, and the priest’s rambling about sacrifice and duty captured his imagination. Coincided with a vicious case that just kept growing, the fingerprints of mob involvement smeared all over it.

That was it. That was why he was destined to be forever lonely and lacking in emotional entanglements. To struggle to make confession, or even to convince himself that he wasn’t sick in the head, not after so many years of telling himself otherwise. Bringing down Carmine Falcone was what he was meant to do, then. Was what he dedicated the next few years to doing, single minded and determined. He earned his stripes with Vice and climbed the next rung of the ladder. Made the move to Central and to Homicide, and made an instant enemy of his new partner by refusing to listen to reason.

“Falcone is a necessary evil,” Dix told him, candid, “without order there’s chaos. You’d do well to remember that, Bullock.”

“We’re meant to keep order,” Harvey said in turn, stubborn and self-righteous, “not the damn criminals.”

Dix sighed and took a long pull from his hip flask. “Nobody’s perfect. What about you and your ‘girlfriends’? You’re not as discreet as you think you are.”

Harvey just shook his head, a bitter twist of a smile on his face. He might be thought corrupt, and he might be considered kinky, and seedy, and disgusting. But he had done what he had set out to do. He could wheedle out information from the closed network of brothels and pimps where even the most invested struggled, and by extension nobody on the force - not even his own partner - would believe that he was a virgin in his thirties who had never even been into women.

Beyond that Dix’ pep talk had no impact. Harvey only worked harder. Became more focused on his mission to clean up Gotham. Befriended Falcone’s latest investment, a beautiful woman named Maria who was all sharp edges and burning ambition, and stared Falcone himself down when he was granted an interview, spurring the man’s offer of a drink and warning him that he was never going to be bought off like the rest of the precinct.

Dix tried to tell him. Attempted to convey the danger he was putting himself in through his thick skull. Failed at each and every turn, Harvey too stupid to see sense, and when he went charging in once again with all guns blazing, Dix was the one who paid the price for it. Dix was the one laying in a hospital bed, pale and broken, and it was Dix who was never going to walk again.

Never going to return to the force. Never going to be able to look after himself, even, and Harvey sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, and beat up his knuckles on the wall outside. Sacrificed a good chunk of his monthly pay check to help ensure Dix wasn’t shipped off to some dismal gray asylum.

Gave up on his crusade and gave up on playing the hero. Gave up on most everything, though his family called by one after another, trying to understand why he kept missing special occasions. Left their messages unanswered and turned down their invitations, preferring to sit alone and pickle his liver.

“Just forget I ever existed,” Harvey said to his Aunt Lil when she put in her appearance, finding him drunk and dishevelled, and his apartment stinking to high heaven. “It would be better for everyone.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said in turn, “we’re you’re family, we love you.”

“I bet Kevin thought you loved him too.”

It was a cruel thing to say. Nasty and vicious because Lil was Kevin’s mother, and the words hit their mark so well she looked stunned, as though he had physically struck her.

“This isn’t the same thing,” she said finally, soft and quiet, and Harvey only reached for the dregs of whiskey left in the bottle on the coffee table and left what he was thinking unsaid.

How little she knew.

Eventually they stopped trying so hard. Pushed the invites under his door, regular as clockwork, but otherwise left him alone to wallow. Until he moved apartment at any rate, without leaving a forwarding address, and then he didn’t hear from anyone. There was nothing to do outside work but to drink himself into oblivion, and gamble away whatever spare cash he had in his pocket. At least there wasn’t a lot of it, thankfully, not after he had paid out for Dix’ care, and shelled out pin money to every girl working along Bowman Street.

He didn’t begrudge it though. They were the only friends he had left, because for the small price of his pay check they listened to his problems and pretended to be happy to see him. What was that if it wasn’t friendship?

It hit him sometimes, usually when he was somewhere approaching sober, what a mess his life had become. He was past saving, so lonely he couldn’t bear it unless he was off his face on something, and over the years he tried to end it all a few times - with pills and a rope and attempting to goad one perp or another into shooting him. None of it worked, regardless, and of everyone who could have found him, drugged and desperate, and driven him over to Gotham General, he would never have expected Fish Mooney.

“What are you running from?” She asked him when she came back to visit the next day, admiring her freshly painted fingernails.

“Nothing.”

It sounded as ridiculous as it felt to say, and Fish gave him a smile that looked almost genuine.

“We’re all running scared from something, darling.”

It was out of gratitude for that moment, perhaps, that he agreed to start doing her favors. Either that or he wanted the definitive proof. The final nail in the coffin of his doomed crusade to rid the city of Falcone’s influence. In exchange she let him use her back rooms. Let him talk to the girls and sometimes get his shoulders rubbed, and kept up the bullshit facade for the sake of his ever changing partners, like he was a suave ladykiller instead of an alcoholic shambles.

They talked sometimes, soft and genuine in the quiet of her inner sanctum, and he thought that if circumstances were different - if he were different - he could have lost his useless heart to her.

“Love is the biggest weakness you can have,” she told him once, doubtless recalling some long ago liaison that ended in suffering and bloodshed, then ran her sharpened fingernails down the arm of her latest plaything and cooed to the unfortunate looking lad that at least he would never have that problem.

The kid looked up at him, an anxious glance that Harvey had to turn away from. He saw too much of himself in the attempt to pretend that the words were like water off a duck’s back.

Because decades later and Harvey was still lying to himself. Claiming that he didn’t want anyone - didn’t need anyone. That he was happy with the calloused grip of his own palm, and that he didn’t drive past the boys on Fourth Street, night after night, fighting back the urge to stop and pay one of them to just get it over with.

He had squandered all his chances. Left it far too late to make any kind of real connection with anyone. It was better that way, at least for everyone else he encountered. Because he went to his mother’s graveside after Amanda died, unable to deal with the shame of having been unable to save another partner, sitting on the rain sodden ground and crying like a baby. Before the year was out he was going to drink himself to death. By Christmas maybe they would be together.

That was what he told her, hands shaking as he drained his hip flask, then finally went home and fell into bed fully clothed, shivering with the cold and the misery.

He had no doubt things would have played out that way if there hadn’t been a miracle. If he hadn’t rolled into work the following morning, unwashed and unshaven, and had the breath stolen from his lungs at the sight of Jim Gordon.

Jim was an idiot. Thought he knew it all, had an answer for goddamn everything, and looked at him as though he were pond slime proving that he was an excellent judge of character. He was brave though. Dedicated. So earnest about his one man quest to eradicate corruption that Harvey couldn’t help but think of the idealistic rookie he had once been, truly believing that he could make a difference.

He tried to make Jim see sense. Explained the realities of Gotham to him, the way Dix had once done for another self-righteous dumbass, but instead of Jim listening to a word he said, he was the one who fell hook, line and sinker for the dream Jim was shilling.

Just fell in general, really, because Jim had the most beautiful face he had encountered. The most beautiful soul too because rather than spare himself, rather than save his own skin, he talked down crackpots with guns and let himself be used as a one man barrier. Drove Harvey out of his mind, nearly, because he was never likely to forget what had happened to Amanda, and then Cobblepot turned up at the precinct, as good as signing Jim’s death warrant.

His rational mind was ready to call time over that. Warned his cold aching heart it was time to throw in the towel. But all he could think about - beyond the pain of the punch Jim had landed - was how Jim had done the right thing. How Jim was offering him the chance to the do the right thing. To become something other than the walking joke he had sunk to.

One of the girls he knew from the docks listened to him think it all out, nodded occasionally in the wrong places as she worked through a bottle of vodka, until finally he made his mind up and in deference to her bruises and the angry looks her pimp kept shooting told her she might as well come with him.

“You want to keep in with this one,” she said when they got there, looking around the expensive decor of Barbara Kean’s swanky penthouse, and Harvey just held up one of the bottles he had snagged from the home bar and said that was something they ought to drink to.

What really clinched it was when he started making an effort not to drink to it. To turn up to work on time, and to get his apartment into some kind of order. He laundered his suits and ironed his work shirts. Quit taking kickbacks, for all his pocketbook didn’t thank him for it, and he didn’t have time for gambling, not now he was actually taking an interest in investigating again.

He wanted Jim to think well of him. Needed Jim to see something worthwhile in his company. Was so obvious about it that Dix called him aside at the end of their surreal meeting, and quizzed him so thoroughly that Harvey called by one of his many boltholes on the way back to the precinct, just in case Jim was also reading something untoward into his behavior.

Jim didn’t like it, couldn’t condone it, not knowing that Harvey spent a good twenty minutes asking all the girls who weren’t otherwise occupied if they had heard anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant. They came up trumps on one of his open cases, just the same as usual, but Jim only grunted at the revelation and told him that there was a time and place for personal errands.

Not there and not then, clearly, and as the pair of them grew closer Harvey stopped acting the role quite so tenaciously. Began to reconsider a few things which had always been set in stone, and started re-experiencing something that felt suspiciously like the self-respect he had long turned his back on.

“You’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be,” Jim told him one afternoon, happy with the arrest they had made and grateful for the way he had raised a smile in spite of the mess with Barbara, and that evening Harvey went to lay flowers on his mother’s grave and then, on a whim, went to lay a single bloom on Kevin’s.

He had looked up to him as a kid. Had wanted to grow up to be just like him. Hated him, for a while, for not having the common sense to live a lie.

Perhaps just for enjoying a few short years of being exactly who he wanted to be.

To his surprise somebody was already there when he reached the grave. Somebody he hadn’t seen in years. Not since the last time he had been able to face his family. His Aunt Lil jumped when he put a hand on his shoulder. Clearly took a moment to place him through her tears. Then she was sobbing helplessly into his chest, inconsolable, and they ended up back at his apartment, him searching the cupboards for a decent mug to serve tea in, and she struggling to do the polite thing and not ask him when was the last time he vacuumed.

“You always were a good boy,” she said when he handed the drink over, “your mother would be so proud of you.”

Harvey felt tears prick at his eyes, his throat clogged up tight with emotion.

“I doubt it.”

He was trying, harder than he had in a long time, but he had done things he could never take back. He had never succeeded in shaking off the recurring nightmare that he told her who he was - what he was - and she told him in tears that he knew where the door was.

“Of course she would be,” Aunt Lil countered, tone brokering no argument, “she always idolized you. She was the one -” her voice cracked a little but she kept going, “who told me I was making a terrible mistake. That if it was you coming to her, asking for understanding.” She shrugged a little, reaching for composure. “You were her whole life, Harvey.”

He broke down at that. Didn’t mean to, desperately attempted not to. But it was everything he had dreamed of hearing, a weight off his shoulders that had been there so long he hadn’t even realized he was still carrying it.

It was late when he dropped her home, refusing point blank to let her catch the subway, and she patted him on the hand before climbing out of the car and told him not to be a stranger.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Definitely wouldn’t was the conclusion he came to, palms slick with sweat as he pushed open the door of the community center where the latest family get together was being held. It had been too long, he feared. Perhaps he simply wasn’t welcome. But instead he was hugged, and back patted, and made to make himself useful by holding babies, and telling stories, and singing along when the collective whiskey consumption reached the necessary levels.

“Don’t you dare disappear on us again,” he was warned at the end of the night, his cousin Kathleen clinging tight, “I know where you live now, you know.”

He hugged her back, overwhelmed, and wasn’t ashamed of the tears he shed.

“I missed it,” he admitted to Jim the following day, the latter having zero sympathy for his hangover, “that’s what we do this for, isn’t it? Family.”

Jim looked a little wistful. More than a little maudlin. Admitted that he had never had that kind of relationship with his relatives, close or otherwise, and Harvey heard himself inviting Jim to his second cousin Eamonn’s wedding.

“You can’t be that hard up for a plus one,” Jim joked in response, “not with a little black book the size of yours.”

Harvey granted him a strained smile and went back to concentrating on the task in hand. The latest crazy case before them. He bought leads and knocked heads together, and flirted with a woman so far out of his league she was out in the stratosphere. Saved her life, the whole thing cut way too fine for comfort, and somehow he ended up on a date with her, not knowing how to say no when Jim was watching him expectantly.

“Looks like you found your plus one,” Jim told him, face lit up with the sly little smile that made his chest ache, and three weeks later Harvey found himself grimacing fixedly, aunt after aunt telling him authoritatively that it would be his turn at the altar next time.

Scottie accepted it all graciously. Laughed, good natured, a few events down the line when the talk turned to babies and christenings, and the wheels creaked slowly but steadily in his head, because maybe this was the answer to all his problems.

The balm to the burning agony of watching Jim fall for Dr. Lee Thompkins, and a way to never have to be alone again.

It wouldn’t be about love and passion, not the way it was meant to be, but Scottie had already confided in him about her first husband. How she had been there and done that, and was really only looking for companionship. For the kind of relationship he could provide, maybe, in exchange for having somebody who cared whether or not he came home in the evenings.

He proposed before he could talk himself out of it, complete with ring and flowers, and for a few weeks he truly believed he would be able to go through with it. His life was a whirlwind of change anyway, out of the Force and the prospect of becoming a partner in a business. Of growing up, and moving on, and then Scottie suggested that they ought to ensure they were compatible in the bedroom.

Trailed her hand down the front of his shirt, eyes dark in a way that ought to get his pulse racing, but all he could do was flinch away, not in control of the reaction, and stutter out something about waiting for the honeymoon.

“I did that the first time,” she grinned, pressing closer, and he realized then that he wasn’t going to be able to pull it off. Not in the long term.

He went through every excuse he could think of. Backed himself into a corner, hoping that somehow things would work out for them. Then Jim turned up, wanting him to return to the Department, and the thrill that went through him when Jim pressed their foreheads together was stronger than anything he was ever going to experience with Scottie.

She knew it too. Saw it all too clearly. Looked at him with tears in her eyes as she demanded to know why he had wanted to do that to her, but he had no answer to give.

Not beyond an unsatisfactory sorry.

He was, desperately. Just not enough that it didn’t fade away when Jim beamed at the sight of him. Not enough that he could keep up the charade of being heartbroken, so that Kathleen pulled him aside at their great aunt’s funeral and told him simply that he didn’t need to pretend to be somebody he wasn’t for their sake.

Turned his world upside down, and inside out, and gave him the courage to admit to at least one of the secrets he had spent decades hiding.

The world wasn’t the same place as it had been thirty, even ten, years earlier. It didn’t matter quite the same way, wasn’t the career killer it had once been. Besides, he was fast approaching 50 now and he could love Jim with every fiber of his being.

Could drop to his knees and literally worship the ground Jim walked on.

Kiss him on the cheek in greeting and smile across at him adoringly.

Jim was never going to be interested.

Harvey wasn’t blind to his reflection in the mirror. Had never been much to look at to begin with, not even when he had the benefits of being young and relatively healthy. Jim would be sickened if he knew how he felt, Harvey had no doubt, but this time it would be pity rather than anger that fueled the pain of the rejection.

Because even as Jim began really getting serious with the lovely Lee Thompkins, even as he punished Harvey by kissing her right in front of him, he also talked to him over a few drinks about his previous relationships. Mentioned, like it was nothing, the guys he had dated in college, and the commanding officer he had fallen in love with in the military.

Harvey couldn’t get his mouth to work. All the stories he had told over the years, the reputation he had built up on the understanding that he had a comeback for everything, and all he could do was gaze dumbly at Jim for so long that Jim began attempting to backtrack, awkward and stilted like he was afraid Harvey would want nothing more to do with him.

It brought back a flood of bad memories. Was so completely out of sync with reality that Harvey stumbled over his own words in his hurry to correct Jim’s assumptions.

To fall back on his usual line of bullshit and ask Jim, mock offended, if he really believed that he would deny half the population the opportunity of spending the night with him.

Jim smiled at that, just a little, then sighed, “I just - I always mess things up, Harv. I want it to go the distance this time. I want to settle down and have a family.”

Harvey let his hand come to rest on Jim’s shoulder. Closed his eyes for a few moments as Jim settled against his side, the heat of him so very perfect, and did his best to sound genuine when he said that he hoped it all worked out for him. Meant it completely when he said that Jim would be a wonderful father, and that he deserved to be happy.

Jim thanked him, eyes shining, and that night Harvey lay in bed with the memory of it, hand working himself closer and closer to the edge as he shook and trembled with how badly he needed it.

He tried to picture what it would be like, if Jim found him attractive. If the world flipped its axis and Jim decided he wanted a washed up old loser instead of a beautiful leggy career woman. He knew how it was supposed to work. Had read enough trashy romances and watched more than enough dodgy pornos over the years.

Had spoken to hundreds if not thousands of pros about what their Johns asked of them, and even some of the boys who worked under the protection of the brothel madams.

It was all hypothetical though. None of it came from his own lived experience. He had no idea how different it would be to have somebody else’s hand on him. Could only imagine, frantic, how incredible it would feel to have the wet heat of Jim’s mouth. To be able to feast on the naked expanse of Jim’s body. Touch and taste and have Jim tell him that he loved him.

Afterwards he felt just as hollow and bereft as usual. Not frightened the way he once did, scared of what it meant for his immortal soul, but still disappointed in himself. Miserable with the knowledge that what he really wanted was only ever going to be a pathetic fantasy.

Jim didn’t need his pitiful obsession with him.

Until he did, believed to be a criminal and locked away in Blackgate. Harvey had only one goal. Was going to stop at nothing to achieve it. Got down and grovelled to fulfill Falcone’s desire to see him utterly humiliated, and didn’t even care a damn, too focused on Falcone’s promise to bust Jim out of there.

Because he was the one who had to deliver the news about the baby. The one who had to watch Jim crack when he realized he was too late - that he hadn’t been able to save the kid either. He held Jim when he sobbed, hand stroking soothing circles into his back, and he tucked him into his own bed at night, not caring what his liability of a couch was going to do to his ability to stand up straight in the morning.

Jim was worth it. Jim was everything.

Jim went off to track Lee down, eyes damp as he explained that he loved her too much not to fight for her, and left him to mend the pieces of his stupid broken heart as best he could.

He never managed it, not really, because Jim came back beaten down and almost broken, and Harvey poured everything he had - everything he was - into getting Jim through it. He had already been there. Knew what it was to not feel good enough.

To push everyone away until there was nobody left who could help you.

He was too stubborn for that, refused to admit defeat, and when Jim returned to the Job it felt like a victory. Like Jim had chosen him, not just the Department, and he didn’t let himself dwell on how spectacularly things had gone wrong last time he had fallen like this for someone.

Jim wasn’t David though, would never throw him to the wolves like that, and they began spending almost every spare moment together. He took Jim to meet his family, stressing beforehand that Jim was simply a work friend, and reveled in the simple joy of being able to pine painfully for the man he loved surrounded by people who didn’t judge him for it.

Sympathized with his position, told him that they were rooting for him, and sang his praises to Jim - even managing to raise a smile or two, and succeed in getting Jim to let his guard down.

“You’re so lucky,” Jim told him a few drinks in, soft and calm and comfortable, “I always wished my family was like this.”

He had met Jim’s mother, briefly, after Jim’s name was cleared of murder, so he didn’t need to ask Jim where the desire had come from. It made him want to wave a magic wand for Jim. To erase all those miserable childhood memories, every time he had been made to feel that his best wasn’t good enough, and slumped a little closer so that their thighs were pressed together.

Wound an arm around Jim’s middle, lost in the fantasy that one day it might come to mean something, and told Jim that he was kind of an honorary Bullock now.

“So I’m your pseudo wife now?” Jim asked, leaning heavily into his side and revealing just how drunk he was, “You gonna start showing me favoritism at the station?”

Harvey snorted. Turned his head a little to bury his nose in Jim’s hair, breathing in the scent of his shampoo.

“I show you favoritism anyway. You think I’d let anyone else get away with the shit you do?”

It was the only reason he had taken the position, truth be told. He wanted to make Jim proud of him. To prove himself to Jim, and to help Jim out occasionally by greasing the wheels of bureaucracy in a way Jim’s conscience could handle.

“I’m worth it though, right?” Jim said, smiling hopefully up at him, and Harvey could only nod dumbly.

Jim was worth anything.

The constant fear that Jim wasn’t going to survive his latest bout of stupidity, and the ceaseless agony of being in love when it was unrequited. Of knowing that Jim loved someone else. That what he had to offer would never be good enough.

Then Lee turned up with a manic gleam in her eye and the smug statement that Jim would either go back to her or die trying, and Harvey was no longer certain that he could keep quiet forever.

He had to tell Jim. Had to know if there could ever be a possibility.

All he did was chicken out though, over and over again, while the pressure of being Captain grew ever greater and Dix’ care home kept sending him letters, detailing the hows and whys of their hefty price increases. He still had his gambling debts alongside. A network of informants reliant on him for money to pick up diapers or put food on the table.

He made the mistake of accepting an envelope, just once, and after that it was either take it or have Jim be told what kind of cop he really was.

Jim knew that something was wrong. Perhaps he was just pulling away for his own reasons. Either way Jim ignored his warnings and flew to Miami, while the life he had finally started to feel optimistic about began crumbling all around him.

He took a sabbatical at Kathleen’s insistence, a couple of days away from Gotham for the first time in longer than he could remember, and they went to visit her eldest daughter - now married with kids of her own to deal with.

“I think you can do better than him,” Kathleen told him openly, when the discussion worked its way around to Jim and his lack of progress in doing anything about it, “if he can’t see what a catch you are, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

“He’s just in awe of my physical prowess,” Harvey stated seriously, because he had a reputation to maintain, “Can you blame him?”

It played on his mind though, back at the precinct, because Sofia Falcone arrived unannounced demanding to speak to him. Looked him over like he was something nasty stuck to the sole of her shoe, and told him snidely,

“My father told me about you. You’re exactly what I expected.”

“And what’s that?” He asked, determined not to let her rattle him.

“Pathetic.” She trailed her fingertips over the surface of his desk, like she owned the place, before looking him full in the face - expression a mixture of pity and triumph. “Do you really think that he will ever choose you over me?”

He didn’t need to ask what she meant. Didn’t bother with the pretence of ignorance.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

It wouldn’t take Jim long to see through her. Jim would never let a mobster’s daughter - Falcone’s daughter - truly come between them. He knew it, had faith in it, and he had only himself to blame when Jim walked out on him at the hospital, though he could still feel the phantom touch of the Pyg’s blade against his windpipe.

He had let Jim down. Betrayed him. Sobbed helplessly until a nurse had to come in and redo his dressing, the force of his crying pulling and tearing at the stitches.

Jim hated him. Couldn’t forgive him. Looked at him with disappointment in his eyes, something else that was far too closely resembled revulsion, and Harvey couldn’t even blame him. He had fucked up again. Ruined the life of yet another officer. He deserved everything he had coming to him.

He had just never expected it to be Jim taking Harvey’s own pen and signing the Captaincy papers right in front of him. Telling him in action if not in words that it was all over, that there was nothing left worth salvaging, and Harvey fell into a black despair of the kind he hadn’t experienced since the dark days before Jim became his salvation.

Drank and smoked, and called in on some of the girls he had once relied upon for a cover story, this time looking to score something - anything - strong enough that he wouldn’t have to think for a while.

“I thought you were too good for us now you’re the Captain,” Trixie told him, fixing him up a coffee while down the hallway some guy yelled out rhythmically in time with the slap of a paddle against his backside, “so, tell me, what’s the special occasion?”

“I’m not Captain. I’m not anything.”

Trixie said nothing to that - but she did lace the coffee with a healthy glug of whiskey.

The difference between then and now was that his family refused to take no for an answer. Rapped against his apartment door and told him they’d kick it in if he didn’t open up, and within a matter of weeks he had a new dive of a place in The Narrows, surrounded by relatives and not far from the block he had grown up in.

Not far from the so called Doc’s little hide away either, but he had no intention of bowing and scraping to her. He might be angry at Jim, might have been hurt worse than he had ever thought possible, but she’d been happy to see Jim dead and the city burn. Whatever guilt she felt for it now was her own problem.

He refused to pay her protection fee, when a couple of the idiot goons came calling, and wouldn’t hand it over at his new place of work either, instructing them to tell her she could come see him in person if she had a problem with it. She never showed, just the way he had expected, and he earned the grudging respect of the bar owner and a couple of extra shifts along with it.

It wasn’t a bad job, being back behind a bar. He got to sit on his ass for long chunks of a shift and let his mouth run without fear of anything he said ending up in the newspapers. He had a baseball bat under the counter, just for security, and a kid by the name of Donnie who only wanted to talk about movies Harvey had never seen, or the supposed paragon of a boyfriend he had never met.

What he said, and what he did, and how they were going to move away together, just as soon as Mr. Perfect graduated college.

“How about you?” Donnie asked eventually, when word of Jim’s visit filtered through courtesy of the regulars, “Do you think you’ll ever get back with him?”

“I was never ‘with’ him,” Harvey pointed out, hating how much it hurt to say, “it was never like that.”

“But I thought -”

“I’m too old for that game,” Harvey said, the light hearted tone he had been reaching for falling flat, relieved beyond measure when the door opened and a couple of familiar faces headed for their usual bar stools.

The place was quite busy for the next hour or so, some unlicensed gambling den down the block where the drink was cheaper in the middle of being raided, so it wasn’t until Donnie was leaving for the evening that the kind managed to find a long enough lull to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“You’re not, you know. It’s never too late for anything.”

It was a sweet thing to say. The kind of sentimental mush that proved he was over the hill by the fact he no longer found it sickening. Then the next morning Donnie rang in sick with some flu bug, and Harvey figured it was a good job he had found some way to be endearing with the day he had to deal with.

Jim texted him mid morning, as though his visit hadn’t already torn open painfully bloody wounds, asking him if they couldn’t meet up to talk about things.

‘No,’ Harvey text back after a lot of consideration, because ‘fuck you’ sounded neither mature or disinterested. It made him feel on edge and uncomfortable. Like he was torn between crying and punching something.

Perhaps it wasn’t all Jim’s fault. Jim didn’t owe him anything. Jim had never asked him to place him up on a pedestal, or fall so desperately in love with him that it physically hurt not to drop everything and tell Jim that everything was going to be okay.

He just felt ill. Depressed and run down, and it only dawned too late that Donnie had passed on his damn sickness bug. The difference was that he didn’t have Mr. Wonderful to stroke his forehead and cater to his every whim, so as soon as Donnie was back he had no choice but to take a couple of days, burrowing into his bedclothes and wondering if he was dying.

The room was spinning when he woke up after finally managing to doze off for a while. Had him sweating and shivering, head all over the place, and he shifted from the bed to the couch and back again, desperately trying to get comfortable. He was so out of it that for a moment he was convinced he was dreaming when he saw Jim stood in his apartment.

He was determined to stay angry. Resolute in his commitment to moving on and getting over his idiot obsession. Then it became clear that Ivy had been inside his head, made it so he couldn’t even remember, and it hit him suddenly where it had scarcely even registered before that back at the bar Donnie was lying there dead.

The kid had had his whole life ahead of him. Had believed he had decades left to do the things he wanted.

He swiped a stray tear from his cheek before swallowing his pride and facing Jim.

Life was just too short to hold a grudge against him.

It wasn’t an instant fix. They had gone through too much to simply forgive and forget and pretend it never happened. But, by the same token, they had gone through too much just to give up on their friendship.

Partnership.

Because Jim turned to him once more for advice. Hugged him close after he narrowly avoided being smeared all over the sidewalk, and sobbed on his shoulder after too much drink and too much honesty. Searched his face with damp eyes one night, words somehow superfluous, then demanded to know what the hell he had been thinking a few days later, when Harvey had gone charging headfirst into danger.

“You told me there are no heroes.”

“I knew you had my back,” Harvey said as calmly as he could, “I knew that I could bring them down.”

“Don’t ever go in without my say so again,” Jim ordered, and the presumption of it had Harvey riled up and shouting back.

It had been a long day, without counting Donnie’s funeral in the morning, and he couldn’t even think straight for the frustration.

“Why the hell not?” He demanded. “When did you ever obey any of my orders?”

Jim raked a hand through his hair. Made a noise of total exasperation. Shouted, finally,

“You could have died, Harvey!”

Jim was panting with the effort of it, not quite in control of himself, and then his right hand was curled in the back of Harvey’s hair, pressing close for a kiss that said what his verbal explanations couldn’t.

For a long moment Harvey was frozen. Couldn’t believe it was finally happening, didn’t have the first clue what to do about it. Then he was kissing back eagerly, all his dreams coming true as Jim’s tongue slid against his own, the breathy sound he made so beautiful it made his teeth ache.

It was getting hot and heavy really fast. He couldn’t break apart from Jim, didn’t have the willpower, so every time one of them moved, the other followed right behind them. Harvey was starting to feel lightheaded. Drunk on the taste and the feel and the simple knowledge that Jim was in his arms.

Jim Gordon was kissing him.

He flinched eventually, shocked, when Jim’s hand cupped him through his trousers, and it was enough for Jim to pull back so he could look into his face with concern, both of them flushed and their breathing ragged.

“It’s just -” Harvey tried, fighting for breath, “I’ve never -”

“I know,” Jim interrupted, sparking another jolt of total shock before continuing, “you’ve never been with a guy before.” He smiled tenderly, “Not all your stories are as convincing as you think they are.”

He should have come clean then and corrected Jim’s misconceptions. Could have had it all out in the open, the way any sane person would advocate. Instead he kept his mouth shut, part of him terrified that Jim would change his mind in the face of such a revelation, and let Jim say,

“It’s okay, we can take it slow. That is, if you still want to, with me -”

The uncertainty on Jim’s face was too much for him to handle. He had to kiss Jim again, had to assure him that this was exactly what he wanted, so that his lips were raw and swollen by the time they actually parted for the evening, his face and neck scratched up with stubble burn.

Jim had it a whole lot worse on that front, he knew, and he couldn’t resist pulling Jim into one more kiss out on the deserted sidewalk, sort of feeling like he was floating on air when Jim moaned at the slick swipe of Harvey’s tongue against his own.

The sensation stayed with him all the way back to his apartment. He wanted to jump for joy. Wanted to go and yell his good fortune from the rooftops.

Got home and almost immediately started worrying himself into a state, because Jim had never said exactly what he imagined this meant they were to each other, and how slow was slow anyway? Jim might be able to tell, just as soon as they moved on from kissing, and even if he didn’t it was bound to become clear eventually - and Jim had already warned him exactly how he felt about people who lied to him.

In his head it was all over before it began. In tatters before he had even had chance to tell Jim that he loved him.

Then his phone buzzed and the relief was so strong his limbs felt weak with it.

‘love you x’ Jim had typed, like it was the obvious thing to do, and Harvey returned the sentiment before falling asleep with a stupid grin on his face.

He had never let himself believe that it could be easy, being with Jim, not even in his own cherished fantasies. Jim was so private and prickly, and found it so intensely difficult to open up and trust anyone. Harvey had no real experience with any of it, not outside of his outlandish stories and awkward dates both sides knew were going nowhere.

The reality was that they had already smoothed away the worst of those rough edges. They knew each others’ idiosyncrasies better than anyone, had spent enough time together over the years to pick up on those bad habits and irritations, and so Harvey understood exactly how serious Jim was when he pulled him aside in some quiet corner of the precinct to steal a kiss from him.

“What was that for?”

Jim gave him a sheepish smile. Made his heart turn cartwheels in his chest, to be the recipient of it, and he brushed another kiss to the edge of Jim’s jaw before the younger man elaborated,

“I missed you? I’ve been waiting a long time to be able to do this.”

The admission sent a thrill through him, had him losing himself in Jim’s kiss all over again, and it wasn’t until they heard footsteps approaching from around the corner that they broke apart guiltily. The surprising thing was that it didn’t mark a step change in Jim’s behavior. He just pretended to be asking him about some case or other, until McKenna was once more out of earshot, then Jim pressed in close again and said that if they finished early enough they should go out for dinner.

“So, what did I do to deserve the star treatment?” Harvey asked when they actually made it to the restaurant, a little bruised and bloody maybe, but otherwise none the worse for wear, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I’m trying to dazzle you with my sophistication,” Jim said, deadpan, then glanced about them to gauge their privacy levels and added with a little smile, “I’m a man of my word. I don’t trust myself to stick to it if there’s a bed in the vicinity.”

Harvey knew he was blushing, the heat flaming across his face and down the back of his neck. Jim still had the power to shock him, after all.

“Are you trying to say I’m a bad influence on you?” He asked back, aiming for some semblance of his usual bravado, “Because, you know, I could live with that.”

Jim jostled his foot just slightly, under the table, and Harvey felt like he was burning up, nerves churning, and then Jim was laughing, helpless, and Harvey was laughing along, the whole thing so easy and comfortable that they shifted closer and closer in the booth until he could steal fries from Jim’s plate and then press a scruffy kiss to his cheek to appease his mock outrage at the action.

They went on a couple more dates, kind of. To a diner downtown where he had been meeting an informant, across the street from some interminable finance committee Jim had been stuck in, until the night ended up back at his place, the two of them making out on the sofa fully clothed but frantic. He put his focus on Jim’s neck, Jim begging and moaning and holding his head in place like he could come just from having a hickey suckled into it, and Harvey couldn’t say what might have happened if a call hadn’t come through that the city was in the midst of yet another emergency.

Next time they went to an exhibition opening the Commissioner had told Jim in no uncertain terms he expected to see him at. Jim looked like something off the cover of a magazine in his best suit, groomed and gorgeous, and Harvey couldn’t help but wish that he had thought to shine his own shoes, and that his shirt wasn’t straining around his middle.

That he was a decade or so younger, at least, because he went to go and grab them a couple of drinks and returned to find the Deputy Commissioner with her well manicured hand on Jim’s arm, the two of them seemingly deep in conversation.

“They make a handsome couple,” somebody said to his right, not without merit, because together they could have been at some real red carpet event, not the Commissioner’s latest self-serving press conference.

Then Jim glanced up and met his gaze, whole face lighting up in a smile, and Harvey felt like his heart was going soft and gooey in his chest, so stupidly happy that he didn’t even care when he was accosted by Drake from the 21st - and had to listen to almost twenty minutes of reminiscences about good old days that had never been all that special, back when they were both serving with the Vice unit.

It made him realize how lucky he was. What he had gained since then, even with everything he had lost, because he had never believed then he could look in the mirror and not completely despise himself. That he could be open and honest with his family and his colleagues. Date a man, a guy he was beyond crazy about, and not live in constant fear that he was going to be smote down for it.

He had come so far, was so close to having absolutely everything he had ever wanted, and he couldn’t help but gaze longingly over at Jim roughly every twenty seconds or so.

“You two looked cosy,” Jim said when Harvey finally succeeded in breaking free of Drake’s rambling, and the hint of jealousy in his tone was worth more to him than all the bullion at the Gotham City Bank.

“We used to work together, back when your Mom was still changing your diapers.”

“She had an au pair for that,” Jim pointed out, rather than argue the timeline, and Harvey figured that was the perfect in to ask Jim if he was up for being his plus one for real in the very immediate future.

Jim agreed without hesitation, then asked, “They’re not going to threaten to break my legs, are they?”

“I’m a big boy now,” Harvey laughed, hand coming to rest on the small of Jim’s back, confident that his touch was welcome, “they all know I can take care of myself.”

In the event Jim did get a warning, albeit from an eight-year-old. Promised solemnly that he only had the very best of intentions, and Harvey felt the situation was safe enough to leave Jim to his own devices for a bit while he was lectured to by a couple of aunts about why he ought to go and get his haircut.

“I did,” Harvey protested, because a few weeks back he had thought it might help his cause. Had never had Jim’s fingers petting through it as the other man cautiously admitted that he really kind of loved it long, so that now Harvey had no intention of ever making the same mistake again. “It cost me twenty dollars.”

That gave them something new to latch onto, a fresh barrage of complaints about the modern world and its failings, and then he had to search the whole place for Jim, finally finding him sat alone on the steps outside, looking downcast and miserable with the moonlight bathing his face.

“What’s wrong?” Harvey asked quietly, dropping down to sit beside him. Put an arm about him, coaxing, and felt a fresh wave of emotion crash over him when Jim relaxed willingly into his side, head coming to rest on Harvey’s shoulder.

“I asked some questions I wasn’t ready for the answers to.”

Harvey panicked at that, not being able to single out anything in particular but terrified all the same. Jim knew so much about him, about his weaknesses and his failures, but there were still plenty of skeletons in his closet they had never explicitly talked about. The corners he had cut on the Job, and the blatant untruth he was even now attempting to pass off as fact to the man in front of him.

“If I could go back and do things differently I would, Harv.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harvey said genuinely, thinking of some of the terrible mistakes he had made. The crushing despair and the painful loneliness he had suffered, and even the heartache Jim had put him through. “If I’d done things differently I might never have ended up here. I’m right where I want to be, Jim.”

Jim shifted a little so he could look up at him through his lashes, his gaze so blue and so very beautiful, and there was nothing for it but to kiss Jim lovingly, hand sliding along his jaw because he needed the contact. Just needed to be as close to Jim as he could, and Jim only encouraged the sentiment, hands tangling in his hair and gripping at his jacket.

Linking around the back of his neck, the kiss deepening still further, until Jim’s breathy whisper in his ear about whether or not he thought they could get away with leaving early could have only one answer.

Harvey could scarcely sit still in the cab home. Abandoned Jim to keep up their end of the requisite small talk on his own, and had to concentrate on simply breathing in and out when Jim placed his hand on his thigh, heated and possessive. The excitement was all encompassing because this was really going to happen. The fear was equally as overwhelming, because he was bound to fuck it up spectacularly.

Jim was expecting him to know things. To have the stamina not to come apart the second Jim touched him. To be able to touch Jim in turn without hyperventilating or something as equally ridiculous.

Then they were at Jim’s place and Jim was practically vibrating with tension next to him in the elevator, fingers linking with his own as he dragged him down the hallway towards his apartment. Pressed him back against the door the instant it was closed behind them, kissing him so sweetly Harvey was struggling to remember why he ought to be freaking the hell out about now.

He was struggling to think of anything but how good it felt. How unbelievably amazing it was that they were here, that this was happening, and then Jim was grinding up against his thigh, his interest completely unmistakable.

Instead of slowing down things started speeding up, Jim’s fingers tugging at the knot of Harvey’s tie while his own hands awkwardly pushed Jim’s suit jacket from his shoulders. Hesitantly reached for his own shirt buttons when Jim began hurriedly stripping himself, the uncertainty finally bleeding through the excitement of it all.

“Harvey,” Jim soothed, voice rough with want but hands gentle where they came up to cover his own, “we don’t have to. If you’re not ready -”

“I’ve never done this before, Jim.”

He said it all in a rush, heart hammering and his skin feeling cold with dread. It wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to be confessing to someone who looked like Jim. He doubted Jim had ever had any problem finding people who wanted him.

“I know,” Jim said, one hand finding the back of his head and bringing their foreheads together, “it’s different. But it’s not bad different. Is it?”

The question was genuine, Jim visibly waiting for his answer, and Harvey stumbled over his words as he tried to make Jim understand.

“No, I mean I’ve never done this. Any of this.”

Jim’s brow furrowed in confusion, the cogs turning in his head as he attempted to make sense of the statement. Harvey supposed he should feel accomplished that Jim found the concept so unthinkable. Proud of his own ability to deceive those around him.

All he actually felt was sick to his stomach with a mixture of nerves and fear. Afraid that Jim would laugh in his face. Would start second guessing how he felt, because what kind of man made it to five decades on the planet without losing his virginity? How unlovable must a person be to have never had the opportunity?

“I don’t understand,” Jim said, adorable in his confusion, and Harvey had to clench his eyes shut. Couldn’t bear to see Jim’s reaction as he mumbled out,

“I’ve never done it. It, Jim. Ever. With anyone.”

“But -” Jim tried, sounding stunned, trailing off helplessly.

To his horror Harvey could feel the sting of tears behind his eyelids. If he had just kept his stupid mouth shut he could have blagged his way through it. If he wasn’t such an idiot Jim would never be standing there speechless, wondering what on earth he had ever been thinking.

Except Jim was pressing back in, nose nuzzling against his cheek for a moment before he kissed him chastely.

“Look at me,” Jim whispered, “please.”

Harvey took a shaky breath and obeyed. Saw nothing in Jim’s blue gaze but the love and trust and understanding that he had seen a few hours earlier.

They ended up on Jim’s little used sofa with a couple of glasses of whiskey, the drink burning down his throat but giving him the courage he needed to stiltedly explain some of what his life had been before Jim came into it. How he had always known what he wanted, right from the time he started middle school, and how he had been too afraid to go looking for it.

Touched, briefly, on how dismally his attempts at that had gone, and tried to crack a bad joke to cover the worst of his embarrassment. Failed at it, the words dying on his lips, and instead got an armful of Jim Gordon, Jim’s voice a croak in his ear as he told him that it was he who was supposed to be the one with the bad track record when it came to relationships.

“You’re not - “ Harvey cleared his throat, tried again, “You haven’t changed your mind?”

Jim just gave him a smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been anybody’s first before.”

In spite of all the odds Harvey spent the night in Jim’s bed. Stripped down to his undershirt and his boxers while Jim did likewise, and warned Jim frankly that he had no idea how good a night’s sleep Jim was likely to get.

Jim confessed that he always slept badly, so it couldn’t be any worse than usual.

“You’ve got such a silver tongue,” Harvey joked, glad to be able to lighten the atmosphere, and was then given an up close and personal showing, the two of them kissing and kissing until the late hour and the drama caught up with them.

It was so strange to be sharing a bed with someone. To feel Jim’s body heat, and to hear his breathing, so he lay on his back as long as he could, loving the way Jim snuggled into him. He had to roll onto his side eventually, trying to get comfortable, and though he murmured a sleepy apology all Jim did was move with him.

Wrap an arm around his middle and push his nose into the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that should have been ticklish and distracting, but actually only made him feel so warm and secure that he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“I love you,” Jim breathed, words quiet even in the silence, and Harvey patted a hand clumsily at Jim’s hip and promised that he loved him too.

In the morning Jim was still cuddled up close behind him, the major difference was that now there was no denying the hard heat of Jim’s erection. Harvey shifted a little, experimental, and Jim groaned so needily that his own morning wood throbbed in sympathy. It was Jim’s turn to shift then, the solid weight of him as suddenly exciting as it had been comforting, and they moved to face each other by degrees, until Jim was asking him a question, voice all scratched up with sleep,

“Can I give you a helping hand with anything?”

Harvey nodded, not trusting his own voice to work at all, and they slowly nudged still closer until Jim’s tongue was in his mouth and his fingertips were trailing up the skin of his thigh, teasing him with the barely there sensation.

He gasped sharply when Jim touched his dick, the feel of it so perfect even through a layer of fabric, and then Jim was breaking away a little to watch what his hand was doing. Harvey watched Jim instead. The intensity in his big blue eyes, and the way he bit at his lip as he pulled down the waistband of Harvey’s boxer shorts.

That was when it became a struggle to keep his eyes open, the touch of Jim’s hand on his bare skin threatening to send them rolling back into his head.

“Fuck,” Jim cursed as his grip tightened and Harvey wasn’t at all sure if that was good or bad, at least not until Jim followed it up with an ego stoking line about how big he was. “I can’t wait to suck you,” Jim told him, mouth hot and wet against the flesh of his throat, and Harvey couldn’t help the whine that escaped him as his hips jolted up into Jim’s touch.

It was so different to using his own hand. Then he knew exactly what was coming. How much pressure to use and when to move faster. By contrast, Jim’s hold was unpredictable. Too light one moment and too tight the next. His thumb pressing into the sensitive slit until the pleasure was almost painful, and then gone completely so Jim could raise goosebumps by stroking his balls with the tips of his fingers.

Harvey had to find something concrete to focus on. Buried his own fingers in Jim’s hair and tugged him into sloppy fevered kiss, body writhing under Jim’s ministrations. Shaking with the enormity of it all. Then Jim was sitting up, the better to watch the movements of his own hand, breathing hard as he edged Harvey closer and closer, teasing and tormenting until Harvey finally wrapped his hand around Jim’s and tightened his grip so it felt perfect.

Set the pace, faster and faster, until he had his head thrown back against the pillow, jaw clenched up tight as he came all over his own stomach.

Jim looked undone by the sight, cheeks flushed and the front of his boxers tented.

“Yes,” Jim hissed, desperate, when Harvey reached for him to return the favor. Clenched his sticky hand in the back of Harvey’s t-shirt and made the most beautiful sounds Harvey had ever heard, breathy little noises of encouragement as he stripped Jim naked and wrapped a hand around his straining erection.

His dick fit in his palm like it was made for it, full and flushed and weeping freely at the slit, and it didn’t matter that he had never done any of it before - Harvey wanted to try everything. Rasped a thumb over Jim’s nipple and pressed kisses into the flat plane of his abdomen. Licked, tentatively, at the head of his cock, just to know how it tasted, and ended up sucking a monster of a bruise into the skin of Jim’s throat, Jim pumping into his fist and all but crying out with his praise for the arrangement.

He kept at it when Jim finally pushed over the precipice. Wrung every last shudder out of him, between his hand and the broad swipes of his tongue up Jim’s neck, until Jim bolted upright suddenly and asked him what time it was.

They made it to the precinct almost twenty minutes late, Jim looking immaculate except for the livid bruise peeking over the starched white of his shirt collar. Harvey figured he looked the same way he always did, kind of unkempt and rough around the edges, except today he had a goofy smile there was no getting rid of on his face.

He was happy, honestly and truly, because he felt sated in body while his soul was going to float off in bliss if he didn’t keep a tight hold of it.

“I don’t know what you’ve got to smile about,” Alvarez grouched midday, when some new catastrophe had them all working through their lunch break, but even a bomb scare and the lack of food couldn’t spoil the way he was feeling.

He pressed a hand to Jim’s shoulder before they walked into the fray, to let him know that he wasn’t alone - not in anything - and Jim met his eye gratefully for a second before heading in and acting the consummate professional. They made a few arrests, pulled a couple of hours overtime filling out paperwork, then swung by Harvey’s fleapit of an apartment to pick up some clothes and his toiletries.

They repeated the process a couple of days later, and a few days after that, so that by the end of the week he was well on the way to moving in with Jim. Brought up the direction things seemed to be moving hesitantly, under cover of a throwaway wisecrack, because otherwise Jim was liable to stress about it.

Except Jim saw straight through his efforts and got solemn and serious. Said that he had never lived with anyone who hadn’t ended up hating him - but he still wanted to try it again.

Harvey relayed the news proudly to anyone who would listen when he met up with family later that evening. Thought of Jim stuck in some boring Union meeting, and drank a beer for the both of them. Unlocked the door with the spare key Jim had given him when he got back, and felt a cold chill run down his spine to find the place empty and no answer from Jim’s cellphone.

He had been a cop a long time. Long enough to trust his instincts when something didn’t feel right. To have no compunction about calling in any and every favor, and to rouse half the damn Department from their beds so they could join the search party for their Captain.

Jim had made so many enemies it was hard to know where to start. Had such a knack for finding trouble that it was all Harvey could do to keep it all together. He kept thinking of the search for Jim’s coffin, the sickening lurch of fear with every second of breathable air that had ticked away, and so Lee was one of the first people he called upon, composure cracking as he demanded that she tell him anything she knew about Jim’s disappearance.

He went around all the city’s major crackpots. Broke down doors and bust up noses, and bit his tongue like a reformed character and refrained from telling his cousin Malvin exactly what he thought of holding a prayer circle. Tried to concentrate on the fact they cared enough to suggest something so stupid and made the rounds of what he had come to think of in some ways as his second family instead, putting his faith in the idea that one of them had to know something.

Three days in there was still no word. No tip-off on Jim’s whereabouts, and no ransom demand from some escaped Arkham detainee or other. At the precinct the first whispers were beginning to circulate that maybe it was already too late. That they were searching for a corpse rather than the future Police Commissioner.

Harvey refused to believe it, resisted all suggestions that he get a decent night’s sleep or, better still, bowed out of the investigation, and looked such a state by the time he paid a call on Trixie she just waved him straight through to her own private rooms.

“I read the papers,” she interrupted before he could launch into the standard explanations, “and I think I might be able to help you.”

It wasn’t what he had been expecting, not after so many knock backs, and the fervent hope It sparked in his chest was so strong he could scarcely breathe for it.

Trixie came back with a girl he hadn’t seen before, a newcomer who had been working the streets without any kind of protection and had to be convinced that he wasn’t there to send her back home or elicit a freebie before she’d start talking. It wasn’t too difficult, not with the tears he felt as though he was constantly on the verge of, and by the time he left he had the first solid lead they had chanced upon.

From there things fell into place, his grip tightening on his gun even as he swiped the flop sweat from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. They were in the old warehouse district. Had only one chance, realistically, because the more noise they made - the more attention they drew - the less likely it was that they were ever going to find Jim alive.

They almost didn’t anyway, Harvey convinced for a few agonizing moments that their luck had given out this time. Jim was a dead weight in his bonds, skin pale where it wasn’t covered in blood or bruising. Then he started coughing, weak and fitful and signifying a cracked rib or two if Harvey was any judge of such things.

He was alive though. Had a good fighting chance if he made it through the night, so the doctors said, and Harvey sat awake to keep silent vigil, face wet and the jagged scar tissue in his throat left by the Pyg aching. He stroked the soft strands of hair back from Jim’s forehead. Held his hand and told him that he loved him, and that if he died he didn’t know if he could ever forgive him.

Jim squeezed his hand at that, weakly, and the relief was so great Harvey thought he might collapse with it.

His recovery was slower this go around, a couple of recent bullet wounds already taking their toll on him, and Jim only made things worse by trying to do too much, too soon, and taking a tumble down the back stairwell in his stubborn determination to discharge himself and go play the action hero.

“It would be very unfair of you to die before you’ve done anything about my being a virgin,” Harvey told him pompously when he came to visit, trying not to fuss over the new cast and the fresh bruises, and Jim’s huff of a laugh dissolved into pained sobbing, the meds in his system doing a real number on his self control.

Harvey cradled him close and let him work through it. Shook his head when Jim told him that he was never going to change - never learned his lesson. That Harvey would be better off without him, surely, so he wouldn’t have to spend every second worrying about him.

“Don’t be stupid,” Harvey scolded softly, “I knew what I was signing up for.”

“Barnes said I’d be the death of you,” Jim countered, because nobody at the GCPD could keep their gossiping mouths shut, so Harvey shrugged and said,

“You saved my life, Jim. I had nothing left before you turned up with all your airs and graces.”

Jim managed a watery smile at that, more like his usual stoic self, and Harvey settled in for another uncomfortable night in the bedside chair. His back wouldn’t thank him for it but he didn’t care. He knew how awful it was to wake up disorientated and alone in a hospital bed.

Back home - and now the short lease was up on his apartment, Jim’s place really was home - Jim lived up to his own prediction, attempting to button his work shirt the very morning after leaving the hospital.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harvey sighed at the sight, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, “you were told you need to stay in bed.”

“I’m needed at the precinct.”

Harvey tilted his head to the side, considering.

“If you stay home today I won’t say a word about you going in tomorrow. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How?” Jim snapped, frustrated with the buttons at his cuff he was so obviously struggling with, and Harvey just took hold of the thing and gently pulled the whole sleeve down and off his arm.

Watched as Jim realized what exactly he was suggesting and shifted back against the pillows, all thoughts of the precinct apparently forgotten for the time being.

Harvey pledged to take his time. Didn’t want to jar any of Jim’s injuries, and definitely didn’t want give Jim an excuse to say he could still make it in for the start of roll call. Jim just had to be an over achiever, always, so Harvey had to work extra hard to keep Jim relatively still, kissing him deeply as he got rid of the shirt and started hitching up the plain white t-shirt Jim had slept in.

He was still covered in bruises, a dressing placed over a flesh wound that had only narrowly missed something vital, so that Harvey wished his touch was more delicate, trying to be gentle as he finished stripping Jim and getting him to lay back comfortably. Jim didn’t seem bothered. Squirmed about impatiently, flush spreading down his chest, and when Harvey dropped his head to start kissing at his neck, Jim just dug his fingers into his back and pleaded with him to do something.

They hadn’t been particularly adventurous so far. Hadn’t made it past hands, and a single round of Jim’s perfect mouth on him, because Jim had a propensity to almost get himself killed every other week day. Harvey wanted more though. Needed some way of showing Jim what he did to him. He focused on getting Jim worked up and wanting, and then settled between his legs, hands wandering up the lengths of his toned thighs as he took a moment to remind himself that he could do this.

Jim wasn’t overly exacting. Seemed to like just about every touch Harvey bestowed on him, and was hardly likely to go around laughing about his efforts even if they missed their mark. It was still daunting though and Jim reached a hand out for him, eyes dark with want but tender with understanding when he met Jim’s gaze.

It made him ache all over. Made him want things he had never even experienced, and he didn’t hesitate any longer. Simply dropped his head and licked carefully over the tip, the sound Jim made prompting a sensory memory of how unbelievable it had felt when their positions were reversed. It was enough to have his mouth flooding with saliva, wet and eager as he suckled experimentally on the head of Jim’s dick, Jim’s fingers twisting ever so slightly too tight in his hair.

He tried to take more, to sink down lower, but it was more difficult than it looked on the small screen. Nowhere near as effortless as Jim made it look, in the few moments he was capable of doing anything but panting and begging for Jim to never stop what he was doing. He gagged and coughed, but instead of it putting Jim off, Jim just hauled him up and into a kiss, warning roughly that he was going to come if Harvey wasn’t careful.

“That’s kind of the idea,” he rasped out, hips bucking a little where he was making contact with the overheated flesh of Jim’s thigh, and just because Jim’s laughter was so distractingly beautiful he had to try again, this time succeeding in getting enough down his throat for Jim to yank the sheets free of their neat hospital corners.

It was awkward, no question. He had never been much good at multi-tasking. But Jim was writhing and cursing, and it didn’t take much longer at all until Jim was arching up off the bed, muscles quaking as Harvey did his best to swallow everything.

His jaw was aching a little, heart racing, but Jim looked so blissed out, expression soft and hair damp with sweat, that the discomfort faded into insignificance.

“I think you should stay home too today,” Jim announced, proving everything people said about sex and its personality changing properties, “I need somebody to look after me.”

Harvey agreed readily, pleased that Jim was listening to his advice for once. Realized, even as he was putting the call through to Harper, that Jim hadn’t been suggesting they take it easy. Was pressing too close, intentions obvious, and Harvey had to rush through the end of the conversation, blood pumping hard with the hand Jim was sliding into his boxer shorts.

“You’re supposed to be on bed rest,” Harvey managed, clinging to his good intentions, but Jim just told him reasonably that he was in bed. Harvey shook his head, amused, and figured there was no point in arguing with somebody as pathologically stubborn as Jim Gordon. “Just take it easy,” he advised, “I don’t want you pulling your stitches.”

Jim beamed in victory. Smiled wider still when Harvey had to grip at his arm, lost to the way Jim’s thumb was pressing just so, and in spite of all his concerns for Jim’s healing journey, he was soon laid out on the bed, Jim in charge of the situation.

He felt as though he should probably be doing more, ought to be less passive about it all, but Jim was sucking at his dick like it was the hottest thing he could dream of doing. Was fumbling in the bedside cabinet for supplies, and then breathing heavily through his mouth as he worked his hand behind him. Sank his own fingers into himself, like he wanted Harvey to be incapable of anything but staring in awe at the sight he made, and then Jim was draped over him, kissing breathlessly as he slicked up Harvey’s hand and moved it into position.

It was like nothing he had ever imagined - not just the tight heat around his finger, but the expression on Jim’s face. The way he tipped his head back, the long arch of his neck on display as he asked for another finger. Jim was so tight around him, so impossibly tight, and even with the slick he was working into him Harvey didn’t know how they were ever going to fit together.

Jim didn’t seem to have any such concerns. Swore when Harvey’s fingers bumped against something inside him and when Harvey took the initiative, when he angled his hand and pressed in hard, Jim started babbling helplessly, confessing filth about how badly he wanted this, and how much he was getting off on the idea that they were going to do something that was all his - something that had never been shared before with anyone.

It was too much, hearing Jim talk like that. It had him aching and desperate, so bad it took him three attempts to get the condom packet open. Getting the thing on was even more of a challenge, at least until Jim took over from his fumbling fingers, his grip moving to Jim’s hips, trying not to leave yet more bruises as Jim carefully settled above him to slowly sink down onto his straining erection.

Harvey watched him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open as he focused on not bucking up into him. On letting Jim take it at his own pace, the pleasure of it so great he was sure he would come apart any second. He had always worried that nerves would get the better of him. That he’d struggle to get it up - or keep it up - but in reality he was so hard he felt light headed with it.

“Oh God,” Jim groaned when he finally succeeded in taking it all, though they both knew he was no believer. In any other circumstance Harvey would have made a joke about it. As it was all he could do was echo the sentiment, Jim’s arms shaking as he started moving, tiny rocking motions that sent sparks across his every nerve ending.

Jim was so good, the whole thing was so perfect, and Harvey couldn’t keep quiet and couldn’t keep still, arching slightly into Jim’s movements, and blaspheming louder and louder. He took hold of Jim’s dick because he had to do something. Had to try and make Jim feel the same intensity of sensation. Begged Jim to come for him, to do it quickly, and then Jim was clenching up around him in a way that threatened to give him a heart attack.

To have his brain dribble out of his ears, his higher functions completely blown, and then he was coming explosively, Jim’s name on his lips.

Jim collapsed half atop him afterwards, sweaty and sated and polite enough not to mention the way he was still shivering all over. The stray tear that slid down his cheek, so overwhelmed he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry - or both. Jim kissed him then, soft and slow and giving. Cupped his cheek and murmured against his lips that he loved him, so that a few more tears spilled, Harvey powerless to stop them.

“So,” Jim said, trying not to let on how eager he was for a verdict, “how was it?”

“You’re big headed enough as it is,” Harvey groused, all mock irritation, but he couldn’t keep the adoring smile at bay.

“I’m not big headed.”

Harvey simply pulled him back in and kissed the indignant look from his face.

“You can afford to be.”

Jim laughed at that, startled but delighted, and Harvey sent up a silent prayer of thanks. It hadn’t been an easy journey, any of it, but some things were well worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	256. Chapter 256

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for death and grief / lack thereof.
> 
> Jim's mom is dying - but he doesn't intend to go see her.
> 
> (AKA a little thing I've had half finished in drafts for a while. Because Jim's relationship with his family is just as dysfunctional as every other aspect of his life...)

“Jim, this is your mother we’re talking about.”

Harvey went out of his way not to judge him. To have faith that he knew what he was doing, that he was making decisions with the best of intentions, so to hear the horror in his tone - to see the disbelief on his face - made Jim’s stomach twist up painfully, the way he supposed it should have done when Roger gave him the news in the first place.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Harvey asked carefully, like he was trying to find a reason that made sense to him why somebody wouldn’t be dropping everything to go visit their dying mother, “Tuttle owes me a favor or twenty.”

He hadn’t intended on going at all. She was too far gone to know if he was there or not, and if she were aware she would likely say that it was a waste of time when it wouldn’t change the outcome. The way Harvey had looked at him though, like there must be something seriously wrong in his head… He couldn’t risk seeing that expression on Harvey’s face again.

So he played along. Nodded his head, and let Harvey believe that he was so cut up he didn’t think he would be able to get through the trip alone. Accepted Harvey’s praise for how well he was dealing with things, how he was holding it all together, and bought the tickets and made all the arrangements without shedding a single tear.

Stressed far more about how Harper would be getting on alone than the sight that was waiting for him, and started drafting out the eulogy on the flight out, because Roger had already warned him that he was expecting him to contribute more than money to the funeral.

Harvey put a hand on his shoulder when they reached the house that had never felt like a home to him, squeezing gently like Jim would fall to pieces if he wasn’t careful. Jim wished he would. That he felt something at all, other than inconvenienced to be there and frightened that Harvey would realize.

Roger greeted him in the hallway with red rimmed eyes, face swollen and voice cracking, though their mother would have thought it very bad form. Thelma didn’t look much better, make-up all swiped away, while his step-father scarcely managed to shake Harvey’s hand before he had to leave the room and compose himself.

“I didn’t think you’d get here in time,” Roger said, accusing as always, so that Jim had no choice but to defend himself. To fall back on work as an excuse and to state petulantly that he had people relying on him.

His brother shook his head at that, rather than voice any of the comebacks they both knew he was thinking, and then Jim was being ushered upstairs to his mother’s bedroom. Harvey went with him, obviously uncertain of his welcome, and Jim felt worse still for the relief that washed over him when Harvey hung back to wait outside in the hallway.

The problem was that he had never been any good at hiding anything from Harvey, and he and the frail woman in front of him might as well have been strangers. When he thought of his childhood all his happy memories were centered on his father, or else on the steady stream of au pairs his mother employed to ensure she need not spend a moment longer with him than necessary.

That was how it had seemed, at any rate, and he could still remember the hurt expression on her face the night his father had died and he cried hysterically for Maribel when his mother tried to hold his hand, until the meds kicked in and he could be the model child he was supposed to be.

“Jim?” She rasped now, hand twitching restlessly where she lacked the energy to reach out for him.

He ought to take hold of it, he knew how this was meant to go. He should kiss it and tell her that he loved her. That he was sorry for not visiting, for not being the son she had hoped for, and that all the bad blood between them was in the past - where it belonged.

Instead he fidgeted, hands at his side, and said that he had come as quickly as he could.

His mother huffed at that, knowing him too well for the line to work. They had always been so alike. Put their career before family, and lacked the most basic grounding in emotional communication skills.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” he said finally, awkward, and left the room without looking back. Sagged against the door for a moment, relieved to have it over with, and then remembered too late that Harvey was standing there watching him.

The guilt must have shown all over his face. Something approaching it, at least, because Harvey cupped his cheek tenderly and told him that he didn’t think it had really sunk in for him yet.

Jim closed his eyes, tears pricking behind his lids for the first time since the whole scenario had begun, and Harvey misunderstood the reasoning enough to kiss him softly and reassure him that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Stuck to his word too, that first awful night as they all ate in the stifling silence of the over grand dining room, and the next morning when the doctor told them solemnly that it would be a matter of hours rather than days.

Roger wept, helpless, but he was just glad that she had been given a sedative. That she didn’t really know where she was, or who was with her, and he patted once at her hand before beating a hasty retreat, knowing even as he did so that he was leaving her life the way he had gone into it - a total disappointment.

“Did you say goodbye?” Harvey asked, overbearing like he was a kid who needed prompting, and Jim pushed away blindly. Ended up outside in the garden, standing in front of the bed his mother had wanted dug out as weeds, the Bittersweet and the Annual Honesty Jim had been convinced ought to be left alone in memory of his father.

Perhaps if he had known then what he knew now, how little truth and justice really mattered to the man he had considered a hero, he wouldn’t have put up a protest.

He heard Harvey’s step behind him and knew without the other man saying a word.

It was too late now anyway.

“She didn’t suffer,” Harvey said, falling back on platitudes, and suddenly Jim couldn’t take it a moment longer. Couldn’t bear to live the charade his remaining in this house had always demanded - the endless pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

Something he could never hope to be.

“Maybe I wanted her to suffer,” he said, his fingers cold and numb with the weight of what he was admitting, “Maybe I never wanted to come here in the first place.” Harvey stared at him, wide eyed, but now he had started Jim couldn’t stop himself. Had to get the words out; needed Harvey to see him for the person he really was. “Maybe I’m glad she’s dead. Maybe I just don’t care either way.”

He couldn’t stand it. Had to get away - had to find some way to drain the anger out of his system, bruise up his knuckles and simply not feel any of the swirling confusion overwhelming him. Harvey wouldn’t get out of his way. Stepped with him, hands restraining at his chest, and for one terrifying moment all Jim wanted to do was swing for him.

Then it was gone, nothing left in its wake but the ache in his throat and the sob he had no control over. The way his own fingers curled into the fabric of Harvey’s jacket, desperate, crying all the harder when Harvey clutched him close, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.

He cried like he hadn’t let himself in years. Not since his mother told him he was too old for such ridiculous displays of emotion. Donated all the toys his dad had once given him, and stood by while his step-father sent him away to a school where he was supposed to learn the real meaning of sacrifice and duty.

“I’m the man she made me,” he managed finally, voice cracking, and set about pulling himself together. Swiped at his eyes and pulled away from Harvey’s embrace.

Waited, spine straight and stiff upper lip in place, for Harvey to tell him that it was over.

That he could never love anyone who was as much of a mess as he was.

“I’m not here to judge who was right and who was wrong,” Harvey said instead, sounding just as broken as Jim felt, “I’m here because if you hadn’t come you’d regret it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even a year from now. But one day, Jim. One day you’ll see that who you are is the choices you’ve made, no matter what the reason.”

“I didn’t want you to think badly of me,” Jim confessed, a couple of fresh tears sliding down his cheeks, not caring that Roger was doubtless watching him from one of the windows, ready to pass judgement on his inability to just do what was expected of him. “I couldn’t even do that right.”

Harvey gave him a sad smile and tugged him back in close. Kissed him, just as reassurance, then began steering him back towards the house, arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“There’s nothing you can do that’s gonna make me turn my back on you. Not for longer than it takes for you to turn those puppy dog eyes on me. We’ve been through this.”

The words were light, the tone not far off either, but Harvey’s hold was tight and supportive, and Jim leaned against him gratefully even once they were over the threshold. When they were sat together on the pristine sofa in the family room too, the first wave of arrangements being made without anyone consulting him.

Jim wasn’t needed there, had always felt as though he were surplus to requirements. But Harvey squeezed at his hand, discreet enough but mistakable should anyone look for it, and Jim figured that maybe it didn’t matter. He was an adult now. She would never find fault with him again.

Perhaps Harvey was right.

Maybe one day he would be able to forgive her for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	257. Chapter 257

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Would you consider writing a Gordlock fic with unrequited Gobblepot?_
> 
> Just a little ficlet because it was pointed out how angsty it would be for Harvey to have to know he was second choice.

Harvey had never asked for much from life and, in turn, he had still been disappointed.

His old man had walked out on them first chance he could, and his mother was cold in her grave before he had even graduated high school. His marriage fell apart before the year was out, both of them too young and him unable to forgive her indiscretions.

He had believed he deserved better then. Had been convinced that there was someone out there who would truly love him.

There wasn’t, that was what the next couple of decades taught him. Beat it into him, until his heart was bruised and aching, and all his ideals and his principles fell by the wayside. Until he was running on empty, so very close to completely giving up and giving in, because there didn’t seem to be anything left for him anyway.

He was too old, it was too late, and then Jim turned up with his fiery determination and his halo of righteousness.

His beautiful face and his strength of character, the whole package so perfect Harvey couldn’t help but fall like a ton of bricks. Couldn’t help but act like an idiot, lay himself out like a doormat, and grovel at Jim’s feet for the slightest scrap of affection.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how humiliated he was left in the aftermath, he was always there to pick up the pieces.

He was always ready and willing to be Jim’s second choice, the back up option he turned to when things weren’t going the way Jim envisioned they should be. Whenever Jim couldn’t get what it was he really wanted, be it Barbara, or Lee, or a greasy little freak of a man he had once been tasked with murdering.

Harvey kept his mouth shut and accepted it. Didn’t rock the boat, didn’t demand answers, and when Jim came home smelling of someone else Harvey acted as though he couldn’t tell, hadn’t noticed, and choked off sobs under the spray of the shower, wishing he had the self-respect left not to put up with it.

He couldn’t give Jim up though. Had tried, once, and only made the pain burn that much stronger. Jim wouldn’t really miss him were he gone. Would end up thanking him, probably, for giving him the needed push to turn wishful thinking into reality.

One day Harvey would be strong enough not to be anybody’s last resort. Until that day came all he could do was pray that Jim would choose to humor him for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	258. Chapter 258

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey leaves Gotham after 4x11 and comes back years later with someone else, and he bumps into Jim. Your choice whether it ends up as a happy ending for Gordlock or ends with super angsty and regretful Jim._

A lot had changed since he last saw Harvey. He was older; he liked to think wiser. Police Commissioner of the madness that was Gotham City, and personal chauffeur to a niece he loved like a daughter.

Barbara was watching him curiously right now, frowning at the badly concealed shock on his face.

“Is it him?” she asked, breathless, “Is it the Bat-man?”

Jim did manage a quirk of a smile at that. Reassured her that, no, it definitely wasn’t any masked vigilante.

Nor an over earnest twenty-something with too much time and money.

“It’s somebody I used to know,” he said by way of explanation, “we are - we were really good friends.”

“Did you have a falling out?” Barbara asked knowingly, like she was turning eighty instead of ten that year, “You should go and apologize.”

Jim didn’t think it was really the time or the place for the kind of grovelling he needed to do. Nor the fist in the face he 100% deserved. The place was full of kids, and little old ladies, and every rank of civic dignitary. It was a point of personal pride that five years ago none of them would have step foot in The Narrows, grand official opening of a new tourist attraction or no.

He did want to know what Harvey was doing there though. Last he heard Harvey was working as a private detective out in Metropolis, catching a tan and enjoying his police pension.

It looked good on him, Jim couldn’t deny that, his hair longer than Jim had ever seen it, and the once ever present tension missing from his shoulders. Harvey’s date seemed to think so too, all smiles on his arm. Jim watched as she whispered something into Harvey’s ear, the other man smiling widely in response, and felt physically sick to his stomach.

Because it was one thing knowing, intellectually, that Harvey must have found somebody who was worth his company. It was quite another seeing it with his own two eyes.

Harvey glanced up then, their gaze meeting, and Jim couldn’t breathe for it. Stood there numb and helpless, unresponsive to the way Barbara was tugging at his sleeve and the superficial small talk of one of the city councillors. He didn’t know what to do, what he ought to say, and then it didn’t matter because the Mayor was calling for quiet and he was being ushered up onto the stage to say a few words about the community policing that had made the project possible.

He had written it all down. Had worked through his lunch hour to choose just the right words, in just the right order, but now, looking out at the sea of expectant faces, it all sounded bland and uninspired. Soulless. How he felt really, after Barbara was tucked up in bed of an evening, when he was left alone with his regrets and his wistfulness.

So he shoved the paper back into his pocket. Cleared his throat nervously, looking from Barbara’s face, to the Mayor, and finally to Harvey’s much missed features.

It was Harvey he was addressing as he spoke from the heart. As he explained the desire to give back that had first inspired him to join the Force, and how it was the community, the people who most mattered to him, that had kept him going, even when the challenges in front of him seemed insurmountable.

Helping people was what made the job worthwhile.

Making connections with people was what made live worth living.

He felt a little sick as he stepped down from the stage. Shaky and nerve ridden, unable to focus on what the other speakers were saying. Unable to focus on anything but the fact Harvey had looked away at that last, the pain of it so sharp it was like having his chest ripped open.

Barbara frowned at him in concern, already a good little detective in her own right, and he was garbling at her that they needed to go outside and get some air. Except when they reached the door somebody was waiting for them.

Passed him a note and clapped him on the shoulder, and Jim had to wait a good five minutes before he could dredge up the courage to open it.

It took him a moment to see more than the familiar handwriting - to make sense of the hastily scrawled missive. Then he was fumbling with his cell phone, tapping in the number and telling Harvey that, yes, he would more than happy to talk later.

That he wanted to know exactly what kind of work Harvey was doing, and didn’t mention that he was trying not to think about how it might involve Harvey’s lady friend.

It was a couple of hours later, the event finished and dinner served, eaten, and washed away, before his cell finally vibrated. Another thirty minutes before Harvey found his way to the address Jim gave him. It was surreal, almost, to have Harvey standing on his doorstep. To see him sat in the living space that was dominated by Barbara’s media choices and the projects she was completing for homework.

“You found it okay?” Jim asked, even as Harvey said sincerely,

“You’ve done well for yourself.”

Jim ducked his head, the praise somehow meaning more than all the rote letters of congratulation he had received in the wake of his appointment.

“You too,” he managed, tongue burning with the need to ask about Harvey’s companion and what she meant to him. There was no wedding ring, Jim noted. Perhaps it wasn’t serious.

“It’s all divorce and insurance fraud,” Harvey deflected easily, “tonight I got to play the part of making some schmuck of a businessman jealous. Needs must, sometimes.” He looked about the poky apartment, the location and the doormen negating the increase in Jim’s salary, “That’s how we ended up here, isn’t it?”

Jim swallowed thickly, the relief giving way to the guilt of what he had done to the best friend he had ever had. Harvey just kept talking,

“I don’t need to hear it, I know you’re sorry. I wouldn’t be sat here if we weren’t both sorry.”

“Is that the only reason you’re sat here?” Jim heard himself ask, and it wasn’t the tone he used in the precinct interrogation rooms. It wasn’t even the insistent concern he couldn’t help but slide into with Barbara. Instead he sounded breathy and hopeful.

Desperate.

Harvey smiled at him, a real smile that lit up his face and reached his eyes, and said just a fraction too loudly,

“I wouldn’t like to say, not when we’re being listened in on.”

Barbara emerged at that, pajama clad and a little shame faced, and Jim’s heart ached at the way Harvey was so at ease with her. Put Barbara at ease, in turn, the way Jim had always dreamed he would, those first few months when every moment of his simply not being Roger was so painful and difficult.

It was late when Barbara finally went to bed. The early hours of the morning when Harvey told him that he really ought to be going.

“You never gave me your reason,” Jim pushed, unable to watch Harvey leave without doing something, and the older man only finished pulling his coat and his hat on before facing him with one of the mischievous grins Jim had always been powerless against,

“Invite me around to dinner one night this week, and maybe you’ll get your answer.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	259. Chapter 259

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey and Jim are in a relationship, and Oswald is pining for Jim. (Quite possibly he tries to break them up, which I can't see going well for Oswald at all, or else he tries to initiate an affair.)_

Jim had always been so easy to read. What he wanted, wished for, written all across his face - along with the guilt he felt for it, and the stubborn determination to deny himself.

To deny both of them, the frustration torture, because it had always been clear that they were made for each other. They balanced each other out, were two sides of the same coin, and, when Jim nervously swiped his tongue across his lips as they stood too close in a little used backroom of the precinct, Oswald came to a decision.

He was sick of being Jim’s dirty little secret.

These trysts, him offering information and Jim awkwardly accepting, had been going on long enough. Jim would never make the move to take things further unless Oswald pushed him.

So push him he would, the method as obvious as its execution was going to be complicated. Because he had learned his lesson from last time. There couldn’t be anything linking him back to what had to be done.

He spelled it out in words of one syllable to Zsasz and his idiot associate. If they didn’t come through on this one he would make sure they regretted it. Zsasz nodded at least, solemn, and there was nothing left to do but wait in an agony of impatience, practicing just what he would say and which expression he would wear, when Jim inevitably came to him, frantic and tearful over the untimely demise of his partner.

The man meant something to Jim, Oswald wasn’t blind to that. Bullock enabled Jim’s recklessness. Encouraged him on his path of moral righteousness.

Tethered Jim down to his self-doubt and his insecurities, because why else wouldn’t Jim realize that he could do so very much better?

That he deserved so much more than the uncouth boor that was Harvey Bullock.

It tested his patience, then, when one week morphed into two. When two became three and Bullock was still grasping and pawing at Jim as though the sight wasn’t disgusting. He didn’t know how Jim could stand it, the hands on his back and the arm around his shoulders. The uncivilized kisses pressed to his cheeks and, worse, the lingering touches of clumsy fingers to the skin of Jim’s wrists.

Jim ought to have finer things. Well cut clothes and properly prepared dinners. Good wine, and good company, and conversation that wasn’t littered with expletives and grammatical inaccuracies.

“Why is it taking so long?” he demanded of Zsasz, nerves stretched to breaking point by another one on one meeting with Jim, speaking in hushed whispers lest Bullock overhear where Jim was getting his information from. “If I need to employ somebody else, do me the courtesy of saying so.”

“Anyone can do the job, but it takes a steady hand to do it right,” Headhunter - Wendell - told him with a wink, and it was only force of will that kept Oswald from extracting the man’s other eyeball.

He thought about that a few days later when his club proved the scene of a domestic spat turned violent, and he observed Jim peering and prodding, and generally looking run down and worn out. Tired of the job, and the city, and the sight of it tugged at something so deep within him that he was moving without thinking about it.

But then Bullock was charging in like a bull in a china shop, too large and too loud, hands at his hips as he asked Jim what they were dealing with. The man was a fool, blind to what he had in front of him - except, the unwelcome idea was occurring to him that perhaps it was he who hadn’t wanted to see what had always been visible.

Bullock put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Said something, quiet and intimate into his ear, and the soft quirk of a smile it brought to Jim’s face was enough to make his own heart falter. Bullock searched Jim’s gaze when he turned to look at him, a tender smile spreading across his own features, reassured that Jim was going to be okay.

It was the way Jim looked at Bullock in turn. The long suffering eye roll and the half shy bat of his lashes. The helpless smiles and the way he always sought to locate Bullock first in times of crisis.

“The task I set you no longer needs doing,” Oswald said to Zsasz, voice measured and flippant, ignoring Wendell’s whining about the prep work they had already started.

Jim still deserved better. Oswald was just going to put what he preached on that score into practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	260. Chapter 260

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey is cursed - he must obtain his heart's true desire in three days or lose the chance forever. I just love fairytales, don't know you're interested in the prompt._
> 
> This is still a little rough and sketchy, but I've had this prompt ages now and I don't think I'm ever going to get the motivation right to finish it up properly!

Harvey was used to Gotham crazy, had lived it almost every day of his life, and yet there was something about the nutjob in front of him that was on a whole other level. It had the hair standing up on the back of his neck. His palms slick with sweat around his gun, unease churning in the pit of his stomach.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” the guy cooed, face paint twisted into a mockery of a smile, “I’m giving you something invaluable.”

“I don’t want it,” Harvey said, resolute, but whacko only clicked his fingers - and the world went black.

Literally.

The ground was shaking beneath his feet, his balance shot to pieces as he groped along the wall for a light switch. A door handle. Anything.

“Three days,” the now hated voice rang out, manic and high pitched, “three days to find happiness or lose the chance for always.”

“When I find you,” Harvey started, covering blind panic with anger, “I swear to God I’ll -”

The lights flickered back into life. The ground quit shaking.

He was talking to an empty warehouse.

\--

Perhaps it was paranoia, perhaps it was a display of common sense, but as Harvey stumbled out into the fresh air he couldn’t help but worry that something of serious consequence had gone down. The air really was fresh for a start, sweet smelling and pure, and he didn’t think Gotham had ever once smelled like that.

Half of it was built on marshland.

His cell was refusing to pick up a signal, the characters on the screen appearing glitchy and backwards, and maybe it was the enforced darkness but the world seemed awash with colour. It was overbright and overbearing, like something out of an old Hollywood studio musical.

Like he’d fallen asleep in Kansas and woken up in Oz.

He pounced on the first uni he came across, demanding to speak to the Captain. Pleading, almost, to be taken to Jim Gordon. He flashed his badge, threatened a disciplinary, and finally found himself being lead up the immaculate steps of the central precinct, head spinning without the smog and the heavy scent of rain in the air.

“The Commissioner’s in a meeting,” some perky secretary apologized when he was at the final hurdle, “he can’t be disturbed by anyone.”

Harvey pushed the door open anyway and, compared to what he had been expecting, a middle aged man in a batsuit and a kid in tights was positively ordinary.

\--

“Holy space time continuum!” Dumb exclaimed once the preliminaries were out of the way, “Do you mean to say that our Chief O’Hara has exchanged places with his counterpart from an alternate universe?”

“I’m afraid so, Robin,” Dumber agreed, while Harvey glared daggers.

He wasn’t that shoddy a consolation prize.

“But what can we do about it?” Commissioner Gordon asked, and all Harvey’s put downs died on the tip of his tongue.

Because this Jim sounded genuinely worried. Seemed positively lost for ideas.

“I was told I had three days,” Harvey piped up, gaze glued to Jim’s future - past - alternate? - self, “I don’t think this is meant to be permanent.”

“I should hope not,” Jim bristled, pompous in a way that would look ridiculous on the Jim he knew, and in spite of it all Harvey couldn’t help but smile fondly.

Jim might be older here. Might even be a little wiser.

He still would though, and didn’t that just say everything about him.

\--

“Have you anywhere to stay?”

He had been left alone in Jim’s - Commissioner Gordon’s - office while the man went off and played time detective with the caped crusader and, truthfully, he would have been glad of any distraction. A pretty young brunette in a bullet bra was better than he could have hoped for.

“Why, you offering?” He asked, grinning wide, and instead of flirting back or even slapping him across the face, the girl only sprang to her feet and exclaimed happily,

“Daddy!”

That wasn’t really his kind of thing, might be kind of a deal breaker, and then he realized he was being more of an idiot than usual because she was kissing Jim on the cheek, and he was witnessing what Jim’s face looked like when he wasn’t trying to pretend that he didn’t care.

“Mr. Bullock was just asking if I have a spare room,” Barbara began, guileless, and Harvey flushed as Jim narrowed his eyes at him. What chance had he had, really? She was related to Jim.

For his part, Jim announced that he had been invited to stay at Wayne Manor. That Batman had asked Bruce Wayne personally. Harvey narrowed his own eyes in turn, hoping that the ridiculous subterfuge was for Barbara’s benefit, and declined as politely as he could.

He had always known Bruce was one messed up kid, and that outfit had only proved it. He wanted well away from the nuthouse.

“Couldn’t he stay with you, Daddy? I don’t like to think of you alone tonight. Not when you’re so worried about poor Chief O’Hara.”

Jim looked away, a move Harvey knew only too well, and this time when he delivered a gruffly spoken invitation, Harvey didn’t waste any time in accepting.

\--

Jim’s place was what he had been expecting. Neat, ordered, almost entirely void of the knick knacks and mementos that turned a house - or apartment - into a home.

At least that was what he would have thought if he were granted no more than a cursory glance about the place. Because away from the formal entrance hall and sitting room there were more photographs. More clutter, stashed away into cupboards and onto shelves, and the closet in the bedroom he was shown to was home to books and periodicals and a few shirts he couldn’t imagine Jim owning.

Barbara neither, for that matter, and though Harvey wanted to stay awake and puzzle it all out, the day had been draining enough that he went out like a light almost the instant his head touched the pillow.

When he woke it was to the shrill ringing of an alarm clock and, wafting from the kitchen, the enticing smell of black coffee. Jim had poured him a cup without asking and, when Harvey sipped at it tentatively to gauge how much sugar it needed, he was surprised to find it was fixed just the way he liked it.

Jim tried to hide the fact he had been watching it, looking different somehow in just his shirtsleeves, and Harvey let it drop in favor of listing his suggestions for potential avenues of research to follow up on.

“Do you think he’s safe in the Gotham you came from?” Jim asked finally, focus steadfastly on shrugging into his jacket, and it took Harvey a few maudlin moments of reflection to work out that he hadn’t been talking about his version of Jim Gordon.

\--

Their first stop was Blackgate and Harvey didn’t know what to do in the face of a prison that looked less like a penitentiary and more like a couple of olde worlde sheriff’s jail cells. The so-called Clock King sat in one, watchmaker’s tools laid out before him as though they couldn’t cause serious injury should things turn violent, but the man only swore on his word as a gentleman that he knew nothing of any other mysterious time obsessed villains.

In the next cell over another prisoner was busy with a book of crossword puzzles, jumping eagerly to his feet at the sight of them approaching.

“Commissioner Gordon!”

“Riddler,” Jim greeted solemnly, back stiff with tension, and now Harvey was looking closer there was something of Nygma about the man.

He was just as infuriating, every bit as assured of his own intellectual superiority, and when the time came to leave he called Jim back over plaintively to complain about the morning copy of the Gazette and the fact the Puzzler was stealing his glory again.

From there it was on to Arkham, here a quaint Victorian pile set in carefully maintained grounds, and Harvey boggled at the topiary as the car crunched its way up the gravelled pathway.

Inside it was more like the Gotham he knew - the stench of suffering and sickness - and the hair stood up on the back of his neck as a grown man in face paint cackled manically at the idea of helping the GCPD and Jim Gordon. He had never been a fan of clowns.

“Duke’s let himself go,” the guy said, gaze trailing over Harvey, then laughed long and loud, until his eyes were wet with tears that smudged the grease paint under his lashes.

“If you know anything about Chief O’Hara’s disappearance -” Jim began, laying down the law, and the clown only laughed again and fixed Jim with a too knowing look as he said,

“Have you tried asking the man’s wife, Commissioner?”

Jim paled at that, blue eyes - the exact same shade as the eyes of his own Jim - wide and haunted. Then the clown was rocking back and forth with laughter, manic, and Jim was once again in control, telling Harvey sharply that they would never get anything approaching sense from a joker.

Harvey followed more slowly. Glanced back at the clown, then ahead to Jim, and wondered what it meant that he had been sent here.

If he were being punished. Tormented with visions of what was never going to be.

It was time Jim Gordon quit lying to him.

\--

He broached the topic as sensitively as he could. Feared that he had killed the poor man off, the way he was choking and spluttering around the lunch the Batman was paying for.

The man himself was taking a call, the boy wonder hovering eagerly behind him, so it was up to Harvey to clap Jim across the shoulders and encourage him to take a sip of water rather than choke to death.

“We’re in a public place,” Jim hissed at him in a low tone, gaze roving anxiously, and Harvey got his first inkling that perhaps this Gotham wasn’t quite the paradise he had been pegging it as.

As proof he had to sit through another tedious twenty minutes of the Batman talking about the headway his good friend multimillionaire Bruce Wayne had been making into the problem - nil, to be specific. That was followed by a briefing back at the precinct, Jim reassuring the troops that their Chief would be back with them before they knew it.

The unis lined up in front of him nodded earnestly, accepting every word out of Jim’s mouth as faithfully as the men and women in blue did back in Harvey’s own reality. He had done his best as Captain, truly he had, but he didn’t have a gift for it the way Jim did.

He couldn’t convince them to believe it, not unless he believed in it himself.

It was why Jim had looked so crushed at his earlier assurances that his stranger of a counterpart would be getting along just fine in a world where he had worked a case where a guy was murdered for a sandwich.

Why Jim drained a finger of whiskey in a single swallow when they were finally done for the day, then poured another into the glass, hand ever so slightly unsteady.

Now he knew what to look for, Harvey could see the evidence everywhere. The different sized shoes in the rack in the cupboard in the hallway, and the different brands of cigarette on the mantelpiece. The books and the clothing that had so intrigued him the night before, and the way Jim had automatically prepared breakfast for two people.

“Does anybody else know?” Harvey asked, hand hovering for a long moment before finding Jim’s shoulder, hoping it could be some kind of comfort. “How long have you two been together?”

“You say that like it’s something to be celebrated,” Jim said, voice rough with the effort of clinging to his composure.

“Isn’t it?”

Jim shut his eyes for a moment, lashes sweeping against his cheek the way Harvey had watched Jim’s do so many times, and his heart ached for the man in front of him, even as he it twisted itself in knots, hoping that his Jim was safe and well.

“I love him,” Jim said finally, tone carefully neutral as though he were commenting on the weather, but Harvey could see the tension in his shoulders and the fear in his eyes.

It was doubtless the first time he had ever admitted it to anyone.

\--

They sat up into the early hours, for all that the periods of contemplative silence stretched far longer than any of the conversation they engaged in. He learned, all the same, that O’Hara and the wife the Joker had referred to lived separate lives, except for the kind of social occasions where appearances had to be maintained.

Harvey confessed clumsily that Jim had no reason to fear telling him anything. Made it too clear that he worshipped the ground his idiot of a partner walked on.

Loved him, truly and completely, and it took him by surprise when Jim drained another glass of whiskey and asked him outright,

“Why haven’t you done anything about it?”

Jim was out of his league. Too young, and too gorgeous, and so broken Harvey wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life piecing him back together.

“Why did you?” was what he said aloud, genuinely curious. It meant secrets and fear, and a broken marriage into the bargain. That couldn’t have been an easy decision, not by any stretch of the imagination.

The silence settled between them, so thick Harvey was certain he wasn’t going to get an answer. He should have known better. Should have realized by now that Jim was always going to have the power to surprise him.

“Because the world can be a dark and scary place. There has to be light - we have to fight for the courage to break free of the shadows.”

The words were familiar somehow. Sparked something deep inside, some distant memory, but Jim pulled himself to his feet, worn and exhausted, and paused only to put a hand on his shoulder.

“There will be light, Harvey.”

\--

Harvey squinted into the blinding light, trying to work out where he was and what was happening. He had fallen asleep in Jim’s armchair. Had been thinking about what they had said to each other.

Maybe it was time to seize the moment. To stop wishing and wanting - wasting away - and gather the courage to simply tell Jim what he meant to him.

To let Jim that he would never be alone, even if all they would ever be was friends and brothers.

Partners.

That was what the voice was saying he realized, gaze slowly swimming into focus.

“Come on, partner,” the voice urged, a hand pushing Harvey’s hair back from his forehead. “Harvey. Can you hear me?”

Harvey blinked up at the vision above him. Reached a hand out, helpless to stop it, because Jim - his Jim - was on his knees, begging him to wake up and tell him that he was going to be okay.

“You’ve been hit over the head. The ambulance is on its way.”

“Jim,” he managed, throat raw with the effort, and touched his fingers to Jim’s cheek.

It seemed he had been knocked out cold. Dreaming up fantastical scenarios, or else hallucinating events that had never happened. Or, maybe, it had all played out just the way he remembered it had, him realizing before the allotted time was up that he had everything it took to obtain his heart’s true desire.

He might not succeed. He could fail disastrously. But if he never tried then he would never know.

“I love you,” he croaked out, needing the words to be in the open, and waited for Jim’s startled rejection.

Got Jim clutching tight to his hand, blue gaze wide and hopeful, and then Jim dropping a hurried kiss to the corner of his mouth, just in time for the consummate professional to greet the EMTs arriving at the scene.

“I’ll be accompanying him to the hospital,” Jim said, tone brokering no arguments, and repeated the sentiment over the phone to Harper, hand resting on Harvey’s arm the whole time.

“You don’t have to,” Harvey told him, touched but knowing how hard it was for Jim to delegate.

Jim just smiled at him, soft and perfect, and said in an echo of everything Harvey hoped to go on to share with him,

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	261. Chapter 261

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _AU where Harvey is a bartender and ex-cop at Jim's favorite bar with friends to lovers?_

Jim wondered, sometimes, what his life would be like if Harvey hadn’t taken early retirement. He had been a homicide detective, stationed at Central, and Jim supposed that their paths would never have even crossed until he made it out of uniform.

It didn’t bear thinking about, really, because he was coming up to two years on the Force and if it weren’t for the prospect of seeing Harvey’s face after a long shift Jim might have thrown in the towel months ago.

Had been on the verge of it, truthfully, sick of constantly battling his way upstream, his colleagues treating him as though he were the enemy. He had written his letter of resignation, was thinking of going to law school to tackle the corruption another way, and ended up sitting at the counter of a cop bar he was never invited to, nursing a single whiskey which soon became three.

He had looked as miserable as he felt, Jim had no doubt about that, but instead of telling him that it might never happen, Harvey had set up stall in front of him and asked if he wanted to talk about it.

If he simply wanted somebody to drink away the memories of the day with.

Jim had been ready with a thanks but no thanks. Didn’t need sympathy and didn’t want pity. Then he had looked up into Harvey’s blue-green gaze and lost the ability to string two words together.

Because, sometimes, he didn’t think about Harvey in terms of work, or what a cop show-worthy crime fighting duo they could have made. He didn’t even think about what a good friend Harvey had become, or how he had admitted things to Harvey in their late night conversations he had never believed he could tell anyone.

Instead he dreamed of Harvey touching him. Pushing him up against the wall after closing time and letting him feel just how broad those shoulders really were. Kissing him senseless, hot and urgent, grinding into him even as Jim finally got his hands on Harvey’s backside.

Usually he felt guilty afterwards. Angry at how easily he had given in to the fantasy, and ashamed of himself for dreaming it up in the first place.

Harvey was the closest thing he had to a best friend, and Jim was engaged to be married.

About to embark on a future with the woman he loved - a woman so far out of his league his army buddies had refused to believe her photograph wasn’t actually of some poor unsuspecting model he had come across on the internet.

That was why he had never been enough, he supposed. Why Barbara could never keep her promises, each and every time she told him that it wouldn’t happen again. That it hadn’t been meant anything and that she loved him, really.

Except this time there had been no tears and no pleading. Nothing but a stilted sorry, followed by a defensive he must have known it was coming. He kept claiming that he wanted to make detective.

He would one day, Jim didn’t doubt it.

And when he did there was only one person’s congratulations he truly wanted.

One person he wanted to share everything with, and it wasn’t the ever more distant stranger whose absence from their bed he had spent the last couple of years staying out later and later to avoid coming home to.

If he had needed to drain most of what was left of the home bar to do anything about it, that was neither here nor there. The important thing was that he was doing something. Splashed cold water on his face and cologne on his neck, and threw half the contents of the dresser onto the bed, searching for the shirt Harvey had once said looked good on him.

It wasn’t as though he was going to have to worry about clearing up the mess in the morning.

Was going to be finding his own place. Might not even be for so very long if luck was in his favor.

He was more sober than he had been on setting out when he pushed the door of the bar open, but he was still drunker than he typically got, not even on the weekends. Drunk enough to make a beeline straight for Harvey.

Drunk enough to let his gaze rake up and over the fit of Harvey’s clothing and the way his hair brushed his shoulders. To linger on his lips, blood pulsing hotter at the thought of the uses they could be put to, and brazenly reach out across the counter to touch Harvey’s arm as he asked if they could talk somewhere a little more private.

He must have been so very obvious, was so ridiculously out of his depth, because Harvey’s eyes went wide and then he was carefully extracting his arm in readiness for his own thanks but no thanks.

Jim nodded to himself to hide how much it hurt. The stinging in his eyes and the cold despair spreading through his stomach. Harvey had no reason to reciprocate any of his feelings. Could do so much better than a beat cop who still woke shaking and sweating from nightmares where he was trapped back in Afghanistan.

In the wreck of his father’s car, all those years ago, screaming in the desperate hope somebody would come to his rescue.

Somebody with strong hands and broad shoulders. Blue-green eyes that held his own, strands of red hair falling across his forehead as he promised Jim that he was going to be all right and that help was coming. Squeezed his hand, and kept him talking, and stayed at the forefront of Jim’s memory for years and years, until Jim had built him up into his own personal superhero.

Until he saved him all over again, from giving up on his career and throwing away his dreams of making a difference.

“I didn’t say no, Jim,” Harvey said then, dragging Jim’s attention back to the present, and the hope that flared in his chest was so sweet that his teeth ached with it.

Harvey exchanged a few words with the other bar tender. Said something that made the guy frown, and sigh, but ultimately wave him off and get on with things. Then Harvey lead him through the crowded room to a door marked ‘private’. Up the narrow stairwell and into his own living space, to the sofa Jim had slept on a few times, when the after game drinking and talking and laughing went on until the early hours.

It had been torture, some nights. Being so close to Harvey - so close Jim could feel his body heat. Could sell his shampoo and his aftershave, and lose himself to thoughts of how Harvey might react, should Jim lay a hand on his thigh and lean in that little bit closer.

Now Jim was going to push past the realm of imagination. Splayed a hand over Harvey’s chest, so he could feel the thump of his heartbeat, and relied on the effects of the drink in his system to help him take the next step.

To rock up on his toes and press their lips together.

Harvey’s response was to hold him at arm’s length. To search his face with concerned eyes and ask him if he wanted to talk about it.

“She’s left me,” Jim stated, so that Harvey could understand. “She loves someone else. There’s nothing I could do.”

He needed Harvey to know that he had tried. He had done his best to hang on in there and do what was expected of him.

Harvey shifted where he stood. Looked away, guiltily, proving to Jim that he had already known. That the advice he had been giving him for weeks now, about talking openly with Barbara about where she saw them in five years time, was based not on intuition but the gossip doing the rounds about Detective Montoya.

“I hoped it wasn’t true,” Harvey said finally, forcing himself to meet Jim’s gaze, and Jim fell just as easily as he always had where Harvey was concerned, trusting that the other man would catch him,

“I didn’t.”

For a moment they did nothing but stare at each other, Jim’s breath coming shorter and shallower with every passing instant. Then they were kissing frantically, Harvey’s hand cupping his jaw while his own fingers tangled joyfully in Harvey’s hair, the reality of it even better than he had imagined.

He had wanted this from the moment their eyes had met that first day across the top of the bar, the jolt of recognition doing nothing to halt the wave of lust that had crashed over him. Only made it crest harder and longer, maybe, because the memory of Harvey was what had got him through some of the most unbearable times of his life, and that gave him a special connection to a man who otherwise wouldn’t look twice in his direction.

Jim was convinced of that, knew exactly how little he was bringing to the table, but Harvey’s hands were everywhere as they broke apart to pant for air. He was nuzzling up the side of his neck and murmuring into his ear that he smelled good and looked gorgeous. That it had been driving him mad, having him close and knowing that he couldn’t touch him.

“Look at you,” Harvey groaned when Jim’s hips snapped forward, helpless, “How could I not have fallen for you?”

It was heat of the moment talk, might not hold up in the cold light of morning, but Jim grasped for it with both hands. Gripped the nape of Harvey’s neck and kissed him until his head was spinning. Until he was so hard he was rutting shamelessly against Harvey’s thigh, the friction so perfect he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back for.

Harvey knew it too. Kept kissing him even as he walked Jim through to his bedroom. Sat heavily on the edge of the bed when Jim pressed forward too eagerly, so that Jim just thumped down onto his knees, the drink lowering his inhibitions enough to go for what he wanted.

To seek out Harvey’s nipple through the fabric of his shirt, the cotton soaking through as he licked and suckled, and to tug impatiently at Harvey’s belt buckle. To get Harvey’s trousers and underwear around his ankles, and to take a moment to breathe in the heady musk, his hand stealing under his own waistband even as he licked a broad stripe up the length of him.

It had been a long time. Months alone since he had simply had another’s hand on him, because their problems really had been insurmountable. It was so good he couldn’t stop. So hot he was rocking into the action himself, picking up the slack with his hand one moment, then wrapping the same hand around his straining dick the next. He whined at the feel of it, needing more, and the sound Harvey made in turn had him gripping still tighter, unsure whether he was attempting to stave off an orgasm or encourage it.

Harvey hauled him up into his arms. Plundered his mouth and rolled them over so that Harvey was braced above him, hair falling around his face as Jim raked his blunt fingernails down his back and cried out at the sensation of overheated skin making contact.

He wasn’t going to last long enough to take it further. Tried to apologize even as he dug his fingers into the flesh of Harvey’s ass, desperately attempting to get the full weight of him behind his movements.

“Yes,” Harvey hissed into the love bite he was working into the skin of his throat. Framed Jim’s face with his hands and kissed him messily, hips moving erratically as the flush in his cheeks burned brighter and brighter.

Jim couldn’t take it, couldn’t hold out a moment longer. Threw his head back, sweat and tears clinging to his lashes, and came so hard he felt washed out with the force of it. Lay there, weak and trembling, the muscles of his thigh twitching helplessly as Harvey made sinfully wanton noises and came all over his stomach.

“I’ve got a bar I’m meant to be running downstairs,” Harvey told him some ten minutes or so later, though he made no move to go and do anything about it. Stroked reverent fingers over his temple, the ridge of his ear, so tenderly Jim’s heart felt fit to burst with the quiet sincerity of what that touch was trying to get across to him.

“I’ve got to go to work in a few hours,” Jim said, the reality of it slowly seeping through the sated contentment and the beginnings of a dehydration hangover, “I’ve got to go back and pick up a clean uniform.”

If he had been fast tracked the way he was supposed to be - the way he had been promised before Larkins was investigated for corruption - it wouldn’t be a problem.

Harvey could read his mind. Knew him well enough to make an educated guess, at any rate, and chose to kiss him softly for a long moment before pointing out,

“If it weren’t for that uniform I would never have met you. Not then and not now. I don’t know why you’re so desperate to get out of it.”

It was a topic they had gone over again and again, for all that they still hadn’t managed to exhaust it. Jim always wanted to do better, to be more, but Harvey’s experience of plainclothes hadn’t been something anyone would want to go through.

Harvey smiled at him, mischief laced with sweetness, and ran a hand down Jim’s flank, calculated to prompt the squirming reaction it delivered.

“Though perhaps there are a few benefits…”

Jim gasped and moaned. Felt his body reacting all over again, Harvey’s touch sparking across his skin.

“Is this your way of saying you want me to wear my patrol uniform for you?” His voice wasn’t quite steady, excitement quickly winning out over the knowledge he ought to get some sleep. Harvey just grinned at him and snaked his hand still lower.

“Don’t go making offers you don’t intend on keeping.”

Jim reached out for him, breathless with anticipation already.

Harvey was going to have to learn that he always did his very best to keep his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	262. Chapter 262

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim Gordon is a college freshman in need of a photography subject for a semester-long project. Harvey Bullock is a college senior who's only too willing to flaunt his stuff for the camera in exchange for a few bucks. As the semester goes on, Jim finds himself falling deeper and deeper for Harvey... and ends up pushing the boundaries with his pictures._
> 
> I started out sticking close to the prompt, but then my SO - who knows my weaknesses far too well - suggested there be priests somehow. So, yeah, this turned into college freshman/seminarian AU.

  
He was already running late for class when he spied a composition so perfect it could have been sent from heaven.

Literally, maybe, because Jim might have been no expert but the dog collar was kind of a giveaway. The string of beads the guy was fiddling with too, lashes downcast with the gray promise of storm clouds in the background. Jim didn’t care that he had places to be, or that he was panting like an idiot with the effort of trying to get there.

He had to take a picture.

Dumped his bag unceremoniously to the ground and prayed that he hadn’t used an entire roll of film the night before. There was only one shot left, only a second or two before the stranger moved and the moment was lost forever.

Then the shutter was down, the thing was done, and the path was once more full of kids, and dog walkers, and fellow students rushing through the city park to make it to lectures.

Jim was torn. He ought to say something. Introduce himself and apologize for not asking permission. But then it was too late, and the man was standing to greet a pretty woman with short hair and a pram in tow, while one of his own classmates was barreling towards him and asking what a goody two shoes like Jim Gordon was doing, being more than 30 seconds tardy.

So he went and sat through a lecture he couldn’t concentrate on. Stopped by the library and thought about starting on the essay he had due in. Gave it up as a bad job after rewriting the same sentence five times, instead begging to be allowed to use the darkroom although he was already well over quota for the week, if not the entire semester.

“You’re lucky the rest of them aren’t so keen as you,” the custodian told him, waving him on with an air of long suffering, and Jim grinned wide and genuine as a thank you.

He tried not to get his hopes up. Had too much experience with the perfect shot that turned out blurred, or cropped, or - worst of all - completely blank.

Felt kind of breathlessly eager, all the same, because if he had pulled it off it was A grade material. Would take pride of place on his dorm room noticeboard, no question, because the sky had looked spectacular - and because staring at a face like that every day would definitely be no hardship.

When he returned to the library it was with a beaming smile on his face. A sense of calm satisfaction, because if he could capture that shot exactly the way he envisioned it then he could certainly power through a 1,500 word essay on the history of photojournalism.

Could drop off his own pictures for the student paper, confident that they were more than passable, and go collect the new prints he had made before he met up with friends and went out for the evening.

It wasn’t what he had been expecting to be doing. Had imagined himself straight out of school and into the military, standing tall in his army fatigues. His mother was dead set against it though. Wanted him to go to college, then onto law school, just like his brother - and his father before them. Then his grandmother died, days after her doctors said she had years left to live out, and he had no excuse not to capitulate and make the most of his acceptance letters.

Do the family name proud, that was the implication, and later that night, drunk and maudlin and watching everyone else snuggled up close with their significant others, he wondered if she knew he was a disgrace to it anyway.

If he had always been destined to disappoint her fantasies of his future.

Because when he turned up at church that Sunday morning it wasn’t because he had had some great spiritual awakening, and it wasn’t even that he had exhausted the other outlets on campus for getting involved and do-gooding. It was because he hadn’t been able to quit thinking about the guy he had seen on the bench in the park, and a church seemed as good a place to start searching for a man of the cloth as any.

The problem, he learned somewhere between the homily and the collection, was that he was sat in a Methodist chapel while the man in the picture he was flashing to a couple of the regulars was clearly of the Catholic persuasion.

“Does it make much of a difference?” Jim asked, clueless, and the look of indignation on the old dear’s face said everything.

Made him realize just how much of a creep he was being, because he had no answer to the questions about why he was so eager to track the poor guy down.

It wasn’t as though he could admit that he had spent the entire week daydreaming about kissing the man.

That was never going to happen, naturally, and he might have succeeded in putting the incident out of his mind entirely, if he hadn’t walked into a club that Friday night and lost the ability to string two words together.

He felt too hot and too full of energy. On edge and hyped up, and maybe he would simply have stared, and wished, and wanted, but Mark asked him too loudly in what passed for the fresh air of the balcony if that wasn’t the priest he had developed too many prints of, and Jim blushed and cringed but finally made eye contact.

“So it begins,” the man’s companion laughed, all lilting Irish accent, “don’t ever think you’re incognito just because you’re not wearing the dog collar.”

“I’m still a transitional deacon,” he said, a touch apologetic, and to his shame Jim perked up considerably despite not having a clue what that meant beyond the fact he wasn’t a priest yet.

Rambled awkwardly about the half baked scheme he was forming, about the semester long project he had stretching out in front of him, and how it would be so visually interesting, tracking someone’s journey to ordination.

“You want to take pictures of me?” Harvey asked, introductions having finally been made, “You sure you don’t need your eyes testing?”

Jim nodded sharply. Attempted to reel in the enthusiasm, just a little, and explained that right now he saw his future in photojournalism. “I want to show what makes somebody choose the priesthood,” he said, over earnest with drink, and thankfully refrained from adding that he was specifically interested in why somebody like Harvey would want to do so.

Why somebody who looked like that, smelled like that, would want to live a life of celibacy.

Harvey told him he would think about it. Said he would meet him on campus that Monday to give him his answer. Raised a hand in farewell as Jim returned to his friends, pulse pounding, and he must have looked so blissfully happy and approachable he even danced with a couple of girls before falling into his narrow bed and sleeping the sleep of the dead.

He felt stupid in the morning. Hungover and dehydrated and half convinced that Mark, his roommate, was right when he said that Harvey had been having him on. Priests didn’t go to nightclubs, in training or not.

They had better things to do than humor freshmen with dumb ideas about photography projects.

He still spent extra time getting ready on Monday morning. Combed his hair and dressed in the shirt someone had once said brought out his eyes. Made sure he had his diary and his camera, and sat through morning lectures in an agony of anticipation.

It would be ridiculous to get his hopes up. Was only going to prolong the mocking his friends bestowed upon him.

Only made it sweeter when he arrived at the cafeteria to find a red-haired vision making small talk with one of the lecturers from the philosophy department.

Harvey’s face lit up with a smile at the sight of him, and Jim scarcely managed to mumble out an apology to the people he had been planning to eat with, drawn forward like a magnet.

Later, he would come to think of that moment as every bit as providential as the stories Harvey told him about the times he was sure God was calling him to the priesthood.

“Look,” Harvey said in the middle of one, over some quickly grabbed lunch in the city center, “it’s the same as any other vocation. You know there’s something out there that’s right for you, but that doesn’t mean you always know exactly what it is. I thought for a while maybe I’d be a teacher, then I figured I was better suited to being a cop. I knew I needed to dedicate my life to helping others somehow.”

“So you never thought about medicine?” Jim quipped, rather than admit to being dubious, and Harvey grinned at him in a way that twisted his heart right around in his chest and said bluntly,

“I like to think God knows the limitations of his flock.”

From there they went on to a scheduled afternoon of care home visits, guided only by Harvey’s imperfect memory and scraps of paper with dates and times stuffed into his mess of a filofax.

“Don’t get that in shot,” Harvey urged, struggling to get the clasp closed after adding yet another to the collection, “I want it to look like I know what I’m doing.”

Jim nodded, reassuring, even as he snapped a picture of it anyway. It said something about the kind of guy Harvey was, he thought, to see the stuff he had agreed to do bulging out of his diary’s confines while he listened solicitously to some little old lady who sincerely believed it was 1950 and she was expecting her long dead husband home from work at any moment.

“People just want to be listened to,” Harvey told him afterwards, “really listened to. That’s the greatest gift you can give someone.”

“Who listens to you?” Jim asked, fiddling with his camera rather than Harvey see the feelings he was sure must be plastered across his face.

Harvey only glanced heavenwards, all cheeky grin, and Jim couldn’t help but think - not for the first time - that it sounded like a terribly lonely arrangement.

That was what he wrote in the first draft of his paper, thinking hard about what it would be like, watching other people celebrate the defining moments of their life without ever truly being a part of them. Christening babies but never holding one of your own. Conducting marriages but never going home to a lover.

It was that last one that preoccupied him. Had him burning up with curiosity, framing Harvey’s hands and the fall of his long red hair through the camera in his mind’s eye, desperate to know whether or not Harvey had lead a truly virtuous life before recognizing his calling.

He gave in at a seminary open day Harvey invited him to, encouraged by some of the probing questions he heard the discerning voicing. Harvey laughed, amused but not mean spirited, and winked at him as he said that it was for him to know and Jim to wonder about.

Moved on to practical questions about living arrangements and academic requirements, and Jim mulled over the reluctance to give a straight answer all through the tour of the building, and the Mass they were encouraged to sit through afterwards.

It was the first time he had really seen Harvey pray, not since that very first time he caught him in a moment of contemplation at the park, and it lodged emotion in his throat so thick that he struggled to swallow around it. Because Harvey might laugh and joke and say that you had to be of the world in addition to simply living in it, but the reality was that he believed in this stuff.

Nobody could fake the look of devotion on his face.

Jim wished he could take a photo. Wished he could carry it around with him always as a reminder that he shouldn’t allow himself to hope.

That the almighty crush he had developed on the man was only going to end badly.

He was quiet and withdrawn through lunch. Needed to get away and mourn what was never going to happen. But Harvey knew him too well already. Was undergoing active training to draw people out of themselves. Sat with him in a quiet corner and confessed that he had come close. Closer than he probably should have done.

“How about you?” Harvey asked, trying for levity, “Are you being a good boy and waiting for marriage?”

He could have played along. Pretended that that was exactly where his life was headed.

“Can’t get married,” he said instead, “not unless the law changes.”

Harvey tilted his head to the side, considering but not judging. “Did you think I’d have a problem with it?”

“Don’t you?”

“Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates his brother is still in the darkness,” Harvey quoted, voice soft, and Jim couldn’t speak for the ache in his throat.

Had to sniff, wet and obvious, and Harvey wound an arm around him and pulled him in close, pressing a scruffy kiss to his temple.

Too soon the semester was drawing to an end and Jim was putting the project together. Was called out into the corridor to take a phone call, his heart hammering faster at the sound of Harvey’s voice on the other end of the line. He didn’t hesitate a second before telling Harvey that he’d be there. Gave lacklustre apologies for a track meet and double checked he had plenty of film for his camera, and then found himself out early that Sunday morning on the rain slick streets, hoping he was following the directions properly.

He was soaked through by the time he reached the church, rain water dripping from the hood of his coat to the stone floor. He peeled it off and salvaged his camera from its case in his backpack. Got ushered through to the back rooms where Harvey met him with a fond smile.

“You look like a drowned rat.”

“You look like a priest,” Jim countered, taking in the fancy embroidery on the robes he was wearing.

“Father Michael’s sick,” Harvey said, by way of explanation, “and I’ve already served my pastoral year.”

“And I’m okay to take photos?”

Harvey nodded. “I figured it would be a nice way to round off your project. It’s not a Mass, just a communion service, but it’s as close as I can get for you at this point.”

Jim took Harvey’s word for it. Listened to his brief explanation of what he was wearing, and why it was significant, then went and found a pew from which to witness proceedings. It was different to the stifling formality of the Mass he had attended at the Seminary, and the casual service he had attended that Sunday morning at the Methodist Chapel.

It fell somewhere between, the congregation restricted mostly to the elderly and the bored looking, for all that Harvey’s preaching was lively enough. He should be thinking about faith, he supposed. About God, and sin, and something profound about society at large becoming increasingly secular.

He was too busy thinking about how good Harvey looked. How the strands of hair escaping their tie framed his face, and how many layers of clothing he would have to remove before reaching bare skin. He wondered if there would be freckles. Whether or not Harvey would be ticklish.

Snapped pictures as Harvey fussed about with the ciborium, the light hitting his face just so.

The finality hit him as he sat down again. This was it.

Perhaps they would never even meet again.

He handed the project in, subdued and maudlin. Went home for a week over break to catch up with his scout troop and listen to Roger boast about his career prospects. Put up with his mother’s endless probing and quizzing, and her attempts to set him up on a date with the daughter of one of her friends.

“It would be good for you, Jim. You need to start thinking about the image you’re projecting.”

It was too much, struck at everything he was struggling with, and his tone was too close to snappish when he said that he didn’t want to date some girl his mother chose for him. Didn’t want to date any girl, really. Not now and not ever.

He was expecting shock. Tears, maybe. Instead his mother only sat up straighter, shoulders tense, and said calm and cold that he couldn’t help what he felt but it was his decision what he did about it. That he ought to think about his future. About Roger’s fledgling career.

Just try acting like a normal person and see if perhaps it wasn’t simply a phase, after all.

It hurt. Burrowed deep into his psyche, underneath all the progress he had made since leaving for college. Shadowed everything he did and everything he was, and back on campus it was like high school had never ended. He felt useless and lonely and outcast. Worried that his roommate was thinking the same things as his mother, and that should the guys on the track team find out they would want nothing more to do with him.

Worse, he wasn’t sure he’d blame them.

The weather was as gray as his thoughts, unseasonably cold and wet though they were fast approaching summer, and one afternoon he cut class altogether to sit on a bench at the park and try to make sense of where his life was going. He watched couples walking by hand in hand, and mothers with children they doted on.

It must be him, he thought in that moment. Something broken and toxic inside him that made people want him to be somebody else entirely.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” A familiar voice said, and Jim had to swipe surreptitiously at his eyes as Harvey dropped down to sit beside him.

They hadn’t seen each other since the evening service he had attended, but Harvey saw it in him immediately. Asked him how he was doing and offered a listening ear if he wanted to talk about it. So he trailed along on another round of care home visits, and they ended up back at his dormitory room because Mark was staying with his girlfriend.

Jim gave him a copy of the project, complete with the news it had earned him an A grade, and made drinks while Harvey read it. His revised passages about loneliness, and how perhaps it didn’t matter when you were living for other people.

“It’s beautiful, Jim,” Harvey said.

His subject matter was beautiful, that was the reality, and to Jim’s horror his vision was swimming again, tears burning behind his eyelids. He told Harvey how his mother had reacted. About the look of disgust on his own brother’s face. How starkly it had contrasted with the acceptance shown him by a man he had expected nothing from.

“Oh, Jim,” Harvey breathed, genuine concern for his wellbeing, and somehow it ended with them both sat on his bed, Harvey’s arms around him.

Jim drew strength from it. Clutched at Harvey’s back and confessed in a whisper that he had missed him.

“I missed you too,” Harvey said with a lopsided smile, “I feel like I lost my right hand man.”

He got a clap on the back, brotherly in place of the sentiment Jim really wanted, but it would have to do.

It was better than nothing.

Harvey’s friendship pulled him back from the darkness over the next few weeks, in spite of how little he got to actually see him, what with coursework, and sports, and the Saturday job he landed at a cafe on the edge of campus.

He kept taking photos every chance he got. Planned to extend the project into a piece for his final year, and Harvey said that it was fine because he wouldn’t be finished with seminary until after Christmas.

As far away as that was, it kept creeping closer. Summer was upon them before he knew it and Jim arranged things so he’d have to spend as little time at home as possible. Stayed on campus a few days late and then volunteered for a scouting camp. Lived through a few stilted days with his mother, then went back to Gotham to share a poky apartment with a bunch of other students until the new academic year.

Harvey was back from his summer residential too, and Jim offered his services gladly in whatever capacity. Got roped into the youth outreach scheme, and put all his updated scout training into practice.

“Which diocese are you from?” An elderly priest asked him at one event, thinking him one of the seminarians, and Harvey saved him neatly by telling the man he was still discerning the path ahead of him.

“Do you think I’d make a good priest?” Jim asked afterwards, when the kit was packed away and they were taking a well earned break under the shade of a monster of a tree.

“No,” Harvey said. Jim must have looked hurt because he elaborated, “You would do everything asked of you and you would do it well. But you wouldn’t do it from a place of love. You’d do it out of a sense of duty.”

That made a lot of sense. Too much, really. Jim picked at the grass around them, trying to formulate the right words. Asked simply,

“Do you ever worry that you’re doing this for the wrong reasons?”

They had talked about it, right back at the beginning. But it was different now. He didn’t have a notebook in front of him, and they had history of exchanging secrets into the bargain.

Harvey’s smile faltered.

“Sometimes. I think of the things I’ll never do. I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough to resist temptation.”

It was like a scene out of some soppy romantic movie. The balmy sun and the way their hands were resting so close together Jim could twitch a finger and be touching Harvey.

The man he loved, he thought suddenly, knowing instinctively that it wasn’t him being over dramatic or mistaking friendship for something more serious. He loved Harvey. Wanted him more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything, and time seemed to be moving in slow motion as he watched his own hand.

As he stroked the pad of his thumb over the back of Harvey’s hand.

“You’ll still be the best friend I’ve ever had, no matter what you choose to do.”

If approaching footsteps hadn’t had them clambering guiltily to their feet, Jim liked to dream that Harvey would have responded with something similar.

Would have leaned in close and kissed him. Cupped his cheek with a hand and pushed forward wanting more, ready to throw it all away on a fool of an undergraduate.

Back in the real world Harvey treated him like nothing more than a friend. A good friend, an intimate friend, but a friend nevertheless. They spent hours talking, and long chunks of time sat in companionable silence. Debated the big problems and laughed over the inconsequentials and, when school started back, Harvey introduced Jim to his family, including the cousin with the baby he had been meeting all those months ago when Jim first laid eyes on him.

“He’s like my little brother,” she said, ruffling Harvey’s hair fondly.

“I’m older than you,” Harvey pointed out, combing it back through, and she just winked at Jim and said,

“I know, I was referring to your mental age.”

Jim laughed, helpless in the face of Harvey’s expression of mock outrage, and they ended up back in his dorm room because the seminary wasn’t big on privacy and Jim had taken to making careful notes of Mark’s schedule in his own diary, just in case opportunity presented itself.

He used the excuse of wanting to show off his new - third or fourth hand - Polaroid camera and snapped a couple of shots of Harvey before he could protest the action. Tried to get him to pose for a third only to capture his middle finger, and from there it was a natural path to play wrestling, Harvey laughing as he tried to get the picture away from him on the grounds that it was eminently unpriestly.

“You should have thought about that before you did it,” Jim chided, laughing freely in a way he didn’t think he had ever done with anyone else, and fell back against his neatly made bed when Harvey used his greater weight and bulk to his advantage.

They were both flushed and rumpled, breathing hard and half entangled. That was the moment Mark chose to stick his key in the door, of course, and though Harvey stumbled to his feet as though scalded, Jim knew it wasn’t anything but guilt that had him suddenly remembering someplace else he had to be.

“Sorry,” Mark said once he was gone, genuine as he slouched back against his bed, “You should have said you were having your boyfriend over.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Mark waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not going to drop either of you in it, don’t worry.”

“He’s training to be a priest,” Jim said, defensive because he wished Harvey was willing to break his vows for him.

Mark just sniggered childishly and Jim went and took his frustrations out on the punching bag at the gym rather than say something he later regretted.

The problem was that Mark wasn’t ready to drop it. Apologized again and dug the hole deeper, implanting the idea in Jim’s head for the first time that maybe Harvey had never been honest with him. That perhaps he was playing around with someone else, just the way Mark seemed convinced was the norm for anyone destined for the ordained clergy.

“Not that I’m saying he’s like the rest of them,” Mark backtracked, awkward at the crestfallen look Jim knew was plastered across his face.

Because the next time he saw Harvey, it was with the obviously deliberate inclusion of another seminarian in tow, lest anybody get the wrong idea. Lest Jim try and force his perverted interests on him, he supposed, because apparently you had to hate the sin even if you loved the sinner.

Except Jim was back at his Saturday job, busy attempting to swipe away the worst of the spilled coffee from his apron, when Harvey put in an unscheduled appearance. Looked so handsome and greeted him so exuberantly, hugging him close just the same as usual, that Jim talked his supervisor into letting him go on break so they could talk properly.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Harvey said, so that for a second Jim fantasized up all kinds of unlikely follow-ups to that sentence. “I can’t go home for Thanksgiving this year and my guess is that you’re trying to find some way out of it.”

Jim couldn’t deny it. Was working overtime into the evening for that very reason.

“My family wants me to invite you to their dinner. You don’t have to,” he assured, shrugging openly, “but they’ll make you so welcome. Kathleen will look after you.”

“What will you be doing?” He asked to buy himself some time, uncertain how he would cope stuck alone in a roomful of almost strangers.

“Baptism in the morning, care homes in the afternoon. Maybe a hospital visit if I can squeeze it in.” He smiled, “No rest for the wicked.”

Jim looked at him more closely. Noted the dark smudges under his blue-green eyes, and the pallor of his skin highlighted by the red of his hair and the black of his cassock.

“You can’t give everything all the time,” he said, fingers itching with the urge to reach out and push a stray lock of hair back behind Harvey’s ear, “you’ll only make yourself ill.”

“I’m not living for myself anymore,” Harvey said, and there was something about the words or the tone they were delivered in that kept Jim awake half the night.

Had him agreeing to the dinner, then wondering what the hell he had been thinking when he was standing on the doorstep, a bottle of wine clenched in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. Harvey’s aunt took them from him like he was offering up something really worthwhile and, true to Harvey’s word, Kathleen came and rescued him from the worst of the interrogation.

“Any friend of Harvey’s is a friend of ours,” the aunt assured him, even if it didn’t mean a let up in the questions, and he tried not to stare too much, because Harvey had so many cousins and some of them looked so very much like him.

One guy in particular, distinguished with a beard Harvey lacked, and perhaps Jim forgot himself for a few moments because the man was frowning over at him like he couldn’t work out whether he was friend or foe. Asked him outright how he had met Harvey, and how long they had known each other.

Jim stammered over his answers, embarrassed at being the center of so much attention, and, when the other man opened his mouth to speak again, Harvey’s aunt silenced him with a glare and said sternly that nobody was interested in his opinion of the priesthood.

“Craig’s our resident atheist,” Kathleen told him by way of explanation, and the man in question only shrugged and said,

“I just think he’s making a mistake. What kind of family and friends would we be if we didn’t tell him?”

Craig met his eye as he said it, too knowing, and Jim spent the next few minutes focusing fixedly on his food. That stumbling block aside the day went well. Harvey’s family were easy to get on with, clearly cut from the same cloth as Harvey himself, and Jim couldn’t help but daydream idly about an alternate reality in which he was eating the same meal with Harvey beside him.

Where nobody was judging him for the adoring looks he wouldn’t be able to help bestowing, nor the kisses Harvey would press to his cheek just because he wanted him to know that he was what he was thankful for.

In the real world he said his polite goodbyes in the early evening and walked slowly back to his dorm room. Looked through the hundreds of photographs of Harvey he had amassed, fingertips tracing over features he already had memorized. He stretched out on his bed with a few of his favorites, glad that Mark was absent for the evening.

There was the first picture he had taken, the one that had so infatuated him, and the polaroid he had taken there in that very room, Harvey looking the perfect contrast of piety and rebellion. The photograph he had taken in church, with Harvey’s face transformed with the bliss of the faith he so devoutly believed in, and, finally, a moment he caught by chance, back in the summer, when Harvey was working fast so as not to drip ice cream all down the front of his clean cassock.

It was that one Jim lingered over, for all the wrong reasons, and he bit at his lip even as he pushed his free hand into his underwear. He wanted it to be Harvey’s hand. Would give anything for it to be Harvey who was touching him. He let his eyes fall shut as he imagined it. Stroked his fingers along the inside of his thighs and over his abdomen. Teased at his dick with fleeting, barely there touches, until his hips were shifting of their own accord, desperate.

Maybe Harvey would suck him - and allow Jim to reciprocate. Let him kiss and touch and worship, and convince Harvey that he had been right to choose him over something he had spent almost a third of his life in training for.

He had to wrap his hand around himself. Gazed at the photograph again, guilt heating his cheeks even as he throbbed and ached, so eager for more that he was leaking over his fingers. Was just a wanton mess, hungry for sensation, hand gripping tighter, moving faster, until he was laying there spent and breathless and ashamed of himself.

That was the cycle he was stuck in during the build up to Christmas. He swore he wouldn’t do it again. Pledged that he was going to move on and stop taunting himself with fantasies of something that could never happen. Then he’d be reminded of Harvey - of his scent, and his smile, and his kindness - and he either committed mortal sin with one hand over his mouth, or stifled sobs into his pillow, not wanting his roommate to hear how pathetically heartbroken he felt.

Sometimes he did both, one after the other, and wished that he believed in something other than science and reason that might make it easier to bear, the idea that by keeping quiet he was making his own personal sacrifice for some higher being.

He was doing it to make Harvey’s life easier, he reasoned eventually. To let his best friend lead the life he wanted to.

“You can open it now,” he said when he decided to make peace with it, and went to see Harvey before he did what was expected and went home for Christmas, “you need all the time you can get to go through the old one.”

Harvey raised a quizzical eyebrow at that, but peeled the wrapping paper way dutifully. Smiled at him when it was done, soft and genuine, and thanked him for gifting him exactly what he needed. Jim shrugged, pleased with the praise though he tried not to show it, and hoped the woman in the store had been right when she said even the most disorganized person could mend their ways with an A4 Filofax and a few packs of sticky notes.

“It means a lot to me, Jim, really it does,” Harvey said, sounding more emotional than a diary merited, and Jim tried to say that it was nothing. That it didn’t make his heart flutter, the thought of Harvey using something he had given him all year around, binding them closer together however symbolically.

All he actually succeeded in doing was taking a step closer, the world outside the closed door of the store room he was meant to be helping Harvey root through for Christmas decorations falling away as he gazed up into Harvey’s face.

It would be a stupid thing to do. Would go directly against everything he had spent the last few weeks soul searching about. But then Harvey was the one who made a desperate sound, anguished and impatient, tenderly touching his face even as he kissed him frantically. Jim had to respond in kind. Was only human, couldn’t help himself, and within moments he had his back pressed up against the wall, hands tangled in Harvey’s beautiful hair.

He was panting, beyond excited, and their movements only grew more fevered, Harvey’s hands working up and under the fabric of his shirt, and his own grasping greedily at Harvey’s backside. It felt so good, so indescribably wonderful, and then there was the scuff of footsteps just outside the door and Harvey was pulling away sharply, hands shaking as he pushed one through his hair.

“We - I -” Harvey started, voice scratchy not with want but with fear.

“It’s all right,” Jim managed, only the absolute terror on Harvey’s face preventing him from giving way to his own tears. “It was - It doesn’t mean anything.”

That was a lie and they both knew it.

It didn’t feel quite real as Jim packed to go home for the holidays. There was no way he could have actually kissed Harvey. It simply wasn’t possible that Harvey had kissed him so passionately.

That Harvey felt something for him. Something strong enough to act upon.

Something that still wasn’t enough to choose him over serving some imaginary construct.

That was how he thought of it during the train journey, heart shattered and bleeding because he had been stupid enough to give Harvey the time and the date of his departure. To hope that it would play out like some overblown romantic movie, where love overcomes all odds and everybody gets their Happily Ever After.

Instead he got a week of feeling like a failure, of knowing that he was a disappointment. His mother fixed him up with a date for her Christmas party, a pretty blonde with perfect teeth and a bachelor’s degree in art history. He did his best to make small talk. To smile and be generally agreeable.

He even kissed her cheek, when the night was over, and in return she handed him her card, complete with her personal cell number.

For a few moments Jim entertained the idea of calling it. Pictured himself following in his father’s footsteps, assistant DA with a beautiful wife on his arm and two rosy cheeked children he only ever saw for brief intervals. They would live in a perfect house, with a white picket fence and a perfectly manicured garden.

It wouldn’t be perfect though, none of it, because all he would be doing was making someone else play make believe.

He told his mother as much, when she hinted strongly that she was expecting he and Barbara to see each other again, and though she sniffed and tutted, she refrained some saying any more about it. He felt like he had done the right thing, like he was taking the steps toward independence and adulthood, and then he arrived back on campus to find a little beribboned box waiting for him, the way his heart skipped a beat in his chest telling him that he still had a long way to go before he was wise and sensible.

Jim opened the box to find a simple silver chain with a medal of a robed and haloed saint, indistinguishable to Jim from any of the others. There was a folded note with it though, covered in Harvey’s flowing handwriting, explaining that St. John was the patron saint of love, and loyalty, and friendship, and that the three together summed up what Jim meant to him.

‘In another life, perhaps, it would not matter how I expressed the love I feel for you. Because I do love you, Jim. You’re my best friend. My brother. I hope and pray that you can forgive my weakness.’

It wasn’t the confession Jim had been hoping for. Was still so much more than he had ever truly imagined getting.

He put the medal on, fingers stroking over the pendant, and wished that there really were some magic attached to it, and that St. John could take the wrenching pain of loving someone he couldn’t have away.

As it was he concentrated on throwing himself into his schoolwork. Studied, and volunteered, and worked on building up his CV by taking pictures of fashion collections, and flower arrangements, and babies staring out bemused from clouds of lace and ribbon. He tried to fill up every minute of every hour, because if he was too busy to think then he couldn’t dwell on thoughts of Harvey.

It didn’t work, not at all, and when Harvey turned up at the cafe to hand him an invite to the ordination service in person, his heart lurched just as pathetically as it ever had.

“You’re wearing it,” Harvey breathed, like his mouth had run on without his brain’s say so, and Jim looked down at the medal and willed the flush he could feel spreading across his cheekbones to disappear.

“It’s a gift from a good friend,” he said, forcing a strained smile, and Harvey’s gaze went damp in return, so that Jim couldn’t even hate him for not making what he viewed as the right decision.

He went to the service, not knowing what to expect. Took his camera along, just for moral support, and hated the part of himself that still wished Harvey was going to change his mind, and tell the gathered congregation that love trumped tradition.

What actually happened was lots of standing and chanting. Centuries of faith and worship converging on a few solemn moments, until Harvey was stretched prostrate on the ground, offering himself up in service, and Jim was swallowing around the painful lump in his throat, trying to convince himself that he was overcome with happiness for Harvey’s achievement.

“You’re going to change people’s lives,” he said when it was done, clinging a moment too long when Harvey reached out to hug him. “You already changed mine, Harvey.”

He couldn’t say anything more. Couldn’t bear to stay any longer. Wept helplessly back in the relative privacy of his dorm room, until Mark got back and told him that Harvey had never been worth it anyway.

“You can do better,” Mark said, adamant. “You want some rich dude who’s going to treat you right, not a guy so deep in the closet he’s gonna cry about it afterwards.”

It didn’t help but Jim thanked him for trying. Went over to the dark room instead to develop the photographs he had taken, and then stayed up late into the night putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. The story he had initially set out to tell - the journey from seminarian to priest - before falling into bed and dreaming fitfully about Harvey’s hands and the heat of hellfire.

They wrote regularly, at first, after Harvey moved on to his new parish. Exchanged cards at Christmas and birthdays, and Harvey sent him a set of cufflinks to congratulate him on his graduation, along with a keychain with a spectacularly ugly likeness of St. Veronica, the patron saint of photographers.

‘The camera sometimes see what the eye does not,’ Harvey wrote on the accompanying card, and Jim was about to consign the box to the trash when he realized it wasn’t quite empty.

There was a single photograph, one he hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t even known was being taken, that day at Harvey’s ordination service. It was of him hugging tight to Harvey - and Harvey clutching back just as desperately.

Jim didn’t know what Harvey was trying to say with it. Harvey had chosen the Church and Jim had accepted it. What was the use in wishing it were otherwise?

He did it though, all the same, even as their letters grew less frequent. As he bounced from one internship to the next, and had a chance encounter with a senior cop who had known his father which lead to a crash course in forensic photography. He was good at it. Loved the idea that he was making a difference.

Somehow found himself on a date with the very talented - and very female - assistant medical examiner, and gritted his teeth through his mother’s smug lecture that she had always known he hadn’t been serious.

Lee told him to ignore it. Smiled at him, playful yet beautiful, and he wondered what it meant that all he could think of was another smile that had set his pulse racing. They were similar people, Jim thought, Lee and Harvey. They were both clever, and gorgeous, and dedicated. Committed to making the world a better place, even when it meant personal sacrifice.

“It couldn’t work,” he told her, before things became serious, and got involved with one unsuitable guy after another, so that Lee took to scolding him every time their paths crossed and asking why he was such a terrible judge of character.

“Maybe you don’t want it to work out,” her new fiance said over drinks and fondue and shop talk about blood spatter, “maybe you’re subconsciously self-sabotaging.”

“I thought you were a doctor not a psychologist,” Jim groused, not liking how true the words rang, while the other man just laughed and said that a man had a right to be both, surely.

The words were still playing on his mind a few days later when he received a call out. When he arrived at the scene only to find confusion and chaos, because the poor guy on the ground was going to have to take second place to the hostage it seemed the killer still had hold of.

Jim wasn’t an idiot. Knew the regulations and the proper procedure. Couldn’t help but overhear a couple of uniformed officers talking, regardless, and didn’t need to be a detective to put two and two together. The man was the right age and had the right colouring. Had offered himself up in place of a parishioner, and by the time he heard the name he was already moving, the St. John medal around his neck feeling hot against his chilled and clammy skin.

The scene inside the warehouse was ugly and the stench disgusting. Jim pushed on anyway, oblivious, and watched in horror as the blade glided across Harvey’s throat, before clattering to the floor as his assailant made a run for it.

Jim dropped to his knees beside Harvey. Met his frightened gaze and told him not to try and talk. That it would be okay, that everything was going to be all right, even as he yanked his tie free of his shirt collar and pressed it down to staunch the bleeding.

At the hospital he sat in silent vigil at Harvey’s bedside. Held his hand too tightly and tried to make sense of the jumble of emotion. Harvey had almost died in his arms. He hadn’t seen the man in years, had thought of him almost every single day, and then he was there, in front of him, bleeding and bleeding while Jim could do nothing to stop it.

He cried a little. Paced the room and waited for the doctor to come and update him. Tried praying, even, because Harvey was one of God’s own, and surely that had to count for something.

“Jim?” Harvey croaked finally, weak and frightened, and Jim was at his side in an instant, heart aching as Harvey told him he thought he had been dreaming. “They say you see lights. Angels. I thought for sure I was dying.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back in Gotham?” Jim asked, not able to let go of Harvey’s hand just yet. “I sent you a letter at Christmas.”

Harvey closed his eyes, obviously exhausted, but whispered out an answer,

“You said you were happy, Jim. I didn’t trust myself to respect that.”

Just like that they were back to square one. Except this time around he wasn’t a college freshman, certain that if he just loved Harvey devoutly enough then, somehow, someway, they could be together. Life was infinitely more complicated than that. He knew exactly how painful it was going to be when things didn’t pan out the way he wanted.

Still he visited every single day, the easy familiarity they had once shared restored so quickly and so completely it was as though they had never spent longer than a week apart.

“You don’t have to do this,” Harvey told him back at the rectory, hobbling about on the broken leg Pyg had given him to go with the slit throat, and Jim simply shook his head and said,

“You’re my friend, Harvey. It’s not a burden to spend time with you.”

Harvey felt the same way, clearly, because by the end of the month Jim was practically part of the furniture. Came by after work to wait for Harvey to finish up at some ungodly hour, or swung by to talk over Harvey’s paperwork on his lunch break. Even tagged along to an afternoon of care home visits, just like the old days, when he offered to drive Harvey over there because it was his day off and he had nowhere better to be.

It wasn’t the same though, and Jim found himself attempting to pinpoint the reasons for it. It wasn’t him, he determined, for all that it ought to be. He was supposed to be older and wiser but every time he looked at Harvey he could be the same besotted teenager. He loved the man, probably always had done, and in a few short weeks he had decided he was willing to live with whatever constraints it took, so long as he could spend a few moments each day reveling in being the focus of Harvey’s attention.

The obvious answer, then, was that the change was in Harvey. He was more organized than he had been, not that it said much, and it filled Jim with a bittersweet sort of joy to see Harvey using the same ancient Filofax binder he had once gifted him. Jim thought of the pictures he had taken, ignoring Harvey’s plea to keep his mess of a planner out of shot, and Jim snapped a couple more for old time’s sake, matching the composition of the originals as closely as he could.

Technology, at least, had moved on. The digital cameras that had been a fascinating novelty then were the norm now, and he didn’t have to wait until his turn in the darkroom to see how the shots had turned out. It was there that he saw it, on the viewscreen of his camera, because Harvey hadn’t been lying when he had written that sometimes the camera saw things the eye failed to observe.

Harvey looked exhausted. Physically, mentally - spiritually, even. He had told Jim once that to be a good priest you needed to do things from a place of love, not simply out of a sense of duty. That was where the change was, why the whole scene felt so different, and still Jim mulled the idea over for a few days, working up the fortitude to broach the topic.

He invited Harvey to his apartment. Dug out his old photographs and let Harvey look through them.

“I look so young,” Harvey said, pausing over one of Jim’s favorites, the polaroid snap he had taken in his dorm room.

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Jim pointed out, stubborn, and Harvey gave him a sad sort of smile and said,

“Sometimes I’d look at you and feel like a dirty old man. Like a walking talking stereotype, because you were scarcely out of high school and all I wanted to do was be near you.”

It shook him to hear that. To know that it had always been mutual. To hear how Harvey viewed himself, all for a twelve year age gap he had never given a second thought to.

“You were hardly a seducer of the innocent,” Jim said aloud, wanting to see Harvey smile, “and if you were you wouldn’t have had to try very hard.”

Harvey simply looked down at his hands. Looked so pained, so guilty, that Jim wished he could take the burden of it from him.

“I’m so sorry for what I did to you,” Harvey said, reaching nervously for the whiskey tumbler on the coffee table. He sipped from it, delicate, then changed his mind and drained the thing. “I wanted - I don’t know what I wanted. You to ask me. To beg me to choose you over the entire institution. How conceited is that?” Harvey shook his head. “You had a lucky escape, Jim.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jim said firmly. Reached out to take the glass, and then to hold his hand between his own, heart hammering with anxiety. “I was trying to be mature and responsible. To let you live the life you wanted without putting pressure on you. I still don’t want to pressure you,” his voice was scratching up, emotion getting the better of him, “but I don’t think it’s what you want anymore. I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time.”

Harvey was the one to kiss him. To deepen the press of their lips, fingers trembling as they touched his cheekbone and traced along the ridge of his ear. Jim moaned into it, overwhelmed and overawed, hands in Harvey’s hair, combing through the long red strands just the way he had always longed to.

“I don’t know how to do this, Jim,” Harvey whispered roughly into his ear when they broke apart for long enough, “people do - priests I know - but I never. I kept my vows.”

Jim shuddered. Couldn’t help the white hot stab of want that went through him, overpowering his senses.

“We’ll take it at your pace,” he said when he trusted himself to talk, “all I want is to be with you.”

“I love you,” Harvey told him then, like he simply couldn’t wait any longer to say it, and Jim nodded at the admission.

“I know. You wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.”

It was a simple statement of fact, discerned from all of their shared experience. He tucked a stray strand of hair back behind Harvey’s ear, heart swelling at being allowed to touch - fit to burst at the way the soft look in Harvey’s eyes transformed his face. He looked younger. More at peace with himself.

“I love you too,” he assured, because he hadn’t said it yet. Had never said it, not with the actual words.

“I know,” Harvey smiled. “I don’t know why you do, but I’m thankful for it.”

Jim just kissed him again, because he was so happy he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Love couldn’t conquer all, maybe, but it could certainly make the end result worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	263. Chapter 263

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _What about an AU where Jim is a hooker, and Harvey is one of his regular clients?_
> 
> There be no happy endings here...

Before he left the army he had never had a dick in his mouth. Less than a year of civilian life and he had lost track of how many times he had been called a filthy cock sucking whore.

It was true, he supposed, because it didn’t matter whether they were petting softly at his hair, or yanking it out by the roots. Begging him for more or snarling that they hoped he choked. He was still getting paid for the privilege.

He was still a disgrace to the family name and the service medals he had pawned for a change of clothes and a hot meal.

That was what happened when you fucked up, he guessed. When you were put in a position of command and proved yourself to be a complete and total failure. Good men had died because of him. Better men than he would ever be.

If eking out a dismal existence on the streets of Gotham was his punishment, then so be it. He didn’t deserve the ignorance of death. It was his fault. All of it.

The horrific scenes that haunted his nightmares, and the screams he woke to, his own throat flayed raw with the force of it.

So, when the latest guy looked him over with guilty eyes, Jim lead him down the usual side alley and dropped to his knees, hard enough to know there would be fresh bruises layered atop purple and yellow.

He reached for the guy’s fly, picking up the slack because some of them got off on that, but this one just took hold of his wrists, firm but gentle, and told him stiltedly,

“Didn’t come here looking for that.”

Jim closed his eyes for a moment. Thought of the life he had once imagined for himself - the wife, and the children, and the All-American white picket fence - and how far from the ideal he had fallen.

“It’ll cost you extra,” he said, hating himself, and started tugging at his own belt buckle. Hoped it wasn’t going to last long, that the man wasn’t going to turn out to be bigger than average, but then instead of being slammed face first against the wall he watched as the guy sank to his own knees and told him that he’d pay the going rate, no problem.

Held his hips, thumbs moving soothingly, and nosed along the outline of his dick with a noise of satisfaction. Looked up at him through his lashes, gaze drink sodden and a touch unfocused, then set about swallowing him down to the root.

Worked him like he was desperate for it, like he couldn’t get enough of him, and when Jim tried pushing the fingers of one hand into his thick faded red hair, the guy groaned and shivered and did something with his tongue that had Jim’s eyes rolling back in his skull.

Because it wasn’t that he never got off. Some guys, that was what did it for them. Some guys liked to pretend that they were hooking up for real, not completing a transaction. It was just that it was unexpected, that it made him feel almost human, and he had to bite back a sob when the guy trailed soft kisses along his thigh as he came down from his climax, unable to remember the last time somebody treated him - however fleetingly - like he wasn’t something toxic.

“Where can I find you if I want to see you again?” the man asked when he stood, straightening up his clothing, and Jim simply shrugged and said that he could usually be found working.

Nothing came for free in Gotham.

Nothing was what it seemed, either, and when he next saw Harvey - as he learned the guy’s name was - he was flashing his badge and asking some of the girls on Midway if they had seen a tattoo like the one in the picture.

“He ain’t one of ours,” he heard the ringleader say, just as mouthy as she was when she was telling him to fuck off and find his own stomping grounds, “you want to try one of their lot.”

Jim wished the ground would swallow him whole. That he was drunk, stoned, in the middle of a panic attack. Anything but aware of his surroundings and the shattering of the one half decent memory he had to get him through the misery.

Harvey just handed him his card though, and said that if he wanted to perhaps they could talk somewhere a little more private.

That turned out to be a diner rather than the holding cell at the precinct or another alley and, rather than waste time worrying what was coming afterwards, Jim simply shoveled the food he was offered into his mouth and washed it down with sweetened coffee.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” the girls said to him once he was back out on the streets, and Jim decided that he didn’t care.

He knew how to handle himself.

Knew that nobody came back to him, not for a third or a fourth time, so that he was taken off guard when Harvey took him back to his apartment. The place was a dive, run down and worn out, and Jim lay there trembling with anticipation, heart racing in his chest as Harvey slowly stripped him of his clothing.

Kissed him, and touched him, and worshipped every inch of him, like he was something pure and untainted. Sucked him to completion instead of fucking him, and paid over the odds just to remind him that this wasn’t kindness.

It was pity.

Because Harvey liked to take on charity cases, that was what the others told him. Got off on playing the white knight - the noble saviour - and the more pathetically grateful he acted, the longer he could rely on the man as a source of steady income.

He wasn’t much of an actor, had never been any good at communicating, but he tried anyway, accepting the clumsy kisses Harvey bestowed when he was drunk, and the tender torment he inflicted when he was approaching sober.

Put a hand on him, once, in a display of gratitude, but Harvey only pulled it away, pushing it back to his side to be sure he got the message.

He wasn’t good enough to touch. He was simply a tool to ease the other man’s guilty conscience.

To make him feel better.

“Do you ever wish we could have met under different circumstances?” Harvey asked him one night, drunker than usual. “Do you ever wonder what we could have been to each other?”

He did, that was the worst of it. The nights when he fell asleep in Harvey’s bed, warm and safe and comfortable, dreaming of things that could never be. Scenarios which would never happen. Of jokes, and tears, and two lives entwined forever.

Then dawn broke and reality with it.

Harvey didn’t question his silence. Pushed a handful of notes at him instead, and slurred out in explanation that he had really done it this time. That he was going to lose his job. That it was all over.

“Won’t be able to afford your company no more,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic about it. “I couldn’t save you and I can’t save myself neither.”

Jim didn’t need to be told twice. Dressed himself quickly and quietly once Harvey fell asleep. Once he had pressed a chaste kiss to his brow, in recognition of the confusing mess of emotion he felt, and left the money in a neat pile on the dresser before walking away for the final time.

Harvey hadn’t saved him, it was true. Nobody could.

But Jim couldn’t help but be grateful to the one person who had cared enough to bother trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	264. Chapter 264

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about a future fic where Bruce/Batman often seeks out advice/spends time with his other parental figures: Commissioner Gordon and his trophy husband Harvey?_

“Were you brought up in a barn? Get your damn feet off the furniture.”

Bruce watched on bemused as Harvey slapped at Jim’s shins with a rolled up newspaper, a light tap that nonetheless had Jim moving so Harvey could sit beside him on the sofa.

“I have a bad leg,” Jim groused, sounding less the severe Police Commissioner and more the petulant teenager he had once been.

Presumably.

It was hard to say with Jim, he wasn’t the type of man who opened up about anything.

Not unless Harvey was present.

“Whose fault is that?” Harvey asked, unsympathetic. “I have it on good authority that Batman told you not to go chasing after the perp yourself. He told you to stay where you were and wait for back-up, but that just wasn’t good enough for the great Jim Gordon.”

Jim pulled a face at that, torn between guilt, indignation, and an accusing frown that Bruce hadn’t kept his mouth shut.

“I’m sure Batman was grateful,” Bruce offered, uncertain why they were keeping up the pretence but wanting to get back into Jim’s good books by not rocking the boat any.

“Yeah?” Harvey countered with a huff. “If he was that grateful he knows exactly where the coffee maker is.”

Bruce took the hint. Couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked back at the pair of them from the kitchenette, leaning against the counter and watching as Jim touched tender fingers to Harvey’s cheek and spoke soft words of apology.

Jim had always been reckless. ‘The man has a bloody death wish,’ was what Alfred had said on multiple occasions, but Bruce felt that he understood the reality of it. Jim wanted to make Gotham a better place. Didn’t know how to achieve that without putting himself in the firing line.

It had just taken having someone who needed him to make it home to get it through his thick skull that he couldn’t manage every problem single handed.

That was how Alfred had summarized Bruce’s take on it, after they had quaffed a couple of glasses too many at the wedding reception, and Bruce hadn’t been deaf to the pointed truth of what Alfred was saying.

Because Jim had been the one to teach him the lesson. Had always seemed in control and unflappable, even when the world was falling apart around them. Even when it was more a hangover of the faith a twelve year old boy had once placed in a homicide detective.

But then Jim was dropping everything. Delegating all of it, every single detail, and swiping tears from his cheeks as he clung to Harvey’s hand and accompanied him to the hospital.

“There’s more to life than justice,” Jim said to him, hoarse and honest when Harvey was still in surgery, “there has to be.”

He thought of those words when the darkness threatened to overpower him. When it seemed as though the bat would consume everything he was, everything he could ever be, and he knew then it was time he reconnected with the people who were important to him.

Visited old friends and reminded himself why he was fighting so hard in the first place.

Who he wanted to benefit from the safe and peaceful city streets of his imagination.

Harvey still looked kind of damp eyed when he brought the drinks out. Visibly worked on pulling himself together and nudged Jim’s shoulder, joking as he asked Jim where his manners were, letting their guest make coffee while he sat on his backside.

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Jim asked him in turn, mock glaring at Harvey, and Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle good naturedly while Harvey made amends by bringing in a tub of cookies.

“Don’t worry,” Harvey reassured, “we didn’t bake them.”

Bruce nodded, suppressing a grimace at the memory of Jim’s long ago efforts in the manor kitchen, and figured it wouldn’t throw his gym routine entirely out of the window if he just ate one of them.

It was sweet, fitted the situation, and they chatted easily for an hour or so, Jim reverting to solemn and serious until Harvey had him smiling and laughing. It made something ache in his own chest, warm and wanting and hopeful that one day he would find this for himself.

Somebody who balanced him out and made him a better man simply by being there for him.

“You’ll find them,” Harvey said, as serious as Bruce had ever heard him, when he alluded to his seemingly perpetual single status, “and when you do all the waiting will have been worth it.”

He noted the look on Jim’s face. The embarrassment warring it out with an expression Bruce could only really describe as adoring.

“And then you can spend the rest of your life telling the world about it,” Harvey went on, shrugging even as his hand found Jim’s knee, “it works for me.”

Bruce shook Jim’s hand before he left, and accepted Harvey’s crush of a hug though, as a rule, he was very much like Jim when it came to avoiding human contact.

“You’re not a bad kid,” Harvey told him, in forgiveness for the bandages on Jim’s left ankle, and Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets - falling back on old habits - and said that he hadn’t been a kid for a long time.

Harvey waved off the assertion. “I’ve got a good 40 years on you. You’re practically a foetus.”

“You still say that to me,” Jim called from the other room, hobbling around to clean up, “you think you would have spent some of that time working on better lines.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, trying for long suffering. Only succeeded in looking besotted as he glanced back at what Jim was doing, so that Bruce had to smile fondly as he left them to it. Soon it would be time to don the cowl again. To hide behind the mask of the Batman.

But, for tonight at least, the role wouldn’t weigh on his shoulders quite so heavily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	265. Chapter 265

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _The first time Jim says "I love you" rocks Harvey's world because he always thought Jim was too repressed to go there. I need some tooth rotting fluff for these two, basically._

Harvey had accepted that he would never hear Jim say it. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still dream of it. Didn’t fantasize during particularly boring briefings about Jim making some grand public declaration - by Jim’s standards.

Kissing his cheek in front of their colleagues, or holding his hand across the table of the greasy diner where they habitually ate lunch when there was nothing more pressing on.

It didn’t matter though, not really, because he had so much more from Jim than he had ever believed he could. It was his bed Jim slept in. He Jim went to when Gotham was falling apart at the seams, all over again, and he needed reassurance that they were going to get through it.

When Jim was feeling lost and alone, trapped in nightmares of his past mistakes and his failures by his inability to open up and communicate. By his terror that should Harvey see beneath the surface, witness how desperately he was struggling, he would be left to pick up the pieces like the virus he didn’t doubt he was.

Harvey did his best to be everything to Jim that the others couldn’t. He knew Jim better, understood him better, and instead of force Jim to talk he simply laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. In place of throwing back insults when Jim snapped, tired and frustrated, he let him cool down and work up the courage to apologize.

“I don’t know why you put up with me,” Jim told him once, eyes damp with the effort of admitting that he had been wrong. That he was afraid Harvey would walk away and give up on him.

“I don’t always like the things you do,” Harvey told him in turn, pulling him in close, “but I could never stop loving you.”

Jim had tensed in his arms, fingers gripping tight at the back of his jacket, and Harvey took it as the confirmation he knew it to be.

He wasn’t the only one hopelessly in love with his partner.

Jim showed it in the way he looked for him first in times of crisis, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly once he was accounted for. The way he turned up at Bullock family gatherings, though they were loud and raucous and Jim struggled with much lesser degrees of human contact, and the way he gazed into Harvey’s eyes when they were in bed together.

When they were out of bed, even, his entire face softening as he slowly accepted the idea that Harvey wasn’t going anywhere.

That what they had wasn’t going to end in attempted murder and one of them being locked away in an institution.

Jim was it for him. Harvey would do everything within his power to ensure they went the distance. Couldn’t help but indulge all the sappy sentimental urges he had spent years attempting to keep hidden, leaving love notes in Jim’s locker and little gifts of candy, or stress toys, or whatever random junk he came across that he figured Jim might like.

He didn’t expect Jim to reciprocate. Didn’t do it for anything more than the fleeting smile they put on Jim’s face, so beautiful that his heart constricted in his chest at the knowledge he had put it there. That later, behind closed doors, he would get to see it again.

Could whisper in Jim’s ear and hold him tight. Touch him, and taste him, and drive him so wild that he called his name, before they drifted off to sleep cuddled in close to each other.

So he didn’t know how to react when he found a neatly giftwrapped package on his own desk. Sniffed it, and tapped it, and shook it next to his ear, just in case it was a ploy from one of their many customers who would like to see him in the hospital, before allowing himself to accept that it was genuine.

To start getting curious, fingers clumsy as they plucked at the ribbon and revealed a cassette tape. He raised an eyebrow at that, surprised, and caught Jim’s eye for a moment through the latter’s office window, the color rising in Jim’s cheeks as he pretended to be concentrating on his paperwork.

That was intriguing. More than a little exciting. There could be anything on that tape. Jim reading aloud one of the paperbacks that made up Harvey’s poor excuse for a library, or Jim husking into the tape recorder as he talked about things he wanted Harvey to do to him in the privacy of their bedroom.

It made him shiver, the simple idea, regardless of how completely unlikely it was.

He dug his Walkman out of his desk drawer all the same. Thought about the days when he never went anywhere without it, and the lifesaver it had been when he could claim he was reviewing interviews and not have to listen to what counted in Tuttle’s books as conversation.

When he hit play there was no talk however. Not from Jim, and not from any of their past collars either. Instead it was music, some rather sugary old love song, and Harvey supposed it was really kind of pathetic the way his heart flip flopped in his chest, overcome at the idea of Jim devoting time to making him a mix tape.

That was what it was, the tell tale click from one track to the next, and somewhere along the line Harvey gave up on any pretence of working because every track was about how much the singer loved the object of their affections. How they adored them, needed them, and Harvey near jumped out of his skin to open his eyes and find Jim standing over him.

He pulled the headphones off, surprised to find the balcony was deserted, and the sounds of the night shift clocking on drifting up from reception.

Jim shifted, awkward, and then seemed to glance about him. Checked that the coast was clear, that nobody was listening in on whatever was about to happen, and then almost before he had chance to register it Jim had leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Smiled at him, so sincerely it hurt, and said quietly,

“I’m not good with words. I had to use somebody else’s.”

It was too much, too perfect, and Harvey had to stand up and pull Jim into a hug. It was nothing the precinct hadn’t seen him to do before.

Except this time Jim hugged him back, just for a moment, and didn’t protest when Harvey croaked out a quiet but emotional,

“I love you. I love you so much, Jim.”

He forced himself to pull away before he started blubbing. Focused on gathering his stuff together, thinking about home, and dinner, and rewarding Jim for making him feel like the luckiest guy on the face of the planet.

Perhaps it was his imagination but Jim walked a little closer than usual as they made their way to the parking lot. Held his gaze a little longer than usual as he got the engine running. Reached for him, in place of sorting out his seat belt, and kissed him until it felt like his head was swimming.

“What was that for?” Harvey asked, trying for mock stern but only succeeded with the awe he was feeling as he wondered if the day could possibly get any better.

Jim just nodded to himself, a slight, barely there movement, and pinned him in place with his big blue eyes as he said simply,

“Because I love you, Harvey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	266. Chapter 266

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock AU in which Harvey is a contestant on a cooking show, and throughout the season Chef Jim, the lead judge, finds himself in a sticky situation when he falls hard for Harvey._

Jim knew the kind of reputation he had. He was a perfectionist. Uncommunicative. Had lost his temper over a posset destined for the wife of the state governor, and the resulting clips had generated enough viral buzz to save the show from cancellation before they even finished the first season.

He didn’t think it was unreasonable that it give him some sort of sway over the caliber of contestants who made it past the preliminary stages.

To demand that they had basic culinary skills, instead of a sob story or the ‘right’ mix of cultural diversity. Looked good on camera or acted just crazy enough that the public could point and laugh without the station getting sued for exploiting the vulnerable.

It was the latter angle that lead to one of them dropping out mere days before they were due to start filming the third season, and Jim barked into his cell that he was in the middle of service. He knew from past experience that they wouldn’t listen to a word he said on the subject anyway. They could have free reign to pick somebody unsuitable without his input.

That meant it was a genuine shock when he arrived at the studio and realized that the scruffy guy he had taken for one of the lighting technicians was actually the replacement for the messed up kid who was supposed to be appealing to the youth demographic.

What was more shocking was his reaction to the sight of him. He felt breathless, on edge. Stared for a beat too long when they were introduced and jerked his hand back after it was shaken, sparks radiating outwards from the touch. He folded his arms across his chest to hide it.

Fell back on his usual lecture about how tough it would be, and the standards he was expecting.

Harvey Bullock just raised an eyebrow and looked him over coolly.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Jim still felt strange as he took his seat. He usually inspired awed fear or sycophantic respect, at least in week one. He didn’t know what to make of Harvey’s dismissal. His fellow judges were no help - but that was nothing out of the ordinary.

He and Lee Thompkins had history. Had almost gotten married, once upon a time, when he was fresh out of catering college right on the heels of the army, and she was a nutritionist determined to improve the health of the nation. Those days were long gone now, her open smile and earnest book drafts replaced by tailored pant suits and glossy magazine sales.

She never tired of pointing out that if he just gave in and hired a good publicist he could be trending for something other than his anal-retentiveness.

To his right Oswald Cobblepot sniggered behind the fingers pressed to his lips, hair and eyeliner perfect as he pretended to be watching the contestants’ progress closely for the cameras. Jim knew better because Oswald never missed anything. He had half an eye on them, on the crew, on the mirror in the corner.

The man was a vulture, circling and circling and waiting for a weakness he could pounce on.

Like stealing Jim’s brilliant sous-chef.

He was welcome to Nygma, truly, Jim thought sourly. He didn’t need traitors in his kitchen. Didn’t need any of the amateurs out on the studio floor either, the grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth as one of them overcooked their green beans while another under did their chicken.

The last thing he needed was an outbreak of salmonella.

Harvey was the only one not stressing out as they entered the final ten minutes. Was laughing and joking with the presenter, and cutting corners in a way that felt like a personal attack on Jim’s sensibilities.

“I don’t believe in making work for the sake of it,” Harvey shrugged at the camera, so that Jim’s jaw twitched with the effort of keeping quiet.

There was no way they could work together.

He kept that thought uppermost in his mind all through the blind taste test, deliberating for long seconds, wondering if he ought to go with the soggy beans and the inoffensive housewife who had prepared them. He couldn’t do it. Took his chances and went for the plate that was clearly superior.

Felt his stomach clench up with a mixture of nerves and something else he didn’t want to examine too closely, because of course it was Harvey’s, and of course the timetable was all already agreed.

They would be working one on one that coming Wednesday.

Jim responded the only way he knew how. Acted more distant, and more stubborn, and criticized everything from the length of Harvey’s hair to the way he held his paring knife. He hoped it would be enough to cover for the fact that all he wanted to do was tangle his fingers in that hair and find out it if it felt as good as it looked.

To touch his hand and guide it to his own hip. For Harvey to take the initiative and pull him in close, and let Jim bury his nose in the crook of his neck and seek out the scent of the cologne that was driving him wild.

Instead Harvey spoke to him like he was a child stomping his foot, and delivered a piece to camera behind his back calling him a total asshat.

Jim dug his fingernails into his palms as he watched it, too aware of the cameras trained on his face, and stewed over it all during the studio filming. Through the judge’s commentary, and the scoring at the end for presentation.

He marked Harvey down unnecessarily cruelly, losing him the round, and if the way Harvey was glaring at him was anything to go by then the other man knew it.

The producers called him in after that, and Jim steeled himself to claim that there was no issue outside of their imagination. To tell them it was their fault for not going with the cook he had initially suggested. To his surprise they just said that they were loving the antagonism and so did social media.

That they were planning to capitalize on it, and he was going to be pushed outside his comfort zone for a brand new feature.

Jim didn’t like the sound of that, not one iota, but nevertheless found himself standing in the middle of a police precinct canteen in his chef’s whites, knowing it was bad when he started thinking wistfully of Cobblepot mixing cocktails behind the bar at the club the Galavan woman worked at.

“These guys will eat you alive if you’re not careful,” Harvey told him in an undertone, beneath the smile plastered on his face, and Jim looked out at the gathering array of detectives and uniformed officers. Forensics and back office staff, and the city police commissioner himself, all out in force to support one of their own. “You’re not in your fancy restaurant now.”

That riled. Had him tilting his jaw, indignant, and rolling his sleeves up. Prepping the counters for large scale service, businesslike and determined.

“I wasn’t born with a Michelin star,” he said bluntly, tipping potatoes into the industrial peeler, “try cooking day in day out for 2,000 soldiers in the middle of a warzone. I didn’t get here by being too precious to get my hands dirty.”

He had ample opportunity to prove it, swiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve as time ticked by, because it looked like just about every cop in the city was gathering in the hope of putting the great Jim Gordon in his place. Harvey could have let them too. Could have coasted and stood by as he crashed and burned, spooning slop onto chipped plates.

Harvey really stepped up to the mark though. Followed his directions - his orders - and making suggestions that actually made sense, especially when Jim’s soup boiled over and his apron was stained and sodden.

They slumped against each other when it was all over, laughing stupidly with the knowledge they had actually done it, and though Jim didn’t actually accept Harvey’s offer of going for a drink, it warmed his heart to receive it.

At least it did until he watched the episode back, tendrils of fear curling around his spine because the editing made it all so obvious. The sickly look of longing on his face, and the way he had let Harvey touch his arm and clap his shoulder, though he had done an excruciatingly awkward interview to promote the previous season about how he hated for people to touch him without his express permission.

Lee saw it too, naturally, and smirked as she asked him if that was the reason he had so freaked out at the idea of really committing to her. It hadn’t been like that, it had never been that he didn’t want the wedding and the baby. He just hadn’t deserved them, was terrified that he would mess it all up, the same way he did every relationship.

Lived out a self-fulfilling prophecy, everything collapsing in flames around him, and back in the present Oswald told them both waspishly that it was simply a sign that Jim’s taste had never improved in the intervening years.

Jim ignored them both and retreated into the fortress of his own mind, plotting feverishly for damage limitation.

The perfect opportunity presented itself when Harvey made it through another week and got assigned to him to go through the process of creating a menu and bringing it to table. It reminded him of the way Nygma had taken half his proposed menu changes with him to Oswald, claiming they were his intellectual property, and it put him in the right frame of mind for acting like a heartless bastard.

Sticking a spoon in the perfectly competent coffee cream pudding Harvey was putting the finishing touches to and pulling a face. He asked him who in their right mind would serve something that rich after duck and, when Harvey told him it had been one of his mother’s favorites, he snidely commented in that case she had probably dropped dead of a heart attack.

It turned out she had, on that very day a couple of decades earlier, and Harvey stood there trembling with anger as he told him that he might have done well for himself. That he might have a swanky apartment and a booked-out restaurant, but it didn’t count for much when he was completely lacking in basic human decency.

That earned him another viral news story, the sheen of tears in his eyes visible to the entire nation. He felt sick every time he saw it, splashed across the covers of the local tabloids, or posted to the restaurant Facebook page. His mother rang him even, to berate him for acting so pettishly on television, and then for overreacting when he was called out on it.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Jim said of the former, “Dad would have been so ashamed of me.”

She only huffed down the line, confirming that in spite of his efforts he had become the one thing he had sworn he never would, and said,

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jim, he’s been dead 20 years now.”

He didn’t want to go the next filming session. Thought of inventing some illness or accidentally falling down the stairs, anything to avoid it. Of getting his lawyer to find some loophole to free him of his contract. In the end he couldn’t. Like it or not he was his mother’s son - he could never give up while he still had breath in his body.

“Where is he?” He asked when he got there, meaning obvious, and Oswald looked him over pityingly and told him that Harvey had walked off the show.

That he tended to have that effect on people.

Jim couldn’t concentrate. Stared unseeingly at the action, guilt settling heavily in his gut. Harvey was good. Not the best, maybe, but better than most of the others in the room. He could win it if he put the work in. Deserved so much more than Jim had given him, and it was easy enough to lift Harvey’s contact details from the production office.

There was a time he had fancied himself a rising star within the city police department.

He had almost signed up for the academy, still wished he had on occasion, and it was an eye opener to see first hand how little a detective first grade’s wage would get you. Harvey’s apartment building was run down and every bit as rough as the surrounding neighborhood. The hallways were dark and narrow, and even with his military training Jim still felt the imposing, threatening nature of it, standing there and waiting for Harvey to pull the door open.

To try and slam it closed again, Jim pushing a hand out to stop it, getting it open as wide as the security chain would allow.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Harvey said, blunt, so Jim had no choice but to swallow his pride and ask Harvey to listen.

To lay himself bare and apologize.

“I can’t force you to come back but I think you’ll be making a mistake if you don’t. We won’t even have to work together.”

He didn’t know how true that was, but he would worry about it later. His name still counted for something when it came to getting concessions.

Harvey shook his head. “If I come back - if - I’m not going to settle for working with somebody less talented just because you’re a dick.”

Jim felt the heat spreading across his cheeks, pathetic enough to be bowled over by the backhanded compliment. Pathetic enough to tentatively voice the idea that had been forming in his head all through the drive over - alongside the eager hope that Harvey would give him chance to put the proposition to him.

Harvey said he wanted to think about it. Accepted his business card with his personal cell number scrawled across the back in order to get in touch once he had an answer for him, and nodded in acknowledgement of Jim’s repeated apology.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

Hope.

Jim dropped everything when the call finally came, knowing his team were perfectly capable for all that he rarely if ever said so, and had to fight to sound calm and rational - and not like a giggling schoolboy, overcome with excitement at having his crush on the other end of the line.

A week later he forgot about the cameras for the first time, honestly and truly, too focused on having Harvey in his kitchen. In this place he had worked so hard to build up from nothing.

The one thing in his life he was actually proud of.

He tried to be the person he so wanted to be. Found it easier with Harvey near him, to explain what he was doing and why, rather than simply snapping out commands to be followed. He smiled helplessly when Harvey cracked bad jokes, and didn’t fly off the handle when Harvey told him authoritatively to calm down when he started getting antsy and panicked about the time showing on the clock on the wall.

“You know as well as I do what it’s like to be in a life or death situation,” Harvey said quietly, soothing hand on his shoulder, “this isn’t one of them. It’s not worth the energy you’re wasting on worrying about it.”

He had never considered it that way before. Sucked in a calming breath, in control once more, and in thank you he even gave in and let Harvey put the radio on during the after dinner clean up, refusing to engage rather than concede that it did make the atmosphere feel lighter.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so busy avoiding eye contact and not commenting on Harvey’s surprisingly pleasant baritone he wouldn’t have cut his finger open. And if he hadn’t simply stood there, staring at it stupidly, Harvey wouldn’t have knocked all the breath from his lungs by taking hold of his wrist and inspecting the damage.

For one delirious moment he was sure that Harvey was going to kiss it better. Suck it into the wet heat of his mouth and crush Jim close as his knees went weak at the sensation. That would have been disgusting though, completely unhygienic, and all Harvey really did was tug him over to the hand wash basin to run the cut under the cold water.

Jim could have taken over at that point. Should have, obviously. He let it continue, all the same, losing himself in Harvey’s blue green gaze for a long moment while the older man swabbed his finger with an antiseptic wipe and stuck a plaster on it.

He felt lightheaded when Harvey stepped away. Had to take a couple of minutes in his office to pull himself together. Wrapped a hand around himself in the shower that evening, head tipped back against the slick tile as he dreamed of Harvey joining him, plundering his mouth as he pushed a strong thigh between his legs.

There was no denying it. He had it bad.

Only fell harder over the next few weeks, trading text messages back and forth throughout the day, and shivering when Harvey touched his jaw with gentle fingers as he guided a tasting spoon to his mouth. It was another dessert round and Harvey had gone for the coffee cream pudding again, perhaps to spite him. Perhaps not, not when Harvey waited for his verdict silently and then nodded in gratitude and said that it was what had first made him want to learn how to cook.

He wanted to take care of other people the way his mother had taken care of him.

Jim wasn’t one for sentimentality. Didn’t know how to deal with it. All but swooned anyway, overwhelmed, and went back to his legal team to have a contract drawn up ready for Harvey to sign, regardless of the outcome of the competition.

He couldn’t say anything about it, didn’t dare allude to it, and shocked himself with the strength and the viciousness of his jealousy when Harvey did a location piece to camera and said if he won he hadn’t decided which of the three judges he would want to work for. He was asked about it on some promo spot on breakfast television, because it was no secret they were closer than they should be, and Jim’s attempt at a joke fell flatter than one of Lee’s soufflés when he suggested that it was due to the inevitably poor outcome of the average office romance.

“What the hell was that?” Harvey demanded when the soundbite started doing the rounds, and Jim supposed it had no right to hurt so much. Harvey had never once given him any real reason to believe that he was the slightest bit interested.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” was the best that Jim could manage, and he didn’t know what Harvey could see in his face but he dropped the argument in favor of catching up with some of the crew members.

They were almost at the end now. Perhaps in a couple of weeks time he would never even see Harvey again, except for some awkward reunion show where he was reminded of all the reasons he had never had any hope of the other man wanting him. He was a mess. The unstable type the cameras loved, not the contestants he had been looking down his nose at.

Harvey already had a vocation. Was making a real difference to those around him. He occupied a position of respect within the community, and had friends and people who cared about him. Remembered the names of wives and children, and was more liked by his own staff after a couple of afternoons than he was in spite of all the benefits and the holiday pay he offered.

He was pulled aside afterward, when he wanted to try and exchange a few words with Harvey, and warned again about the importance of impartial judging for the upcoming live final.

It wouldn’t be a problem, he assured them, and steadfastly ignored the knowing smiles on Lee and Oswald’s faces as they got ready to pose for yet more promo pictures.

“It’s your personality, Jim,” Lee said, looking as unflappable as ever, “you can’t blame the guy.”

“My people will be in touch,” Oswald said of the resignation letter Jim had received just that morning from his pantry chef, flicking his hair back, “I can’t help it if your staff prefer working for me.”

Jim gritted his teeth and left the very second he could. Tapped out a message to Harvey congratulating him on making it through another week, and apologized again for his comments about their non-existent romance.

Stayed awake into the early hours, desperately hoping for an answering message, and then sleepwalked through the following day like a zombie, stuck inside his own head with all the things he had done wrong.

He snapped out of it in the evening. Called a general staff meeting for the close of service, wanting everyone there from the temporary sous chef and his assistant business manager right down to the coat check girl and the pot washers.

“I know I haven’t always shown it,” he started, skin crawling with the way everybody’s focus was fixed on him but needing to keep going, “but I appreciate the work each and every one of you do. None of this would be possible without you and your ability to work together.”

The pantry chef squirmed, uncomfortable, and he assured that it didn’t matter. That he wasn’t looking for sympathy, or to guilt trip anybody into staying.

“I can’t promise things will change overnight but I want to listen to you more. I don’t want anyone to feel that I’m completely unapproachable.”

That was the crux of it, the story of his entire life, because he was so closed off and distant, and so afraid of getting hurt if he let the walls down, even for an instant.

It worked though, must have done, because he felt less awful when he finally closed the door of his apartment behind him. Fumbled over excitedly with his cell at the sight of Harvey’s caller ID and pressed it tight to his ear, heart pounding frantically in his chest as Harvey confirmed that somebody on staff had told him what had happened.

“When it’s finished,” Harvey said quietly, “for good or for bad, will you accept that drink, Jim? I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Jim nodded eagerly. Realized he had to speak and agreed happily. Even if there was nothing but friendship on the table he’d take it gladly.

Couldn’t quit grinning all the rest of the week, and didn’t once lose his temper in the kitchen. Slammed and banged a few times, it was true, but then he imagined having Harvey work alongside him and the disappointed look on his face. It was enough to have him calm down and let it go, and didn’t know what to do beyond nod sharply in acknowledgement when one of the prep cooks knocked respectfully at his office door just to tell him that she was happy for him.

He should nip it in the bud, he supposed, because Harvey was a swaggering cop. He wasn’t going to date a high strung chef who happened to be male into the bargain. Except maybe he would. Maybe he’d take the risk and give him a chance, and Jim spent approximately ten times longer than usual getting ready for the final, combing his hair down carefully and buttoning himself into the nicest suit he owned.

Oswald raised an eyebrow at the sight, his own elegant tailoring so superior Jim felt like he was schlubbing into the studio in a set of unwashed chef’s whites. Lee looked him over impassively, silent, but whispered in his ear as he had his make-up done that she hadn’t realized he was serious about this.

He glared at her because why else would he have done it, but she only inspected her glossy fingernails and said that she had figured he had finally followed her advice and hired himself a competent publicist. He wondered if Harvey had thought the same, that it was all some stunt for the cameras.

It twisted something up in his chest, just the idea of it.

Maybe they could exchange a few words before things got started. Could share a moment, the two of them in the same place at the same time. Except all he found was pandemonium because they were going out live in less than an hour and there was still no sign of Harvey.

Jim tried calling him, not blind to the looks it garnered him, and wondered what they were going to do if Harvey simply didn’t show. It was a three way final so there would still be something to air, at least, but the studio was also set out for three. There would be no way of masking the fact that somebody hadn’t turned up.

There were 30 minutes to go when his legs almost gave way, hand gripping for the nearest support, because his time in the army had taught him that unexpected arrivals of high ranking officials in dress uniform was never a good sign.

“That’s my jacket you’re creasing,” Oswald said, but there was no maliciousness to his tone. Something that sounded all too much like real concern, and the man hovered close by while the deputy police commissioner explained that there had been an incident, and that they wouldn’t have called Harvey in but he had a lot of previous with the guy in question.

Knew how to get through to him, how to win over his trust, and when Jim demanded to know why it was taking so long then the man shifted uncomfortably and admitted that, right now, the hostage negotiator was trying to talk the man into lowering the gun he had pressed to the back of Harvey’s skull.

“Don’t even think about it,” Oswald threatened, revealing some of the steel that made his restaurant the meeting point of choice for all kinds of shady characters, “the last thing he needs is you barging in and making the situation worse.”

“I have to do something!” Jim countered, more lost than he had been since he was braced under a mess table on the other side of the world, listening as shells exploded all around their tents.

“We are working to resolve the situation,” the deputy commissioner said, like they were talking about a fault in a phone line not the life of the man he was falling in love with.

Already fallen, maybe, because he had never experienced anything approaching the intensity of what he felt for Harvey.

There was only one thing he could do. One action he could take while he waited for an update, and it was a relief when the other contestants said they had no objections to him doing the prep work Harvey wouldn’t be able to. It gave him something to focus on, something to cling to, and he worked quickly and methodically to make up the time lost.

Had to put the knife down for a few moments, his hand shaking too badly to continue. What if this was it? What if he never saw Harvey again?

“Jim!”

He whirled around at the sound of that voice, swallowed thickly as Harvey pushed past production assistants and well wishers and his own boss to get to him. His hand went to the back of Harvey’s head without his say so, their foreheads pressed together, gazing deeply into each others’ soul.

“Please don’t do that to me again,” Jim croaked out, wrecked, and Harvey just grinned at him and stroked a thumb across his cheek.

Almost kissed him, so close his whole body ached for it, and then there was someone apologizing for interrupting but they really needed to decide if they were going ahead with the broadcast or not.

Harvey shrugged, clearly wired up on adrenaline, and said sure. Got helped into his jacket and scraped his hair up into an unruly knot, while Jim braced his palms against the wall behind the scenes and concentrated on breathing in and out.

Lee told him she was going to put a hand between his shoulder blades a split second before she did it, and spoke calmly until he was in fit state to have his face touched up and go sit in front of the camera and look like he wasn’t on the verge of hyperventilating.

The actual show was a blur. He was aware enough to know that Harvey was flagging, the bruise on his temple forming and becoming more visible as the hour crawled by. Jim fidgeted in his seat, willing it to be over, and when it came to the taste testing he was relieved when they wound a blindfold over his eyes and any risk of favoritism was removed from the equation.

He made his decision, surprised to hear that for once it had been unanimous.

They had all gone for plate two, with little hesitation, and Jim watched on numbly as Harvey shook hands magnanimously with the winner. She was beaming with delight, about as demonstrative as Jim had ever seen her, and announced that she wanted to take up the contract offer with Lee Thompkins.

Jim clapped and congratulated. Sagged a little once the cameras stopped rolling and told Harvey that he was sorry.

“I’m not,” Harvey said easily, pulling him into his embrace, “I already won the star prize.”

He finally got his kiss, arms winding around Harvey’s neck as he lost himself to it. It was so sweet, so perfect, and when they pulled apart it was only to smile adoringly at each other.

By the time the network made the announcement about the fourth season there had been a few changes. He had staff who didn’t skulk away as soon as they saw him coming, and a couple of extra pounds around his middle thanks to the insistence of his new sous chef that he eat dinner instead of getting by on coffee and pep pills.

That he enjoy life more, because it was too fleeting to throw away.

Because Harvey had taken early retirement from the police department to take the job and work alongside him. To be his partner in the kitchen and outside it too. To return his love confessions and promise him forever and always.

“If you don’t want me to do the show, I wont,” Jim said as Harvey peppered soft kisses along his jaw, worried about stories he had heard of tensions and jealousy.

“And deprive the world of your pretty face?” Harvey asked, mock horrified, and Jim felt the anxiety leach away, soothed as always by Harvey’s presence. “I couldn’t be that cruel.”

“Can you even hear yourself?”

He could feel the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks. The warmth of loving and being loved in his chest.

“It’s all true,” Harvey assured solemnly, “Every word.”

Jim just put a stop to it the only way he knew how and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	267. Chapter 267

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutlet - the prompt was to write some fluff about porn! :)

Jim didn’t know exactly what he had been expecting from Harvey’s porn collection. Ladies in heels and latex, maybe, because Harvey had drunkenly confessed one time to having a thing for getting told what to do.

Really kinky stuff, perhaps, because Jim had seen the kind of extras that were on offer in the dingy brothels Harvey had once frequented. Some of it still gave him nightmares.

Cheesy sentimentality was something he had never considered, but as he worked his way from one video to the next the scenarios only grew cringier. Wedding nights, and tearful reunions, and desperate lovesick confessions - all delivered with copious helpings of bad acting and whispered love declarations.

That wasn’t to say that it was softcore. The high color in his cheeks and the throbbing ache in his pants was proof of that much. But it was obvious what the draw of the stuff was for Harvey, what made the scene worthwhile to him, and by the time Jim heard his partner’s key in the door, Jim had had to push a hand beneath his waistband to help him think clearly enough to puzzle out the conundrum.

Harvey kissed him deeply in greeting. Settled on the sofa next to him and said that it was the most beautiful sight to come home to, him flushed and panting, hand wrapped around himself.

Jim made a helpless sort of sound in response, pressing forward into Harvey’s touch, then silently chastised himself for always being so eager. So pathetically wanton for Harvey, all the time, only for Harvey to cup his cheek and breathe into his ear that Jim had no need to censor himself on his account. To hold back from him, not for a moment, and when he tangled his fingers in Harvey’s hair, frantic, Harvey just sucked kisses into the skin of his neck and told him it felt amazing.

That he was so hot, and so wonderful, until Jim regained the presence of mind to put his afternoon’s work into practice and look up into Harvey’s eyes as he asked him to make love to him.

He had no doubt that Harvey would like it, corny though it might have been. He wasn’t ready for how intensely Harvey was going to be into it, red creeping down below his shirt collar as he groaned deeply. Stroked his palms over his body and removed his shirt like he was something so precious it took his breath away to be allowed to reach out and touch him.

It was kind of how Harvey always touched him when they came together, no matter whether they were taking it slow or feverish with passion. There was always a sense of joy, of reverence, and Jim hoped suddenly that Harvey knew it wasn’t one sided.

That he had fallen for Harvey just as completely.

Moreso, maybe, because Harvey was the type of guy he had always considered out of his league. Physically, sure, but it was more than that. He knew where he stood with Harvey. Didn’t have to worry that Harvey was going to change his mind, or decide that he wasn’t worth the effort. Harvey wanted him for the long haul, and had no issue with telling him so.

Of all the people in the world Harvey had chosen him, and all Jim could do was clutch at Harvey’s back and tell him that he loved him.

Harvey went wild for it, kissing Jim feverishly before getting him to stand up in front of him. Putting gentle hands on his hips, soothing, and then looked up at him he licked a broad stripe along the length of him.

“I love the sounds you make,” Harvey said of his sharp intake of breath, “I love how you’re always so ready for me.”

He twitched at that, pulsing wetter at the tip with just the thought of what was coming. Harvey moaned around him. Sucked him like it was a dream come true, like he couldn’t envisage anything he would rather be doing, and when Jim was the one to beg for his fingers he could see his entire body jerk forward with the force of it.

“I always knew you’d be demanding,” Harvey told him breathlessly, still nuzzling at his dick even as he teased his hole with a finger, “I love it so much when you tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Jim was sure he had heard that line earlier, right in the middle of some weirdly sweet scenario involving handcuffs and a parking ticket, but it sounded different now. It sounded right, made him feel shivery all over, and by the time he was pleading for another finger Jim got the impression this wasn’t going to be the most drawn out sex he had ever had.

He didn’t care though, not if Harvey was okay with that, and he ended up in Harvey’s lap on the sofa, kissing him messily as Harvey guided him down onto his dick. Jim had to tip his head back, had to focus on the unbearable pleasure of it, and Harvey splayed a hand over his abdomen, pressing in just right as he delivered one filthy line after another.

Asked him if he could feel what he did to him, how desperate he got him, and then when Jim started moving faster, getting desperate, Harvey just did his best to oblige and told him roughly that he loved him.

There was something to be said for it, if his reaction was anything to go by, and he was still coming down from the high even as Harvey tensed up tight, kissing wetly at his neck as he shook and shuddered.

“It’s not my birthday, you know,” Harvey said when the cramp in Jim’s legs finally forced him to move, “but that was one hell of a present.”

“You said I could watch it,” Jim pointed out, because he had been interested in the stuff Harvey had brought with him in the move. Had wanted to know what could be so great about a few old porn tapes that he hadn’t been able to part with them.

“I never said they were good. Just that they got the job done.”

Jim considered that. Took in the lingering flush on Harvey’s cheeks, a mixture of exertion and embarrassment, and twisted words this way and that in his head before simply asking,

“They weren’t what I was expecting. I thought they’d be, I don’t know, dirtier.”

Harvey gave him a smile at that, more bashful than anything, and Jim let him take his hand when he reached for it. Squeezed it a little, just to let Harvey know that whatever it was he wanted to say, he was there to listen to it. Harvey pressed a scruffy kiss to his cheek in thanks, and trusted him with one of his deepest secrets,

“You can pay somebody to act that out with you, yeah? To do anything to you, to let you do anything to them. But you can’t make somebody love you. Until it happens, if it happens, the closest you can get is the fantasy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	268. Chapter 268

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my original attempt at [#265](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33711990) \- I scrapped it for not being fluffy enough but, hey, here it is anyway...

Nothing good ever came of comparing yourself to other people, that was what his mother had used to say, usually after he had spent the evening attempting to be louder and happier than he normally would. She could always see straight through his bluff and his bluster, always knew when he was struggling to keep it together, and he couldn’t help but think that if Jim’s Mom had had more in common with her then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

Because Jim wasn’t good at communicating with anyone. Bottled it all up inside for fear of leaving himself vulnerable. Was so terrified of being hurt that he pushed people away rather than risk having them see the real him - the man he was on the inside - and decide they didn’t want him anyway.

It was true, all the same, that Jim was capable of making the effort. He had left croaky voicemail messages for Barbara, to let her know that he loved her, and he had broken down over Lee, sobbing messily into Harvey’s shoulder about how much she meant to him.

That it hurt so much, sometimes, that he didn’t know how to live without her.

Jim wouldn’t have snapped at her, Harvey thought in low moments. Wouldn’t have demeaned her in front of their colleagues, or made snide little comments about her intelligence just because a case was proving difficult to crack and he was feeling tired and frustrated.

Harvey tried not to let it get to him. Not to compare what they had together with anything that might have gone before. It was his bed Jim slept in, and his reassurance Jim sought when things weren’t going well. When Gotham was falling apart at the seams, all over again, and he was the only person in the world with any chance of making Jim smile.

Once, not so very long ago, Harvey would have said it was everything he could ever imagine wanting.

It wasn’t though, even if it was more than he had ever expected.

He still dreamed of hearing Jim say the words. Fantasized about Jim making some grand public declaration by his own standards - kissing his cheek in front of someone still breathing, or not waiting until they were home behind closed doors to make his inevitable awkward apology.

Jim hadn’t had any problem, the bitter thought accosted him, with kissing Lee Thompkins right in the middle of the bullpen.

But then he was never going to be some leggy brunette who had way more than the stiffs on the morgue table to worry about. He was never going to get the invite to meet Jim’s Mom, or host fondue dinner parties with polished flatware and candle holders.

Instead he got in a round of drinks when Jim was listening to unofficial updates from the new GPU rep after shift, and threatened his relatives with swift and embarrassing reprisals to ensure they didn’t make a big deal of the fact he was dragging Jim along to Bullock family gatherings.

He knew Jim better than the others had. Understood him better. Kept waging war against all his unseen rivals, and made it his mission in life to put a smile on his face. To give in to all the sappy sentimental urges he had had to constrain before they got together, and leave little notes on Jim’s desk.

Gifts in his locker, and filthy text messages on his phone, detailing some of the very many things he would like to do to Jim.

In turn Jim smiled, or relaxed, or flushed up adorably, depending on the situation, and Harvey took strength in that when Jim was glaring, or stressed, or angry.

Jim didn’t mean it personally.

Probably.

Called him into his office after one such display of temper, jaw set with determination, and Harvey thought of the man he had been before Dix’s accident. He would have made Jim talk it out then. Would have called on all the touchy feely training courses he was forever signing up for. That man was gone though, and if it had been anyone but Jim he would have snapped back and be getting reprimanded for unbefitting conduct.

It was Jim though, and instead he just felt hurt and hard done by, and would never breathe a word of how much so lest Jim decide that he didn’t care enough to make amends.

That he could simply do better.

Jim got up from his desk and pushed the door closed. Fiddled with the blinds on the office windows to make them less visible, and Harvey had to put a steadying hand against the desk he had once called his own. Felt like he might be sick, might collapse right there on the floor, because Jim was gearing up to say something he didn’t want anyone overhearing and, given the way Jim had spoken to him earlier, he couldn’t hold out hope of it being positive.

“I need to say something to you,” Jim started, right on cue, and Harvey prayed for the strength not to do something stupid.

Like beg Jim to give him just a little longer.

“If this is about earlier,” he interrupted anyway, helpless, “I get it. This is a big case, I shouldn’t have been making jokes about it.”

Shouldn’t have but needed to. The job would kill you if you took it too seriously. He had learned that the hard way.

Jim shook his head. Looked even more solemn than usual, face pale and eyes huge in the dim wintry sunlight.

“Why do you always do that? I was in the wrong, Harv.”

It wasn’t what he had expected. Didn’t make him feel any better, not really, because being called out for sycophantism wasn’t a substantial improvement on being mocked for his pathetic devotion.

When he didn’t answer, Jim filled the silence.

“Why do you let me get away with it?”

It was the million dollar question and there were a million things he could have said. All that came out was the God’s honest truth,

“Why do you think, Jim? Just look at us. I’m - Jesus, I don’t even want to look at the mess I am - and you’re,” he gestured at Jim, frustrated with his own inability to put it into words, “you’re you. You could have anyone.”

Jim looked startled. Horrified. Harvey couldn’t blame him, not when his throat was aching and his voice was cracking. When he couldn’t keep it together in the middle of the day, in the middle of the precinct, with their colleagues probably listening in with bated breath to hear him make a total fool of himself.

Except Jim was the one with tears in his eyes. The one who closed the gap between them in a single step and buried his face in his shoulder. Who clung too tight, and too desperate, and when Harvey wrapped his arms around him in turn, Jim pushed in still closer and whispered out a confession of his own,

“I love you. Please don’t let me mess this up.”

He could only stand stock still for a long moment. Couldn’t quite take it in, couldn’t quite let himself believe, and then he was crushing Jim to him even more tightly. Letting go enough to press kisses to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. To kiss him properly, lovingly, not caring a damn about the broken slats in the blinds and who might be watching them.

This wasn’t something he could salvage or ruin alone, any more than Jim could. Whatever they made of this, it would be what they made of it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	269. Chapter 269

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _For once Harvey is the beautiful one and Jim is the insecure one who pines thinking Harvey'll never love him + happy ending._
> 
> I shall return to this theme! But, for now, here is some tropey fluff.

Being in his company wasn’t anyone’s first choice of how to spend an evening, Jim got that. He wasn’t crazy about being stuck with himself 24/7 either. He was rash and prone to bad decision making. Quick to judge and slow to apologize. As ugly on the inside as he was on the outside and a victim of self-pity into the bargain.

“I’m just gonna get an early night,” Harvey said in explanation, “it’s been a hell of a few days.”

That was true, no question. He had the flesh wounds to prove it.

He couldn’t help but doubt Harvey’s word regardless. All his life people had been telling him they were busy when really they just wanted to get rid of him. He tormented himself with the idea when he was sitting alone in his miserable apartment. Imagined Harvey laughing and joking with his friends, the same people Jim would never allow to get close enough to him to be anything more than colleagues, and going home with someone who would simply tell Harvey how they felt about him, while Jim wished and wanted, and peered through doorways to watch things he knew he shouldn’t.

The way Harvey’s shoulders drooped sometimes, when he thought nobody could see, like the stress and the strains of the job were overwhelming. The fistfuls of red hair Ginny Babcock had clung to, the time Harvey had whored himself out to get Jim the keys he needed, holding his head in place as she made sounds Jim had never heard outside of porno movies.

It wasn’t what you had but how you used it, that was what Barbara had used to say to him when she was convinced they would make it down the aisle. There was no hope when he was useless in both departments, was what she said when everything was on the verge of collapse yet again, some stranger’s perfume lingering on her clothing.

Harvey didn’t have a problem either way and some nights Jim gave into the inevitable. Went to bed early, telling himself he was being sensible and professional, then lay awake into the early hours, hand in his underwear as he fantasized about being held down and slammed into. Dreamed of Harvey making love to him, nose nuzzling against his cheek before he whispered impossible things into his ear - like how beautiful he was, and how everybody else paled in comparison.

Jim had a mirror though. He knew exactly how insufferable other people found him. So some nights he took the frustration out on something that wouldn’t leave him feeling so empty afterwards. Scrubbed his surfaces until his knuckles were raw and his ceramicware shone, and obsessively reorganized his kitchen cupboards, as though anybody but him was ever going to look inside them.

Except Harvey took him up on his offer of pizza and beer the following night, so that suddenly it didn’t seem quite so ridiculous that he had spent half the previous night washing down his baseboards.

“It’s so clean I can smell it,” Harvey said when he collapsed into the cushions of Jim’s sofa, though all Jim could smell was cheese and pepperoni, “if I didn’t know you better I’d say you pay someone to come in just so you can make me feel bad.”

Jim rolled his eyes, hoping it would hide the pleased flush he could feel rising in his cheeks, and told Harvey plainly that if he just tried rinsing out a mug occasionally perhaps he wouldn’t live in such fear of finding vermin among the piles of trash he claimed was his dirty laundry.

Harvey laughed, the deep rich sound Jim had come to love so dearly, and somehow they ended up leaning comfortably into each other. Working their way through the case of beer Harvey had sprung for, the TV droning on in the background. Jim didn’t want it to end, didn’t say a single word about how late it was getting, and when Harvey finally made a token effort to move Jim pointed out smugly that he had drunk too much to drive himself anyway.

“You might as well stay the night,” Jim said, trying not to sound pathetically eager, “I’ve got plenty of spare blankets.”

What he didn’t mention was the fact he had gone out and bought a couple specially when he took the lease on the place, just on the off chance something like this might happen.

Because it wasn’t a new thing, his obsession with his partner. It had been growing for a long time, slowly and insidiously, ever since the moment they met and he had been left wondering how he could simultaneously want to kiss somebody and throttle them. Harvey could be so infuriating, knew all the wrong buttons to press - but he understood how to make things better too. Knew when to let him stew, and when to pull him in close, and when to simply be there, a balm to the pain of letting go of the dream of the perfect life his father had wanted for him.

It hadn’t been his own vision of perfection though, as much as he had loved Lee, and as willing as he had been to put his all into making a go of things. He wanted something else - someone else - and somehow he found himself sat with his legs tucked up under a blanket on the sofa, his head resting against Harvey’s shoulder.

Harvey shifted a little, getting comfortable. Draped an arm over him, pulling him in close, so that it all felt so perfect Jim could almost imagine himself living exactly the life he wanted. Then he was swallowing around the choking swell of humiliation, because he had been allowing himself to believe it possible that one day Harvey could come to feel something for him, when Harvey had been gearing up to tell him that it wasn’t simply paranoia.

He had wanted him out of the picture the day before.

“Scottie came by last night,” he said, casual like his words weren’t tearing Jim’s heart in two, “did I tell you she was back in Gotham?”

Harvey hadn’t. Had to know it too. Jim could only shake his head and force out a sound he hoped wasn’t as pathetic to Harvey’s ears as it was to his own.

“Yeah,” Harvey said, conversational but audibly fishing for his input, “she’s got a new job. Says she’s in it for the long haul.”

Jim had to whet his lips. Took three attempts to get his voice to co-operate.

“I thought she and Mark were giving it another go.”

Mark was her ex. Had wanted to move away, and wanted her to go with him. The last he had heard they were going to get married, and so be out of the picture forever. Harvey said there was nothing as off putting as seeing a wedding ring on somebody’s finger, which Jim had chosen to interpret as evidenced fact rather than drunken rambling.

Harvey just carried on absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over Jim’s arm and blew all Jim’s hopes out of the water.

“She said she missed me.”

That was great. Really really great.

At least that was what he said, tongue like lead in his mouth, and hauled himself up to go find that blanket. To shed pitiful tears in the privacy of his lonely bed, swiping them harshly from his cheeks and wishing that he was stronger.

That this was a scene he could have left behind in high school.

When he did finally fall asleep it was to claw from one nightmare to the next - dust, and sand, and then the unrelenting cold of Gotham winter. He woke up to find his face wet and his heart hammering.

To Harvey’s hand on his shoulder, his partner’s voice rough with sleep as he told him that it was okay.

He was safe now.

Jim wanted to cling to him. To pull him under the warmth of the covers and stay there until the alarm sounded and they had to face the day together. Instead he insisted he was fine. Got up and dressed, and stood over Harvey’s sleeping form for longer than was excusable, jealousy gnawing at his insides with the idea of Scottie walking right back into Harvey’s life and stealing all this from him.

She was trying, there was no doubt about that. Turned up at the precinct to be taken out to lunch, and looked him over dismissively when she joined them in a bar not far from the precinct after shift, and said pointedly that she heard he was Captain now.

“Best one we ever had,” Harvey said magnanimously, setting the drinks down on the table the three of them were going to occupy, “he’s even got the union behind him.”

Scottie looked unimpressed. Had heard all about how he got the job too - and it didn’t matter that Harvey had forgiven him. That he had never even pressed for a real apology. Jim knew he deserved every iota of the disdain she was broadcasting.

“You didn’t have to tag along,” she told him a week later, using Harvey’s momentary absence to call him out on the way he was struggling to keep from grinding his teeth together, “I thought the future police commissioner would have more important things to be doing.”

He pretended that it didn’t get to him. That he didn’t care a damn she was twisting Harvey’s lighthearted praise of his abilities into something that made him sound like somebody even less worth knowing than he already was.

“If you are busy it’s no problem,” Harvey said on his return, misinterpreting the tail end of the conversation, “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

Jim just swallowed thickly. Nodded stupidly and fought to keep the hurt off his face. Harvey thought he was doing him a favor. Thought that he had anywhere in the world he’d rather be than in Harvey’s company.

He went to the gym and attacked the punchbag. Worked it over until his hair was dripping with sweat and his arms were aching. Showered and changed and went home to his empty apartment, dropping down onto his couch and burying his nose in the blanket Harvey had slept under the last time he had stayed the night.

It was pathetic, shameful, and still he slept on the sofa that night, dreaming of a world in which he someone else - anyone else - and Harvey’s interest in him didn’t end at friendship. He would be the type of guy who made friends easily. He would have a family who cared how he was and what he was doing.

He would tell Harvey how he felt about him and the other man would fall into his arms, instead of extricating himself carefully and telling Jim that he didn’t believe in office romances.

That was how it would go down in the real world, Jim knew, and the following day his mood only fell from bad to worse when he had no choice but to venture into The Narrows and ask Lee to please stop sanctioning the kind of mentality that lead kids to pick pockets in the main shopping district.

“They’re not stealing from anybody who can’t afford it,” Lee told him, really setting off his tension headache, and then went looking for his weak spot. Dug in deep and twisted hard, and said that it was nice to see Bullock dating again.

That they both knew how much of an emotional drain Jim was on those close to him.

“How’s Ed?” He asked in turn, wanting it to sting, but Lee only looked disappointed. Sighed like she had expected better, and waved him off when he left, the twitch of her heavily made up lips a reminder of why it was better for everyone if he was on his own.

How he messed people up and left them hurting.

So he determined to keep his mouth shut. To be supportive and not to let on how much he hated hearing Scottie’s name mentioned.

Until she had another change of heart, practically the very instant Mark was back on the scene, and maybe if he hadn’t been miserably drinking in his office he wouldn’t have been quite so forthcoming. He had made it through a couple of glasses though, and he surprised himself with the vehemence in his tone when he told Harvey that she wasn’t worth it.

That she didn’t deserve him.

Harvey huffed a sad sounding laugh. Patted him on the back and said that he was a real pal, and thanked him for trying to make an old man feel better.

“You’re not old,” Jim countered, feeling still more riled up because Harvey should never sound like that. Worn out and beaten down, and like he truly didn’t understand what a catch he was, “You’re just too good for her.”

Harvey laughed for real that time.

“If only everybody felt that way.”

Jim could have said more but accepted Harvey’s suggestion that they pick up a few drinks on the way home and order in take out. Jumped on it, really, because his place was closer, and that meant having Harvey all to himself in his apartment. Being able to make believe that it was something more, something unreachable, and he was suddenly so eager to leave that he almost forgot his overcoat and his cell phone.

“I always knew it wouldn’t work,” Harvey said when they were settled in for the evening, a couple of beer bottles empty already, “we didn’t really want each other. We were both looking for a substitute.”

“For who?”

“Mark.”

Jim startled at that for a moment, before the realization sunk in that Harvey was referring to Scottie not himself. If he were a good friend, he wouldn’t pry. If he were serious about wanting Harvey to find happiness he would drop it before the conversation went any further.

“And?” he prompted, regardless, and the silence stretched out like a tangible thing between them.

He had pushed too far perhaps. Been too much, just the same as always, but then Harvey was shaking his head and looking away from him.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He didn’t, that was the problem. Thought frantically of all the people Harvey interacted with. Who this person who had captured his heart might be. Harper, maybe, because she was somebody Jim could never compete with. She was strong, smart, knew her own mind. Nobody would ever accuse her of being broken on the inside.

Lucius, perhaps, and Jim’s heart sank even lower. Lucius was clever, funny. Did everything Jim wished he were able to and made it look effortless. Why wouldn’t Harvey fall for Lucius?

“Say something,” Harvey croaked, but it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea, anguished and helpless, and the best Jim could manage was,

“Whoever they are, they’d be a fool to turn you down, Harv.”

“Would they?” Harvey put the bottle in his hand down and turned to face him. “Are you not even going to acknowledge it?”

Jim frowned up at him, clueless. If he was a better friend he would know who Harvey was talking about. If he could pick up on the social cues the rest of the world seemed to find so easy he wouldn’t be such a crushing disappointment.

All he knew was that Harvey looked breathtaking, hair falling about his face and his gaze bright with defiance. Jim wanted him so badly. Loved him so desperately.

Needed him, more than he had ever needed anything, and he could scarcely hear the sound of his own voice over the hammering of his heart as he said,

“If it were me I’d be proud.”

It was Harvey’s turn to frown even as Jim tilted his jaw up determinedly. He would be. He would tell anyone who’d listen that Harvey had chosen him. That he was giving him a chance, even, because if Harvey would only give him the opportunity he would do everything in his power to prove that they could be good together.

That he could make Harvey happy.

“What do you think we’re talking about here, Jim?” Harvey asked and he didn’t sound happy. Sounded far from it, but Jim couldn’t back down now. He had nailed his colors to the mast and, rise or fall, he would stand by them.

“I know I’m not your,” he started. Sat up straighter, shoulders back, and tried again, “I’m not what you want, but I wish I were. I always have done.”

He felt sick. Felt kind of lightheaded, fear and relief overwhelming, because Harvey might laugh in his face - but at least he had done it.

At least he wasn’t a coward.

No matter how his pulse raced and the urge to flee mounted. How Harvey just stared at him, silent, and how he scratched at his own arm, anxiety flooding through him.

“You’re the smartest guy I’ve ever known -”

Jim clutched harder at his arm. Felt like he might pass out, the horror of it unbearable. This was the rejection speech. The thanks but no thanks moment.

“I love you,” he blurted, helpless, because there was never a bad situation he had encountered yet that he couldn’t make worse somehow.

Harvey rocked like he had hit him with something physical. Groped clumsily for his hand, cold and clammy and a dead weight at his side, and picked up the thread of what he was saying,

“and the dumbest too. You’re the most beautiful guy I ever laid eyes on.”

Jim was waiting for the but, for the sting in the tale. It never came. Instead he got bombshell he wasn’t expecting, Harvey gripping tight at his hand all the while.

“Who the hell did you think I was talking about, Jim? Who could even begin to compare to you?”

It sank in slowly. Had him afraid that he was daydreaming. Hit over the head or in chains somewhere, hallucinating.

“I love you, Jim,” Harvey finished, voice hoarse and gaze damp, “you’re supposed to be a detective.”

So are you, was what Jim would have said. Planned to say, even, but clinging to Harvey was more important. Kissing him was a thousand times more pressing, his heart soaring as Harvey’s arms wrapped around him, everything about it as perfect as Jim had always dreamed it would be.

If he really was Harvey’s first choice, he was going to make sure Harvey never regretted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	270. Chapter 270

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Chapter #262](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/33548310) \- it's not a case of simply saying 'I love you' and living happily ever after...
> 
> The longer I have this in drafts the more I dislike it. I just needed it done and posted! TW for religious angst.

“Are they looking for a photographer?”

Jim was only joking, smiling wide as he made the suggestion, but Harvey clammed up immediately. Got tense and guilty, so that Jim put his drink back down on the coffee table, all his good humor dissipating.

This was the reality of being a dirty little secret.

He couldn’t talk about the man he was in love with. Couldn’t hold his hand, or kiss his cheek, or even stand too close in public for fear of somebody suspecting there was something more than brotherly affection to their relationship.

Accompanying him to a family wedding was a definite no-no.

Except Harvey shook his head and moved to sit closer. Sighed as he apologized, hand reaching for Jim’s own.

“If you’re serious I’d love for you to be there. Sinead would be really grateful too, they’re working to a tight budget.” Harvey gave him a lopsided smile, gently teasing, “Unless you’ve forgotten how to handle a live subject?”

Just like that he was handing in a form for holiday time, hoping that it was kind of like riding a bike. He hadn’t shot a wedding in years. Christenings or graduations neither, though he had been known to moonlight with regular postmortem photography. Corpses never complained about holding a pose.

“I heard a rumor about you,” Lee told him the next time he was at the central precinct, his gut seizing up with the fear that he had been indiscreet somehow. She only went on easily, “Is it true you’re taking time off work? That doesn’t sound like the Jim Gordon I know!”

Lee laughed, delighted at his indignation, and he made a point of continuing with the job he was meant to be doing as he answered her.

“I was asked to photograph a wedding for a friend,” he said, like it was something he would have considered for anybody other than Harvey. Like he wasn’t already overcome with nerves at the prospect of making a good impression on all of Harvey’s extended family.

They couldn’t know, might never be let in on the truth of the matter, but Harvey loved them with all his heart and soul, and Jim didn’t even want to think about what he would do if they really didn’t like him. If all he could ever do was pose as Harvey’s old friend from his seminary days, he intended to make the very most of it.

“So this friend,” Lee asked after a few blissfully silent moments, knowing him far too well, “is he anyone I know?”

“No.” Jim moved on to the next item to be photographed and cataloged. “Next question.”

His tone was snappy, warning, and he was beginning to regret it by the time he made to leave and Lee put her hand on his arm, expression solemn,

“Just don’t let him take advantage, all right?”

Jim thought about it all through the rest of the working day. Alternated between righteous annoyance that she had taken it upon herself to get involved, and soft hearted gratitude that she cared enough to try in the first place.

He had never been good at getting close to people. Didn’t have many friends, or care to put in the work to acquire them. So it meant a lot to him. Got him feeling mushy and sentimental, and when he clocked off for the evening he drove straight over to the meeting point of the community litter pick he knew Harvey had let himself be talked into.

There was nothing wrong with him volunteering to do a good turn, surely?

Harvey’s face lit up at the sight of him, highlighting his flushed cheeks and the way the bridge of his nose was beginning to burn under the summer sun. Jim couldn’t help the way his own gaze trailed up and over Harvey’s body and the damp edges of his hair, glad for his sunglasses.

He was being patient. Was willing to wait as long as it took for Harvey to be ready to do more than kiss him. He couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t difficult though.

It was Harvey’s fault for being so stupidly attractive.

Even moreso then he once had been by Jim’s estimations, because he had filled out since Jim had known him in college. Had grown in a beard that got Jim’s blood pumping and had an air of authority that made his knees weak. Had him tuning out while one of the committee handed out bags and timing information, his mind preoccupied with imagining the things he could get up to under cover of the skirt of Harvey’s summer-weight cassock.

He kept going back to the idea even as he set to work. Even as he ruminated on the fact that having Harvey in his life was making him a better person. He had been more involved with people - believers and non - over the last few months than he had in the years previously.

It was about then he realized that none of them were around in that moment. He had either fallen behind or gone on ahead, and he turned around trying to catch sight of someone only to find Harvey standing there, silently watching him.

“What is it?” He asked, concerned, only to have Harvey croak out,

“What are you doing here?”

The words hit him hard, sent a wave of ice cold terror washing over him, but then in place of rejection Harvey was telling him,

“You’re so beautiful. You could be doing anything you wanted. You should be with somebody who deserves you.”

Jim ignored the less than ideal circumstances. Threw caution to the wind to tangle a hand in his hair. Pressed their foreheads together and held eye contact.

“I love you. I don’t want anybody else.”

If he were better at this, perhaps Harvey wouldn’t keep doubting him. If he knew the right things to say, or the best things to do. He didn’t though, and had to hope that Harvey could see exactly how sincere he was.

They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing into each other’s eyes and sharing each other’s breath. Then Jim remembered where they were, the likelihood of somebody seeing them, and regretfully pulled away, light headed and tingling with how desperately he wanted to cling to Harvey and never let go again.

“What are you doing after this?” He asked conversationally, going back to the damn trash, and Harvey grinned besottedly at him as he said,

“Choir practice. But we’ll be done by nine.”

“I could make dinner,” Jim suggested, because Harvey could do with something that didn’t come out of a microwave, and ended up going back to the rectory while Harvey hurriedly showered and changed and went back out again.

He took his time about his own ablutions. Wrapped his hand around himself, just to take the worst of the edge off, and tipped his head back against the slick tile of the shower, trembling with the force of it.

Harvey had said to help himself to towels and clothing, so he used the opportunity to look around Harvey’s spartan bedroom, taking in the crucifix on the wall and the hand stitched bible verses gifted by one parishioner or another. It gave him his own brand of Catholic guilt. His usual crisis of conscience over what he was asking Harvey to do for him.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t believe, that he thought it all more than a little crazy. Harvey believed in it. Harvey was convinced that he was committing some great crime by acting on his feelings for him. Thought he was going to burn in Hell once they took things a step further, and the whole situation was depressing enough that he had to simply pull on one of Harvey’s T-shirts and some pajama pants so he could get out of there.

Downstairs wasn’t so bad, even with the saints’ statues and the prayer cards everywhere. It was less intimate somehow, less personal, and he tried to bring his mood back up by switching the TV on and getting started with dinner. He felt okay by the time Harvey arrived. Couldn’t feel anything but positive with the prospect of hours of Harvey’s company stretching out in front of him, and after they ate - Harvey poking at the vegetables suspiciously - they cuddled up close on the sofa, the curtains drawn and the lights low.

Harvey stroked at his arm and pressed kisses into his hair. Had Jim slowly turning to face him, needing more contact, and it was only ever inevitable that they should end up making out on the couch, kisses growing hungrier and hungrier, Harvey grinding up into him even as he clutched him closer. Panted, and moaned, and suddenly froze underneath him, shaking and spasming in such a way that left no ambiguity as to the cause of it.

It was so hot, so indescribably exciting, and he was sure there was nothing in the world that could stop him following Harvey’s example.

Not until Harvey started crying.

He didn’t know what to do, how he was supposed to react. Simply held Harvey close, one hand stroking at his back, and felt almost numb with resignation. This had to mean that it was all over.

How they could come back from it?

He thought of the boy he had lost his virginity to, both of them fumbling and awkward and too embarrassed to talk about what they were doing, and he thought of his roommate back at college, laughing as he told him he ought to aim higher than a repressed cleric who would cry afterwards.

“I’m sorry,” Harvey whispered into his shirt front, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Jim said, adamant, because he got the impression that the apology wasn’t only meant for him. Because he was frustrated, and tired, and simply didn’t know how to get through to Harvey, “there’s nothing wrong with it.”

There wasn’t. Not with going off like a bottle rocket after a lifetime of enforced celibacy, and not with rutting against another guy either. Not the tears, even, and he hoped that was the message Harvey would take from his outburst.

“I’m a priest, Jim!” Harvey exclaimed, frantic, proving that he was out of luck on that score. “Everything about this is wrong!”

Harvey was shaking, a total mess, and Jim could feel his own throat aching with emotion. This wasn’t going to work. He had only ever been kidding himself. It could never work.

“I’ll go,” he managed, broken and exhausted. Unable to understand how things had gone so wrong so quickly.

He cried himself when he collapsed into his own bed. He should have known better. Harvey had always been off-limits. Out of his reach. It didn’t matter how many times Harvey said he loved him - it didn’t mean anything. He was always going to be relegated to second place.

It was the story of his life, really. He was never good enough for anyone. Not for his Mother, the look of disappointment on her face when it was him they lead her in to see after the crash instead of his father seared into his memory, and not for his most recent ex-boyfriend. Paul had traded him in for a newer model, some guy who looked like he ought to be posing for underwear shoots.

At least he had dumped Paul and moved on to pastures new not long afterwards.

He was lucky to have the job, he supposed. He wasn’t well liked by his colleagues, far from it, but he was respected for his talent. Recognized across the state as one of the best, and that was the only solace he was going to get when he was called out at the crack of the dawn to an especially bloody crime scene. After that he worked in the lab for a couple of hours on digital restoration, wishing it were enough to push all thoughts of Harvey from his mind, only for an officer to knock at his door just before lunch with the news that there was someone at the front desk to see him.

A priest, of all people.

They went somewhere private, something which was so much easier than it had been then, when they had both been sharing rooms with paper thin walls and nosy neighbors.

“I’m sorry, Jim.”

Harvey looked about as awful as Jim felt, dark smudges under his red rimmed eyes and hair hanging lank and limp around his face. Jim shrugged sadly, the urge to cling to Harvey warring it out with his ever present desire to protect himself from more heartache,

“You said that.”

If he had been in this situation back in college he would have been on his knees by now. Arms around Harvey’s waist as he begged him to turn his back on a collection of lies that were only ever going to make him unhappy. Harvey would have been calm and sensible and explained quietly why he was being unreasonable.

It was all different now though, because Harvey was no longer the one who had his life sorted. Jim was the one who knew his own mind now - what he was and what he wanted - even if he couldn’t make things work out so easily.

“I’m afraid,” Harvey confessed, raking a hand through his hair to get it out of the way. “People look up to me, rely on me, and I can’t live up to their expectations. How can I grant them absolution when I’m not even leading a Catholic lifestyle?”

Jim thought about it for a long moment. Tried to see the problem from Harvey’s perspective and conjure up a solution.

“What do you want to do about it?” He asked eventually, no obvious answer forthcoming, and Harvey just hung his head and said,

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

“I meant what I said,” Jim started, reaching out to take one of Harvey’s hands in his own, “I’ll take things as slowly as you need to. But not if all I’m going to be to you is something to punish yourself about. To feel guilty for. I -” his voice cracked a little, “I’ll be your secret but this isn’t something dirty.”

In that moment he didn’t even feel certain of his own statement. Wasn’t sure he would hold up against some wordy philosophical debate on the issue. Harvey just wrapped his arms around him with a whispered ‘thank you’.

So they moved slower. Glacial. Talked and held hands but kept the kissing to the cheek. Kept the wandering hands out of the equation, at least when they were together. When they weren’t in Harvey’s case, because Jim had read the supposedly helpful pamphlet on how chastity was sexual goodness, and done his best not to argue against just about every single piece of advice Harvey was planning on giving his marriage preparation class.

“I think it’s just vanity,” he said finally, watching as Harvey moved potential discussion points around the timetable. Elaborated when Harvey raised a sceptical eyebrow with, “this obsession that a man’s seed is so important he can’t spill it. If God is this great omnipotent being I seriously doubt he has the time spare to give a toss.”

Harvey rolled his eyes at the terrible pun and his triumphant delivery, while Jim scanned the pages of Harvey’s flowing handwriting and asked more seriously,

“Are you really going to say that?”

“What?”

“That ‘we aren’t animals, we can learn to control our urges’. Is that what you think of me, deep down?”

It wasn’t the first time he had heard the allusion. The implication that he was somehow less than human for jerking off of an evening.

“You don’t believe, you’ve no reason to deny yourself,” Harvey said diplomatically, and it was enough to rile up the part of him that had used to go on protest marches and was thinking of getting involved with the GPU over the sheer number of photographs he had taken of wounded - and worse - police officers.

“That wasn’t a real answer and you know it.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“I thought that was what you loved about me?”

Harvey grinned, probably in spite of himself, then spoke slowly as though he were still figuring all the details out himself.

“I’m trying, Jim, I swear. It’s just - this is stuff I’ve believed my whole life. It’s not easy to let go of.”

“Will you at least leave that line out of the lecture?”

“I don’t lecture!” Harvey countered, indignant, but capitulated without any further prompting. “I’ll see what I can do. Promise.”

Harvey looked very pleased with himself when Jim next saw him. Hung up his coat and his hat in Jim’s cramped hallway and launched into an explanation of how the class had left looking far more positive than they usually did, before noting the maudlin expression on his face and the half empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table.

“What is it, Jim?” He asked, concern audible, and Jim wondered how he could hurt so much on the inside, and yet be considered so cold and unfeeling by those worked alongside him day in and day out. He wasn’t a robot. If they existed he had as much of a soul as the next man.

Not shedding tears at the scene didn’t make him heartless. It didn’t mean that he had any idea how to deal with some of the awful things he saw.

He tried to make that clear to Harvey, slurring and wretched, and Harvey just held him close, one hand cradling the back of his head as Jim buried his face in his chest. Told him about two little bodies and the state they had been in, and how he wished he had some kind of faith to help him through it.

Jerked away from the hand Harvey put on his shoulder and got vicious, aiming for the jugular when he asked if Harvey were sure he wanted to touch him. If he wasn’t afraid that he would lead him astray with his inherent sinfulness.

Harvey simply pulled him in close and pressed a kiss to his temple. Whispered confessions to him, hands soothing away some of the awful loneliness. Told him about the Pyg and what he had been looking for. The things he heard, and the things he saw, and how no amount of praying made the memories go away.

They slept together that night, perfectly chaste under the blankets, clinging to each other for comfort. It felt like a milestone, like proof that what they had could go the distance. That they were both better people for the connection they were sharing.

Jim reminded himself of it the morning of the Bullock family wedding he had managed to find himself a part of, and combed his hair down carefully in front of the mirror as he practiced his politely interested face. It looked more like a pained grimace, and he gave it up as a bad job after a few moments.

It was too late anyway.

He needn’t have worried, really, because Harvey’s favorite aunt remembered him instantly, and set about introducing him to absolutely everyone. Directed him through some of the details of the thing, and fussed over the weight of the camera he had brought, and whether he realized how long he was likely to be on his feet.

“I’m used to it,” he assured, and then had to force himself to keep his gaze - and his camera - on the happy couple and not on Harvey. Not even when he looked so radiantly happy at being able to officiate.

Jim had never seen him celebrate Mass before. Had decided from the beginning that he didn’t want to put the kind of pressure on Harvey having him sat amidst his congregation was bound to cause. Now he wished he had been privy to it on a regular basis because there was something ethereal about the expression on Harvey’s face that reminded him of the first photograph he had ever taken of him.

The image he had fallen so hard for, that had convinced him he had to track the man down and know more about him.

He took a few shots, just because he could, and kept adding to the collection all through the reception, because Harvey was his favorite subject in general. Behind the camera, and away from it, especially when he finally had an excuse to indulge his desire to talk about Harvey to someone - anyone.

It didn’t help that people kept pressing drinks on him, his visage too recognizable after his perfectionism directed a couple of hundred people through enough photographs to fill a dozen wedding albums. He didn’t drink often, and when he did he rarely drank more than a glass or two. He was feeling buzzed, happy and sociable, and though he was aware of the need for self-censorship, he couldn’t quite stop talking about what a great guy Harvey was to Harvey’s cousin, Kathleen.

“I’m glad he has a friend like you,” she told him, following his gaze to where Harvey was turning circles on the dance floor with a little kid who couldn’t be more than eight years old, “He’s been so lonely.”

Jim searched her face for hidden meaning. For some sign that she knew, understood, and was giving her blessing. He didn’t know her well enough, he concluded sadly, and sobered up considerably as he hoped that when it came out Harvey didn’t lose all of this.

He had to get some air. Stumbled out onto a balcony populated by a couple of smokers and a cousin whose name he had forgotten leaning with his forehead against the railing, green all about the gills. Jim stayed out there a long time. Long enough for the others to trickle back inside. When he finally followed he made a beeline straight for Harvey, now sat with a plate of food and an impatient look on his face.

His cousin Craig was sat with him, nodding in acknowledgement as Jim dropped down to sit beside Harvey but not pausing in his vocal condemnation of Harvey’s decision to care more about the Church’s outdated opinions than the wellbeing of the people he was preaching it to.

“I don’t think this is the time or the place,” Harvey tried, using the facilitating tone Jim heard uniform using with distressed members of the public, but Craig shook his head and lowered his voice so that those around them wouldn’t hear,

“You’re a damn hypocrite, Harvey. You’ve got the gall to sit there, with him, and still tell messed up kids that the only option they’ve got is a lifetime of repression and loneliness.”

“Leave him out of it,” Harvey growled, low and menacing, and for the first time since they met Jim had no trouble believing Harvey had grown up in one of the roughest areas of The Narrows.

“Somebody’s going to find you out. And when they do the Church won’t think twice about throwing you under a bus.”

Craig left at that, throwing his crumpled napkin down in disgust, and Jim watched Harvey closely, unsure where they went from there. Made to stand when Harvey seemed intent on refusing to look at him. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible.

He pushed through the crowd, humiliation stinging, and imagined the glee with which his brother would say ‘I told you so’ if he had any inkling of the life Jim was living. The way his liberal friends from college would have laughed and asked him what else he had been expecting.

Except he had only taken a few steps out into the cold night drizzle when Harvey was calling his name, footsteps hurried as he caught up with him.

“You forgot your camera.”

Jim sniffed out a thanks and reached for it. Got Harvey stepping in close instead, breath misting in the winter air as he touched a tender hand to his cheek.

“You forgot something else too.”

“What’s that?” Jim asked, helplessly leaning into Harvey’s touch.

“That I love you.”

They kissed right there in the parking lot, rain falling all around them as he tasted the alcohol on Harvey’s tongue. He couldn’t get enough, could never get enough, and they ended up falling through the door of Jim’s apartment, his hands tangled in Harvey’s wet hair, and Harvey kissing him like the world was due to end in the morning.

Maybe it was, in a way, and still Jim put a hand on Harvey’s chest to put some space between them. To calm it down enough to ask if Harvey was certain. They were both a little drunk, both a lot worked up, and he hadn’t forgotten the painful wrench of unwanted self-hatred in his gut the last time he had let things get out of hand like this.

“I want you,” Harvey said simply. “I can’t - I’m not. Can we start at the beginning? I just need to touch you.”

They could do whatever Harvey wanted, no question about that, and he lead Harvey into his bedroom, plundering his gorgeous mouth all the while. Harvey was on top of him once they hit the mattress, kissing and kissing and rocking against his thigh, so that Jim had to take charge and peel them both out of their clothing.

He felt like he had hit the jackpot, like he was the luckiest guy in Gotham, and he couldn’t help the thrill of lust that went through him when he wrapped his hand around Harvey’s dick for the first time, entire body jerking at the desperate yelp of pleasure Harvey failed to bite back. It was so thick in his hand. So hot and hard and perfect, and he tried out a few of the techniques that always got him going, watching the way Harvey watched the movement of his hand, absolute awe painted across his features.

“It feels so good,” Harvey told him, like he hadn’t quite expected it, and though they were meant to be taking things slow Jim had to drop his head and swipe his tongue through the swell of pre-come. “Oh God,” Harvey groaned in response, sounding wrecked, and then they were kissing again, the universe contracted to the two of them and the way they were touching each other.

Because Harvey reached a tentative hand out to him. Trailed fingertips up the length of his dick, gauging his reaction as he seemingly worked on committing every inch of him to memory. As his breathing grew ragged, eyes dark with want, while Jim watched on breathlessly, every touch of Harvey’s hand sending sparks through him.

He shifted so he could take Harvey in hand. Jerked him a little awkwardly, rhythm faltering because he was so close to his own climax, but Harvey swore and gasped and stroked him faster. Warned him that he couldn’t hold out, that his control wasn’t what it could be, and then Jim was coming, muscles contracting, and he bit down hard at his lip even as a startled cry was ripped from Harvey’s throat, hot fluid spurting over Jim’s fingers.

Jim shook as he came down from it. Felt drunk, swamped with endorphins, because he had had nothing but his own hand for months now. He had dreamed of this moment for so long that he had been afraid it would never come.

He curled his hand around the back of Harvey’s neck. Pulled him into a slow, tender kiss, trying to convey without words how much this had meant to him. How he was head over heels in love with him.

“How can it be wrong, Jim?” Harvey breathed against his lips when they finally paused for a moment. “How can something so beautiful be wrong?”

“It isn’t,” Jim stated bluntly. “You have to believe that.”

In the cold light of day Jim fully expected Harvey to regret it. He was terrified of getting his hopes up. Harvey just beamed at him, hair mussed and the imprint of the pillow on his cheek, and told him they shouldn’t have done it, probably, but he was glad that they had.

It didn’t make everything simple. Didn’t mean that his life was suddenly rainbows, and roses, and no more problems. It did make things easier though, did give him hope, and he started to slowly spend more time with Harvey with other people present.

Turned up to parish events and watched Harvey at choir practice. Came to be on first name terms with the leaders of the youth club, and the members of the flower arranging committee, and began to see some of what it was that kept Harvey in a role that made him a hypocrite.

Because Harvey was good at it. Was making a real difference to people’s lives, day in and day out, and Jim started to appreciate how much Harvey had achieved since leaving the seminary. St. Mary’s was hardly Gotham cathedral, it was true, but it was a beautiful church. Served one of the most deprived parishes in the city, and organized food banks, and childcare schemes, and space in the adjacent hall for everything from AA meetings to kids’ judo lessons.

It made him look at how he used his own time. What he was doing, and how he was giving back. He put his name forward for the GPU ballot and blushed at Harvey’s praise when he was elected as the precinct’s representative.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he deflected, smiling into his wine glass, and Harvey just reached out and touched his hand, gazing at him like they were trapped in some sentimental romance movie.

They were, in a way, because sometimes it felt as though he were in limbo. He wanted to be with Harvey for the rest of his life, whatever that might look like. Matching rings on their fingers and a joint checking account, or simply living under the same roof. He wanted more than the irregular make out sessions, and the much revisited memories of Harvey’s hands on him.

What he got instead was an invite to a dinner party with some priest Harvey had worked with halfway across the country, and the shocked realization when he got there that he wasn’t the only special friend attending.

He went out for some air after dessert, staring up at the night sky as a guy settled against the wall next to him, cigarette smoke curling around them.

“You looked genuinely shocked,” the other man said, eyeing him up like he couldn’t quite get the measure of him, “it must be your first time at one of these.”

Jim wasn’t sure what this was exactly, not beyond a room full of men eating overcooked pasta.

“The ‘do as we do not as we say’ gatherings. You’ll get used to it.”

He wondered if he wanted to. Watched Harvey closely when he got back inside, too aware of the guilty expression on his face. The worry that kept breaking through the strained smiles and the way he fidgeted, every time he thought nobody was looking.

They talked about it afterwards, Harvey surprising him by admitting that he had been plenty of times. That these were his friends and his peers, and that it had never been his place to judge them. Jim had reservations on that point, thought sometimes that Harvey clung way too tight to the self sacrifice and the personal martyrdom, but chose to leave that alone in favor of asking him if this was how he saw the future.

The two of them attending need to know dinner parties and hoping that they didn’t make an enemy who disliked one or both of them enough to reveal all to Harvey’s parishioners.

“What else can I do?” Harvey asked, sounding so defeated Jim couldn’t take it.

If he could live more outside of his head, Harvey could certainly learn to see all the options he had before him.

“Teach, wait tables, join the police force. Anything you want to do.”

Harvey shook his head. Stood and paced and then sat and faced him again to say,

“This is what I want to do. It’s all I ever wanted to do. Finding you again, having you back in my life - I just -”

Jim touched Harvey’s cheek. Slid his fingertips into his hair line and tried not to think about the churning in the pit of his stomach as he said honestly,

“I wish you could have both. But you can’t and the day’s coming when you’ll have to choose between us.”

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. One of the most painful decisions he had ever made. But the day dawned sooner than he had been expecting and he couldn’t stand to be around when Harvey told him that he would find somebody who really loved him.

Who could really devote themselves to him.

He could picture it all too clearly. As clear as the sound of Harvey’s tear choked voice over the phone, explaining stiltedly that his family knew. That they had guessed and that he hadn’t been able to lie to them.

That he didn’t know what to do about it.

Jim’s first instinct was to go to him. To kiss him soundly and make him forget about it all, at least for a couple of hours. Harvey wouldn’t thank him though. Wouldn’t want him making things worse between him and his family. Not now - perhaps not ever.

Instead he croaked out an apology. Thought it fitting that it was ending by phone; it was a relationship he should have left behind in college, so it made sense that they end it like students. That he try and pretend that it hurt so much because they were young and hormonal, and not that Harvey was the great love of his life.

Harvey kept trying to call him. Came by and pounded on his door, probably, but Jim was already on a train upstate, camera bags in the overhead rack because he had been requested to help with a case, and he suddenly had good reason to accept the invitation.

He cried that first night. Lay numb and resigned on the second, staring at his cell phone and willing for Harvey to try calling him one last time. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to keep secrets forever.

Except he got to see the end result, photographing every angle of the crawl space an actual human being had been kept in, and he wondered if that was how it would have been inside his head by the end. Knowing that there was no way out. No escape from the lies they had constructed.

He arrived back in Gotham to find a note pushed under his door, asking him if they couldn’t at least talk. If they could have dinner, perhaps, after Harvey said Mass on Sunday. Jim kept changing his mind as the week progressed. Put the note in the bin then fished it back out, smoothing out the paper, fingers tracing over Harvey’s familiar handwriting.

Answered a call out on Sunday morning that seemed to go on and on, and was just horrific enough that he had to swallow his pride and drive over to the church. Had to creep into the back of the service, quietly taking a pew as the ritual went on all around him. The singing, and the candles, and the incense - and Harvey stepping up to encourage them all to be good Christian soldiers.

Or not, as the case may be, because Harvey started his homily with,

“This will be the last time I stand before you.”

People gasped and murmured, and Harvey looked visibly moved and emotional as he went on,

“It’s not because I don’t love this parish, I do. And it’s not because I don’t love God, though our relationship has been fraught at times. I couldn’t always understand what He was asking of me. Why He would push me so far beyond my limits.

Then He brought a friend back into my life. Somebody who gave me back my joy at being alive. Who helped me to see that I had simply been existing.”

Harvey talked about how it had been an honor to serve the parish. How proud he had been to be able to help and inspire people. Looked pale but determined as he said that he hoped that they would hold dear those memories as he did, and that they would understand he had never set out to deceive anyone.

That when he was done the deacon would offer communion, because he would no longer be able to.

“I love the Church,” he said finally, “even when it seems as though it doesn’t love me. But I can’t live a lie. I love him more.”

The place erupted into shocked commentary at that, Harvey pushing through to a back room, back straight but hands trembling. Jim sat there frozen for a moment. He was early for their meeting. Would never have seen this, as far as Harvey was concerned, and suddenly it didn’t matter that people were turning to look at him and whispering.

Nothing mattered but getting to Harvey.

It was what he had always dreamed of, his own guilty little fantasy. Harvey burning his bridges for him. Publicly pronouncing what he felt for him. Now it had happened and Jim didn’t know if he was sick with happiness or horror at what Harvey had done.

Harvey was crying when he found him. Shaking a little, still dressed for Mass.

“I had to do it,” Harvey said at the sight of him, sounding so lost Jim’s heart ached, “it’s better to be hated for being honest than loved for being a hypocrite.”

That was Harvey’s relatives talking, Jim had no doubts, and that had to mean there was hope on that score.

“I should have stayed,” Jim said in turn, gearing up to apologize, but Harvey wouldn’t let him.

Assured him that he had been more patient than he had had any right to ask for. That he was sorry it had taken him so long to be ready to make the right decision. Jim just kissed him, a desperate crush of lips to prove that it was real, and then did his best to look composed and not overwhelmed with emotion while Harvey disrobed and pressed one last kiss to his stole before hanging it up carefully.

“I’m proud of you,” Jim managed, words woefully inadequate for expressing the extent of what he was feeling, but Harvey seemed to understand.

Knew him better than anyone else ever had - than they ever would - and reached for his hand, a fond smile tugging at his lips when Jim squeezed back, to let him know that they were in this together.

It was time to go and face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	271. Chapter 271

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can I possibly make a request for Gordlock? I was inspired by the post about fake Jim and the tags about Harvey thinking Jim was just trying-and failing-to flirt, so how about a prompt where the real Jim is trying to flirt with Harvey but he sucks at it and Harvey has no idea what's going on and maybe thinks Jim has been replaced again or something?_

Jim was acting strange. Stranger than usual. Casting sideways glances at him every time he thought he wasn’t looking, and coming out with statements that the Jim Gordon he knew would never even think of voicing.

Not in a million years.

“Isn’t that the shirt you wore to Desmond’s funeral?” was fine, or it would be if it were asked in Jim’s usual dismissive inflection. “I like the way it fits you,” was the kind of thing nobody on earth said, not unless they were ripping the piss out of him.

Jim was blinking up at him though, so fixedly it was unnerving, and Harvey edged a touch backwards into the booth of the diner and eyed Jim warily as he swiped ketchup from his tie with a paper napkin.

He would say that Jim was joking. Gearing up for some prank or other. But Jim didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humor.

Didn’t have much in the way of manners, either, not even for the drop dead gorgeous women he had claimed to be in love with.

Yet there he was, all the same, holding the door open for him. Pulling a chair out and fixing him a cup of coffee the way Harvey most liked it, without being nagged for an hour to do so, or accompanying it with a lecture about the dangers of caffeine, and sugar, and not buying fair trade produce.

Harvey sniffed at it before taking a sip. Braced himself for a slow death by poisoning.

Watched Jim more closely when it turned out to just be a really nice mug of coffee, and struggled to interpret the high color in Jim’s cheeks and the bashful little smile Jim shot him when he caught him staring.

Freaked out completely when he closed the door of his locker and turned around to find Jim standing there, eyes dark like he was high on something.

“I was gonna take a shower,” Harvey said, hoping Jim would take the hint and step back a little. Hoping that Jim was going to do it before he incited an embarrassing reaction to his proximity.

“I know,” Jim said simply, and Harvey felt the weight of his gaze on his back all the way to the showers.

It was weird. More than a little worrying. Not enough to stop him letting his eyes fall close and imagine Jim following him, obviously, and afterwards, with his mind a little clearer, Harvey pledged to get to the bottom of whatever Jim’s problem was.

Because Jim had never been the kind of guy to send text messages about anything that wasn’t work related. Definitely wasn’t the type to leave his desk - and his paperwork - to ask if he had plans for the weekend.

Especially not when it was still only Tuesday.

When Jim reached out after a foot chase that had left him panting and only half certain he wasn’t in the middle of a heart attack, just to try and tuck his hair back behind his ear, Harvey could take it no longer.

Called on long ago self-defence training and grabbed hold of Jim’s arm, twisting it up behind his back and pressing his face into the unforgiving brick of the wall he would really prefer to be collapsing against.

His features stayed in the right position this time around, at least.

“All right, the game’s up,” Harvey hissed, twisting still harder for the ache in his lovesick heart, “who the hell are you and what have you done with Jim Gordon?”

It was the only explanation that made sense. The explanation he had already lived through once before, Jim acting like a stranger only to be confirmed as somebody else entirely.

“It is me!” The guy with Jim’s face protested, “If you don’t let up you’re going to break my arm!”

Harvey thought about that. Caught sight of the pained anguish on Jim’s face and almost let go completely. Came to his senses just in time, because that was exactly what a murderous replicant would say, and put his weight behind the hold, demanding that this Not Jim tell him what his plans were.

“I can prove it,” Jim whined, struggling helplessly against his grip, and told him the name of his mother. The school he had gone to and the priest who had said Mass at his first Communion.

“Public record,” Harvey countered, “Educated guesses.”

Father Mulligan had done every kid in The Narrows before being locked up for lining his pockets with the contents of the collection plate while the church roof collapsed during Easter Vigil.

Jim squirmed against his hold, and tried again with what they had talked about over the old black and white movie they had watched that first night Jim crashed on his sofa after breaking out of Blackgate, and the creative threats the Madam of what had once been his third favorite brothel had yelled at him last time they had had no choice but to bring her into the station for questioning.

Half the precinct had heard the latter, but nobody but Jim could know the former.

No one in the world but Jim could override his sense of reason by looking up at him through his lashes like that.

Harvey let go. Braced himself for a shoot out or a fist fight. Just got Jim sorting out the drape of his suit jacket, and giving him the puppy dog eyes as he asked him what he had done to merit that kind of treatment.

“Can you blame me?” Harvey asked, not having any other answer, “Last time you were acting this weird you were literally another person.”

“I’ve not been acting weird,” Jim snapped back, much more like his usual antagonistic self, and Harvey scoffed as he ticked off the freakiness on his fingers.

The uncharacteristic concern for his wellbeing, and the intense interest Jim had been taking in what he was doing and where he was going. Who else was going to be there, and whether or not he could tag along with him.

“What does that sound like to you?” Harvey finished triumphantly, expecting the obvious, logical jump to homicidal doppelganger.

“Like I was trying to ask you out to dinner,” Jim said immediately, carefully bending his arm and then straightening it out again, “obviously.”

Harvey just gaped at him. Took in the defiant tilt of Jim’s jaw and the anxiety in his big blue eyes. The way he stood his ground when Harvey took a step closer, hope radiating, so that Harvey could do nothing but crush Jim into a kiss, fingers gentle as they settled on the arm he had been in danger of snapping.

“You need to work on your technique, Jim. Seriously.”

Jim nuzzled in close - close enough for him to feel the smile on Jim’s face - and said breathlessly,

“It’s a good job I’ve found someone to practice on then, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	272. Chapter 272

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim is possessive and often marks Harvey with like hickeys and stuff, and sometimes he can't hide them all and everyone notices them._

Theirs had always been destined to be the perfect partnership, both in bed and out of it. Because Jim inspired him to be a good man, a better person, and in turn he reigned in the worst of Jim’s recklessness. Widened out his tunnel vision, just a little, so he didn’t completely lose sight of the bigger picture.

He gave Jim space to be the person he was, not the superhero Jim thought everybody wanted him to be, and Jim rewarded him by proving all over again exactly how compatible they were.

The first few times Jim had done his best to hold back. Apologized for being over eager, too enthusiastic, until Harvey had to throw caution to the wind as he held Jim’s head in place and begged him to finish what he had started.

He had always been into it - had really never been any good at pretending otherwise. Not the hardcore stuff, maybe. Whips, and chains, and the beyond freaky shit that had been going down at the Fox Glove. Hair pulling though, he was always up for that. Finger nails raked down his back, and being told what to do, and getting attacked with lips and tongue.

Teeth too, just to keep things interesting.

Jim was so good at it. Yanked at his hair with the perfect pressure when Harvey dropped to his knees, just the way Jim said he knew he wanted to, and linked their fingers together as he told him that he loved him, and sucked livid love bites into his skin before soothing them with yet more kisses.

Got possessive and frantic, desperate to hear Harvey tell him again and again that he loved him too. Let himself get carried away sometimes, spurred on by Harvey’s own fevered movements, and afterwards met his eye with a sheepish expression and said that he might want to think about wearing a high collar.

Harvey knew it was coming that evening. Knew that he ought to care about what people might say, what they might think, or his position as a professional who had no choice but to interact with members of the public.

All he was actually capable of was writhing under Jim’s touch, increasingly vocal in his desire for more as Jim worked his way up the column of his throat. Whining out pleas for Jim not to stop, to never stop, and when Jim’s teeth scraped along the edge of his jaw, just below his ear, he had to cling to Jim as he came explosively.

As Jim panted and shook, and jerked himself in time with the frenzied hammering of his heart beat.

“Does it hurt?” Jim asked when they were both calm and comfortable enough to think about talking, “You would say if it was too much, wouldn’t you?”

Jim was stroking his fingertips over Harvey’s neck, sending fresh sparks all along his nerve endings, and Harvey just pressed a kiss to Jim’s forehead and told him that he had always been just right for him.

It was Jim’s intensity he was so in love with. Jim’s inability to avoid drama that had first made him realize what he felt for him.

The depth of emotion in Jim’s big blue eyes, and the hint of color in his cheeks every time his gaze fell on the purpling marks no shirt in the world would be able to cover.

It wasn’t the first time he had turned up to work covered in bruises. Getting beaten black and blue was kind of an occupational hazard. Getting slapped about a bit in bed was what most of the precinct assumed that he was into.

“Christ Almighty, Bullock,” Alvarez exclaimed all the same, the moment he sat down at the desk opposite him, “I hope she didn’t charge you extra for that!”

Harvey couldn’t help but glance over at Jim at that. Noted how his posture stiffened, and his jaw tightened, and the general aura of jealousy he started radiating. Jim was no good at sharing, not even in principle.

“That’s why you should buy a woman dinner,” Tuttle commented, as though Jim wasn’t right in the middle of appraising one of the man’s case reports, “you look like she was trying to eat you alive.”

“I bet she was,” Harper murmured, looking less than impressed with both the topic of conversation and the observation skills of the rest of their colleagues.

It wasn’t Harvey’s decision. Wasn’t Jim’s either, not really. There were departmental regulations to be observed. Jim’s career progression to think of.

“Do none of you have work to be getting on with?” Jim demanded, and the balcony fell silent but for the click clack of computer keyboards.

It didn’t stop the gossip though. Didn’t improve Jim’s mood any, not one iota, and when Harvey placed a hand on the back of his shoulder in the relative privacy of the locker room, Jim reacted by twisting around and kissing him soundly.

By curling his fingers into the fabric of his jacket, and moaning breathily when Harvey framed his face with his hands, angling his head as their tongues slid together.

“You know there’s nobody but you,” Harvey soothed, brushing a thumb over Jim’s cheekbone, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Everyone does,” Jim croaked out, not meeting his eye, and Harvey felt like he was melting from the inside. Like Jim had just liquefied his heart and his brain in the process.

All he could do was kiss Jim again, soft and tender but excitement mounting. Guide his head down, just a little, and tip his head back against the unforgiving metal of the lockers, fingers buried in Jim’s hair as Jim sucked visible claims into the - almost - unblemished side of his neck.

They kept at it until they heard approaching footsteps. Long enough for his knees to start feeling weak, and long enough for there to be absolutely no doubt that somebody had been all over him.

Alvarez’ eyebrows reached for his hairline when he returned to his desk. McKenna whistled low and loud and begged to know which of the new uniform transfers had such low standards.

Tuttle gaped as Jim strode purposefully to his office, visibly pleased with himself, and Harvey watched on as the cogs of understanding creaked and turned in front of him. Experienced a moment of fear, of truly debilitating uncertainty, but then there was face pulling, and each to their owning, and McKenna begging all over again for him to never ever share any of the details.

“Secrets are bad for the soul,” Harper told him, by way of congratulations, and Harvey couldn’t help but grin, especially when he caught Jim’s eye through his office window.

When Jim smiled back at him, a touch bashful and totally genuine, and the day just carried on as usual around them.

He was Jim’s - just as much as Jim was his - and he was more than happy for the entire world to know it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	273. Chapter 273

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _So Gordlock-NSFW-Fanart made a[wonderful post](https://gordlock-nsfw-fanart.tumblr.com/post/159392046472/i-can-explain) about sex on the hood of Harvey's car, and I was wondering if you could write a fic where that happens?_

“What are you doing?” Jim demanded, refusing to go quietly, “You haven’t read me my rights.”

“Trash like you don’t deserve rights,” Harvey hissed at him in turn, twisting his arm back a touch harder, the cuffs chafing at his wrists as he was marched towards the car. “What you need is someone to teach you a lesson.”

Jim struggled harder at that, and felt a real thrill of fear shudder down his spine at the strength in Harvey’s hold. The unyielding force with which he was manhandled forward, a hand between his shoulder blades pressing him over the hood of the car.

“You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? You thought nobody would see you for what you really are.”

Harvey used his foot to spread Jim’s legs apart. Put one hand on the curve of his hip, and used the other to grope at the front of his trousers.

“You’re actually getting off on this. What would the rank and file say now if they could see their hero?”

He shivered at that, helpless. Knew he ought to fight back. Kick and scream and shout, anything to prevent the inevitable. Instead he shifted back into Harvey’s solid heat, his ass making contact with the outline of Harvey’s erection, his own aching in the confines of his pants in response to the cut off curse Harvey couldn’t completely stifle.

“That’s how you want to play it, huh? I always knew you were an exhibitionist slut, Captain Gordon.”

It was too much, the want and the shame and the sight of his breath misting on the shiny metal of Harvey’s diplomat. It was all mingling together, all stoking the flames higher, and Harvey pinned him in place for one perfect moment, grinding into him, before leaving him bereft and panting.

“If you want this, you’re going to beg me for it.”

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Glanced over his shoulder to see the high color in Harvey’s cheeks and the glittering emotion in his eyes.

“I thought you were going to punish me,” he tried, plaintive, and when nothing happened he looked back again to see Harvey’s belt unbuckled. To witness him spitting into his palm, and pulling his cock out, the sound of it pushing into the slickness of his fist so very filthy.

Jim pushed himself into the grille of the car. Tugged at his bonds, desperate for more sensation.

“I know how bad you want it,” Harvey said, tone low and breathy, “all you need to do is ask me.”

If he kept his mouth shut, Jim knew they could end this here. If he called a stop to it Harvey would unlock the cuffs. Would pull him into his embrace, and kiss his temple, and tell him that they didn’t need to talk about it.

But if he just said the words, if he just had the courage, Harvey was willing to act out Jim’s number one fantasy.

“Please,” Jim managed, scarcely audible, and Harvey rewarded him by pressing up close behind him and whispering into his ear that he was such a beautiful boy.

A good boy.

“I want to be,” Jim whined, inhibitions no match for Harvey’s palm, and Harvey kissed and suckled at the back of his neck, working on getting his pants undone and yanking them down his thighs.

Harvey pulled his tie loose for him. Ripped the buttons from his shirt with one swift tug, Jim’s heart skipping a beat at the display of Harvey’s eagerness.

“Just look at you,” Harvey groaned, palm stroking down his back. Over his exposed ass, the heat contrasting with the cool air of the abandoned eastern warehouse district. “You were made for this.”

Jim doubted that, realistically speaking, but right there, in that moment, he nodded in agreement and pushed back wanting more attention. The tease of Harvey’s fingers, making him twitch and tremble, and the shocking cold of the lube Harvey must have been carrying in his pocket, for all that Jim had insisted that it wouldn’t be necessary.

It made him smile even as it took his breath away. Even as he pressed his cheek against metal, panting as Harvey worked him open, less carefully than he usually would but enough to make it clear that he cared more about Jim’s comfort than his own need to be inside him.

“That’s it,” Harvey crooned when Jim reacted to the pads of his fingers against his prostate, “tell me how much you want it. Come on, Jim. Tell me what you need from me.”

Those wicked fingers pressed in hard again, driving him out of his mind, and suddenly Jim couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was pleading, begging, and then he was crying out, burning up, because Harvey was so thick and so hard, and so deep it had his eyes wanting to roll back into his head.

Harvey pushed him down onto the hood. Kept a hand on the small of his back, to shift the angle, and told him that he should have done this a long time ago. Should have put Jim in his place like the corrupt scum he was.

Started to lose his way when Jim all but sobbed out his name, so close he didn’t know what to do with himself. He needed a hand on his cock.

He needed to come so badly.

“I got you, baby,” Harvey told him, all scratched up and desperate, even as Jim whined out in loss at the way Harvey pulled out completely. “I’m here to take care of you.”

Harvey helped him turn around, to lean back enough - even with his hands bound behind him - and then to push back inside him. Hitched his legs up and held him close, to keep his weight off his arms, gaze fixed intently on his own as he hit the perfect spot over and over again.

Jim could feel the tears on his face, the agony of pleasure in his stomach, and then Harvey was surging forward just enough to bring their lips together for a second. Gasping out that he loved him, that he really really loved him, and Jim was coming so hard he felt sure he was going to pull something with the force of it.

He was shaking, weak with the release of tension, and Harvey let his legs drop either side of his waist. Cradled him in close and kissed him tenderly. Fumbled with the cuffs, massaging his wrists in gentle little circles, and tucked them both away - all while Jim leaned heavily against him, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened.

“I warned you it would be uncomfortable,” Harvey said, misreading his reluctance to move. Sounded considerably more worried when he followed it up with, “Did I hurt you?”

Jim shook his head. Forced himself up and onto his feet, and cupped Harvey’s cheek with his hand, still flying high on endorphins. On the incontrovertible proof that Harvey loved him. He had seen it in Harvey’s eyes. Had felt it in the touch of his hands and the movement of his hips.

Heard it in the tone of his voice, even, all of it coming together to finally quiet the demons in his head.

The fear in his heart.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” he said simply, unguardedly, and Harvey just turned his head a little so he could press a kiss to his palm.

He was expecting a joke. Something crude about it not being a hardship.

“I’d do anything for you,” Harvey said instead, solemn, and Jim let himself be hugged, smiling even as he swallowed around the painful lump in his throat.

For the first time he felt like maybe he really had learned his lesson.

He might not deserve the things he had - but that just meant he needed to take better care of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	274. Chapter 274

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _So I maybe have a thing for fancy suit porn, so I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing a Gordlock drabble where they're dressed up all fancy for some event and barely even bother taking their clothes off for sex?_
> 
> (Also, if you haven't seen it already, check out [this awesome pic](https://deathbyotpin123.tumblr.com/post/173834459651/serenwib-deathbyotpin123-serenwib) deathbyotpin123 did of the guys in white tie! ETA: and [suit porn](https://deathbyotpin123.tumblr.com/post/174172777230/so-i-mayb-have-a-thing-for-fancy-suit-porn-so-i)!!!)

Harvey felt like a prize chump, tugging at his collar and wishing there was some way to pull the stupid vest down. It had been bad enough going to get the stuff fitted - and then he hadn’t even had to wear the whole lot together.

He hadn’t been afraid that he was going to sit down and knock some poor unsuspecting society wife out with a flying shirt stud.

“Do you need me to fix your bow tie?” Jim called, rapping on the bathroom door, and Harvey heaved a final sigh at his reflection.

It was now or never.

He opened his mouth to warn Jim that he had better not laugh. Just let it hang there, gaping stupidly, one hand clinging to the door frame for support.

Jim had been too busy to go shopping with him. Already owned some of it, a hangover from the days when he had been expected not to show Barbara up at at charity galas and gallery openings. Hadn’t started getting dressed until Harvey finally gave in and got in the shower, and now Harvey was looking at the finished result he was even more certain that he didn’t want to spend the evening making strained small talk, on his best behavior.

“You look,” he started, voice sounding wrecked to his own ears, while Jim just trailed his gaze up and over him, the want in his eyes so potent Harvey could practically feel it.

That was the moment Harper chose to pound at their apartment door, ready to brief Jim on all the latest intel on the ride over, and Harvey chose to enjoy the dark frown that shadowed Jim’s face when Harper took in his tailcoat and his slicked back hair, and complimented him on scrubbing up well.

Jim was sweet like that. Didn’t seem to understand that the only reason anyone so much as glanced in his direction when they were out together was to boggle at the concept of a guy who looked like Jim slumming it with a guy who looked like him. In the topsy turvy world inside Jim’s head, he truly seemed to believe that he could have a rival for Harvey’s affections.

Harvey loved him for it. Admired the profile he cut, the perfect fit of the pants he was wearing, and let the rambling of one of the city councilor’s wash over him, choosing to focus instead on the bob of Jim’s adam’s apple as he downed a couple of glasses of champagne in the battle against social anxiety.

They put an attractive flush in Jim’s cheeks. A real smile on his face when their gaze met, just for a moment, and Harvey sent up a prayer for help getting through a whole meal without dragging Jim off to a darkened corner.

He wondered if anyone would miss them. Probably. Everybody wanted to congratulate Jim on his new appointment.

Harvey himself, that was a different story. Nobody would notice if he were to be called away someplace. If he were to drop to his knees and settle himself between Jim’s legs, hidden under the table. He imagined Jim trying to make it through dinner without letting on. Pictured the way Jim’s ears would burn with the stimulation, the color flaring across his face and down his neck, dipping beneath that crisp white collar.

Jim was so stubborn. Would try so hard to act unflustered. Wouldn’t be able to resist, eventually, one hand disappearing underneath the tablecloth to tangle in his hair, hips shifting forward.

“It’s so terribly warm for the time of year,” the wife of the district attorney commiserated when they took their seats, taking in the guilty flush on his cheeks, and Harvey attempted to drag his attention away from fantasizing about Jim and back to the ebb and flow of the conversation.

It was easier said than done. Jim looked so good. Delivered his speech so perfectly, his earnest dedication hitting home as much as the words he was speaking. All Harvey wanted was to get him home and reward him.

To let his hands wander over and under all those layers of clothing, and hear Jim cry out in appreciation.

Jim wanted it too, that was the part that never failed to amaze him. Jim’s gaze was lingering, hotter and longer, and when the after dinner milling around commenced Jim made a beeline straight for him. Leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear, to suggest that fighting crime meant they really ought to think about getting an early night sometimes, and Harvey scarcely paused long enough to collect their coats from the cloakroom before dragging Jim out towards the taxi drivers looking for clients who were likely to tip on top of the cab fare.

He let his hand rest on Jim’s knee in the back seat. Inched it up his thigh, slow but steady, until he could feel the heat of Jim’s groin. Could squeeze the thick muscle of his thigh, straining with tension, and move his little fingers just slightly. Just enough to graze against the length of Jim’s erection, hard and desperate in its confines.

Jim’s sharp intake of breath had his own body aching. It was absolute torture, having Jim so close and not being able to kiss him. To press him back against the seat and show him what he did to him.

He shoved the bills at the guy when they reached their destination. Grabbed hold of Jim’s hand and tugged him through the entranceway and into the elevator. Got shoved up against the wall the instant the doors shut, Jim kissing him frantically. Harvey pulled him closer, hands sliding down to cup his backside, and Jim responded by grinding against his thigh, desperate sounds escaping him when the elevator juddered to a halt and Harvey had to disengage from him.

It was difficult. So hard it was almost painful. Jim was panting, pupils blown, and his willpower gave out again for a few moments in the hallway, sucking on Jim’s tongue and groaning about how perfect he was.

How clever, and talented, and beautiful, so that Jim had to be the one to push them forward, fumbling with his keys as he tried to get the door open.

Rocking into him, hands linking behind his neck, and telling him improbably that everyone had been looking at him. Had wanted him, had all seen how lucky Jim was to have him, and Jim’s awed insistence, combined with the feverish way he was clinging to him, had him so turned on it was all he could do to get Jim’s pants undone and unclipped from his dress shirt.

Jim’s own efforts were devolving quickly from clumsy to vicious, but Harvey couldn’t bring himself to care how much damage Jim was doing, tearing studs free until Jim’s hand was wrapped around him.

It wasn’t the best idea he had ever had. Wasn’t going to do his back or the paintwork any favors. It was going to happen anyway, and he was hitching Jim up into his arms and watching the emotion play across Jim’s face as he worked a couple of fingers into him.

Jim was vocal and urgent, tangling a hand tight in his hair and tugging him into a kiss. Squirmed and writhed and begged him for more, so that he had his hands on Jim’s perfect ass, Jim’s pants still hanging by one ankle, doing his best not to lose control to the tight gripping heat of Jim’s body.

He was panting, heart racing, and Jim just heightened everything by pleading breathily for him to keep moving. Faster, and harder, and right there - and not to stop, not for anything. Jim cried out his name as he came, limbs trembling and expression euphoric, and Harvey almost dropped him, crushing them both up against the wall, Jim’s feet unsteady on the floor even as his hand tugged at him perfectly.

It was his turn to whine into the crook of Jim’s neck. To cling to him, wrecked and sweat sodden, and then to collapse onto the sofa, taking Jim with him, uncaring of the mess they were both in.

“You looked so pretty all dressed up,” he said, hands working up and under Jim’s shirt to stroke the skin there, “but you’ve never looked as good as you do right now.”

Not to his eyes, at any rate, because Jim was so soft and undone, hair falling over his forehead and face flushed and glowing. This was the Jim only he got to see. The man he loved so much it terrified him.

“Will you wear this again for me?” Jim asked in turn, fingers wandering. “I really want the chance to take it off properly.”

Harvey beamed at Jim and kissed him in easy agreement.

If this was the pay off, he’d wear it anywhere Jim wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	275. Chapter 275

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I really like when you wrote " Jim Gordon being possessive and protective and just a little old-fashioned" and I'd like to see more of this towards Harvey? He deserves to be pampered a bit and I just love dom!Jim. Have a nice day! ;D_

“You don’t believe in Valentine’s Day?”

Jim didn’t even try to keep the incredulity out of his voice. He hadn’t known Harvey all that long, maybe, but he had seen enough to know that the guy was overly sentimental. Claimed to be heartless, not to care a damn, then had to sneak off to the locker room to shed tears over the messed up kids and their grieving parents.

He had a draw, in a cabinet in his apartment that Jim doubtless shouldn’t have been snooping through, that served as a shrine to every scrap of thanks anyone had ever bestowed upon him. There was a shoe box under the bed filled with bundles of letters, and a scrapbook in the sideboard with their latest press appearances pasted into it.

If anyone bought into the commercial schmaltz of Valentine’s Day, it was Harvey Patrick Bullock.

“No,” Harvey agreed, all the same, relish splatting down the front of his tie as he gestured with his sandwich for emphasis, “if you love someone, you love them all year around. You don’t need a designated day to try and prove it with a box of overpriced chocolates.”

Jim considered that for a moment. The argument had merit, sure, but he still couldn’t accept that Harvey really believed in it. He had seen how quick the other man had been to lavish flowers, and chocolates, and a pretty celtic knot band on Scottie Mullen. Harvey would take any excuse to dial up the intensity.

“Your problem,” he mused aloud, keeping one eye out of the car window for the guy they were meant to be observing, “is that nobody is buying you chocolates, overpriced or otherwise. You’re bitter and jealous, and you want everybody else to be miserable to keep you company.”

It was sound reasoning. Had him smiling, pleased with himself for coming up with a logical explanation. Felt it slip away, helpless, because Harvey couldn’t quite keep up his disguise of indifferent banter.

He didn’t know how to apologize for it - how to salvage the situation. All he ever did was stick his foot in his mouth. Say the wrong things, at the wrong time, and end up hated by the very people he had been so desperate to impress in the first place.

There had to be some way he could make amends. He made Harvey coffee when they got back to the precinct, without being nagged about it, and he didn’t point out the minor grammatical errors in Harvey’s case report, though they made his fingers itch. Harvey was still too loud and too brash. Didn’t want him to see past the act, just like back in the early days, but when he tried to talk about it that evening Lee told him bluntly that Valentine’s Day meant not having to hear about Bullock at the dinner table.

That it was a special day for just the two of them.

Jim shot her a bashful smile, an apology for trying to unburden his own guilt, and proceeded to lose himself in thoughts of his partner while Lee played footsie with him under the table. It weighed on him more than it had any right to. Drove him to distraction when his attention should have been elsewhere.

It was only later, after the heartache and the tears and the soul searching, that he realized what should have been glaringly obvious that night.

Three was a crowd - even if the third person only intruded via the power of imagination.

He did a lot of imagining, in the weeks and months following that revelation. Daydreamed about the feel of Harvey’s arm, slung around his shoulders, and fantasized at night about the heat of Harvey’s mouth, teasing him all over. Harvey’s hands, and Harvey’s hair, and how good it would be, coming home from a stressful day at work and proving to Harvey how grateful he was he had returned to the Department for him.

Harvey was hardly likely to be interested in him though. He was caring and funny and so hot Jim was in danger of giving himself repetitive strain injury. Flirted incorrigibly with the curvy redhead in accounts, and winked at the waitress at the diner where they habitually took their lunch breaks, so that Jim had to bite at the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning jealousy.

It was just one of Jim’s many bad qualities, he knew that. It wasn’t his place, and it wasn’t his business, but still he couldn’t help but grimace when Harvey laughed and joked with the fraud agent working the Reilly case, the other man’s hand touching Harvey’s arm as though it had a right to be there.

Jim was thinking about that as another Valentine’s Day approached. When he asked, as casually as he could manage, what Harvey was doing for the occasion.

“I told you before,” Harvey said, leaning back into his desk chair as he looked up at him, “I don’t believe in it.”

He remembered, vividly. Resolved to let the topic drop, unlike last time, right up until the moment they were half a whiskey bottle deep on Harvey’s sofa and he heard himself telling his partner that he knew who it was who had sent all the girls in the typing pool a Valentine’s card the year before.

Badly disguised or not, he would recognize Harvey’s handwriting anywhere.

“Nobody wants to be forgotten, do they?” Harvey asked, cryptically, and Jim just had to dig himself deeper, because if Harvey would just admit that he wasn’t averse to the idea of the day then it was a much lesser step to asking Harvey if he wanted to spend it with him.

Harvey just lost his temper. Told him to drop it, to leave it well alone, and then sighed deeply and drained another double measure.

Rested his head against the sofa cushions and explained resignedly that he didn’t want an annual reminder of how lonely and unwanted he was. That he couldn’t bear the thought of good people, people who had been good to him, feeling the same way he did every time he caught sight of his reflection.

Jim had never heard Harvey speak like that before. Had known, on some level, that Harvey had issues with the way he saw himself. Had understood, intellectually, that all the self-deprecating jokes meant it was nothing like the way Jim saw him. It hadn’t made any sense though. Still didn’t. Because Harvey was sat there looking maudlin and downcast, but Jim would give anything just to experience one night with him.

He said as much, stilted and awkward but no less genuine for it.

Harvey stared at him as though he had lost his mind. As though he was going to laugh in his face for even suggesting such a thing. But then Harvey was kissing him, hands tender and tongue mind blowing, and though Jim spent Valentine’s Day bound to a chair in the basement of their latest serial killer’s hideout, he got to spend both the night before and the night after wrapped in the arms of the man he loved.

That brought them to the present day, to the looming arrival of yet another romantic celebration, and Jim was determined to change Harvey’s opinion of the occasion. Dithered over the racks of cards at the store, and deliberated for long minutes over what message to put with the flowers he was ordering, until the clerk suggested he stand aside to think so she could serve some other customers.

He wanted it to be special - to be perfect - and instead he found himself dragged out of bed at four in the morning, cold and irritable as he delivered yet another lecture on the importance of crime scene preservation. Harvey had his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he stood next to him, shivering a little in the frigid morning air, and thinking of the way he had planned to wake Harvey up only made his mood slip further.

Later, he told himself, and once the morning briefing was done back at the precinct he holed himself up in his office to check on his dinner reservations. The day was still young. It was still salvageable.

Except this year it was Harvey who got abducted and beaten up, and Jim who threw every resource the GCPD had at tracing him. Bit his fingernails to the quick, gut churning with the memory of every threat he had ever received. Every second that ticked by without news on Harvey’s whereabouts.

He was a wreck by the time he received the riddle. Was ready to strangle Ed, should he get his hands on him.

“Bullock and I have just been reminiscing about old times,” Ed told him conversationally when he followed the instructions to the letter, walking into the scene unarmed and without back-up because he wasn’t willing to take any chances, “we really should have caught up sooner.”

Harvey’s face was bruised and bloody, his tie bound between his teeth as a gag and his arms bound above his head, putting pressure on the sprained shoulder the doctor had told him the previous week to take it easy on.

“What do you want?” Jim grit out, the white hot anger he felt almost overwhelming, and forced himself to listen while Ed grinned and gloated and said that the chief aim was simply to see him miserable.

Lee had been helping out the police again, with his encouragement, and Ed wasn’t about to stand by and let Jim think that he could get away with interfering. With sticking his oversized nose where it wasn’t wanted, and the best way to accomplish that was to personalize the message with a little old-fashioned violence.

“I should probably apologize to you,” Ed offered, with a shrug, “you’ve really had to lower your standards since Lee chose me over you. Slumming it, I think that’s the expression.”

In a better frame of mind Jim might have seen through the transparent attempt to rile him up and get him angry. Then again, he had never been known for his great restraint when it came to letting his fists speak for him. He threw a couple of punches, either way, and then had to endure watching the woman he had been going to marry fuss over the man who had put him in Blackgate, chewing him out for his behavior all the while.

Harvey was quiet and subdued, and refused point blank to get his shoulder checked over. Washed up in the precinct shower rooms instead, and then told him shortly that he was going home, and going to bed, and that maybe when Jim got in he could try and keep the noise to a minimum.

Jim opened his mouth to protest. To bring up the fancy restaurant he had been planning to take Harvey to. He closed it again when some new crisis was pushed under his nose, and had to settle for washing plaster dust from his hair a few hours later, and picking up a couple of take out pizzas.

He got in to find the flowers had been delivered, at least. They were lying on the coffee table in the living room, Harvey staring at them silently.

“Do you ever regret this?” Harvey asked him, not even glancing upwards. Sounding so dull and so exhausted that fear clutched at him, panic that Harvey was gearing up to tell him that a single year was more than Jim had ever deserved to get. “Do you ever wish she had chosen you?”

It hurt but it wasn’t a cruel question. It was straightforward, simple curiosity, and Jim came to sit beside Harvey, trying to sort his disordered thoughts into words that would express what he wanted them to.

“I used to,” he said honestly. “Sometimes I thought I’d never get over her.”

Harvey nodded, like that was what he had been expecting to hear, and when he made to stand Jim could see everything he wanted slipping through his fingers.

“I don’t now,” he croaked out, terror stricken, and Harvey just gave him a sad smile,

“Yeah, Jim. I could see that.”

He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. Didn’t know where things had gone so wrong. So terribly and disastrously wrong that he spent the night of Valentine’s Day alone, Harvey having shouldered a bag and told him that he would see him at the precinct.

What he hadn’t said was that he was going to act as though they had never been anything more to each other than work buddies. That he was going to laugh and joke with Harper and Lucius, but give him nothing but strained grimaces in place of smiles, and only engage in topics directly work related.

Jim picked over everything he had done and said in the weeks prior. Apologized for snapping about the dishes left in the kitchen sink, in quiet undertones as they went over a case timeline, and promised that he wouldn’t find an excuse to get out of Harvey’s cousin’s upcoming wedding, no matter what catastrophe the city might be in the middle of.

Succeeded in getting Harvey truly alone, finally, and had to dash the tears from his cheeks, voice as broken as he felt as he begged Harvey to just tell him what he had done wrong.

That he missed him.

Harvey’s expression crumpled, the sight of it physically painful, and Jim just stood there numb as Harvey explained miserably,

“Nygma might be a crazy son of a bitch, but he was talking sense that day, Jim. You deserve better than settling for some sad old loser. I’ve been trying to make it easy for you.”

It took a moment to sink in. To wrap his head around the idea that Harvey still didn’t understand how desperately he was in love with him.

That Nygma was intent on destroying his life all over again.

“I don’t want easy!” Jim countered, horrified. “I want you to stop doubting me. I just want you to come home, Harvey!”

Some poor uniform rookie chose that moment to push the door of the locker room open. Looked from one to the other and scarpered, face red with embarrassment, and Jim slammed the side of his fist into the nearest locker in frustration.

Sucked in a calming breath and tried again, throat still choked up tight with emotion,

“You believed me back then, even when all the evidence said I was guilty. Why won’t you believe me now?”

Harvey gave him his answer later, head pillowed on his chest and Jim’s fingers playing gently through his hair, needing to be touching him somehow.

“Some things are just easier to believe than others.”

Jim thought about that all night, cuddled up close and warm in Harvey’s embrace but not quite able to relax enough to quit thinking. Worrying. Coming to a few decisions and deliberating how best to put ideas into action.

Because he usually worked at suppressing it. At burying what he was feeling and how it was affecting him. But maybe Harvey needed to see it. Perhaps then he would be able to stop second guessing how serious he was.

In truth it wasn’t exactly difficult, because the new clerk in the records office was always giggling at Harvey’s jokes, and his least favorite fraud agent was back on the scene, inviting Harvey out for drinks after shift. It didn’t matter that it was a communal thing, some local team or other chasing a ball around. Jim did the only reasonable thing he could do and invited himself along with them.

“You don’t even like football,” Harvey pointed out when they got there, eyeing his mineral water and the newly published study into crime rates and effective community policing he had brought along for light reading. “You’re going to be bored to tears.”

Harvey was right, obviously, but Reed was all too willing to make up for his lack of enthusiasm - cheering and yelling and hugging - so that when the man went to the bathroom Jim pressed himself in closer to Harvey, and didn’t hide the smug look on his face when Reed returned to the action.

“Are you cold?” Harvey asked in his ear, sounding perplexed, and Jim reasoned that it was plenty mild enough to wear Harvey’s jacket on top of his own. Sniffed at the collar a few times, unable to help himself, and when it was all over and they were on their way home, Harvey looked at him with the triumph of realization and said, “You were jealous of him, weren’t you?”

It felt like the moment of reckoning. Like he was standing on the precipice and he didn’t know which way he was going to topple.

“You’re such a dumbass,” Harvey said, wrapping an arm around him, and Jim just leaned into his side a little as they walked and admitted,

“It’s not that I don’t trust you - it’s just that guys like him, they’ll take their chances.”

“Guys like him, huh?” Harvey echoed, not hiding his amusement, but Jim relaxed a little as it sunk in.

This wasn’t going to be a deal breaker.

It wasn’t like he was constantly hovering. He didn’t demand to know where Harvey had been or where he was going, and he never gave into the urge to scroll through Harvey’s call history. He stopped hiding how much of his attention was devoted to Harvey though. Didn’t try and pretend that he wasn’t eyeing everyone around him up as a potential rival.

Had to be held back from Ed next time their paths crossed, professionalism taking a serious backseat to the fact the man was passing derisive comment on his partner yet again.

“He’s not worth it, Jim,” Harvey told him, the hint of a smile in his tone proof that he knew exactly how infuriating Ed would find that, and for once Jim took it on board.

Stood up straighter and felt a whole lot calmer. Walked away, head held high, and smiled himself, almost bashful, when Harvey clapped him on the back and told him that he was proud of him. Returned the favor with a hand at the back of Harvey’s head, kissing him soundly and not caring that there was doubtless somebody lurking and ready to gossip about it.

Loved the way Harvey simply accepted his praise, didn’t try to deflect it or laugh it off, and when he used the memory to work up the courage to present a little box, Harvey actually agreed to wear the open knotwork ring he had bought a few months previously.

“You’re a romantic deep down,” Harvey said, admiring the fit of the ring and Jim’s accompanying explanation, kind of rushed but earnest, about how it meant he wanted to be bound to Harvey forever, “anyone ever tell you that?”

“Takes one to know one,” Jim offered, flying high on Harvey’s acceptance, and tugged Harvey’s hair just the way he liked it when they fell into bed that night. Clung tight to his hand as he worked on painting another claim up the side of Harvey’s throat.

Got high for real on a blast from their latest villain’s means of robbing the bank system, and threatened the Medical Examiner with a prison sentence on trumped up charges when he tried to get between him and Harvey.

“Jim, you gotta let the nice man take a look at you,” Harvey soothed, biting back laughter, “I swear I ain’t going anywhere.”

He watched Harvey like a hawk all the same. Growled low in his throat when a nurse came by to give Harvey a cup of coffee, and had to be coaxed into letting go of Harvey’s wrist long enough for him to use the restroom.

Flushed up with the shame of it, afterwards, but Harvey just perched himself on his hospital bed to eat Jim’s grapes, and said,

“You were off your face, it’s not your fault.” Offered Jim a handful, mindful of the indignant look on his face, and went on, “But, you know, it makes sense to future proof. What do you say to you and I making it official?”

The delivery was casual but the hope in his voice was anything but. The nervous anxiety on his face as he waited for Jim’s answer.

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

Harvey shrugged, still trying to downplay the moment,

“I’d do my best to make you happy, Jim. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout,” Jim pointed out, grinning stupidly all the same, “A Scout is always prepared.”

“You underestimate me,” Harvey answered, searching for something in his pocket. Handed it over without meeting his eye, murmuring something about how he shouldn’t say he never got him anything.

It was a ring of his own, plain and understated, but when he looked more closely it was to see the engraving on the inside, telling him that Harvey was never going to turn his back on him.

Harvey’s cheeks were burning, embarrassed at his own sentimentality, and Jim just tugged him in close and kissed him.

Raised an eyebrow in question when they went to fix a date and were told there had been a cancellation, and grinned wide at Harvey’s hesitant nod and said that they’d take it.

“You’ll never have any excuse to forget the anniversary,” Tuttle warned as the big day came around, “and you can forget it if you gotta pick up flowers last minute.”

“Talking from experience there?” Harvey questioned, meeting Jim’s eye with a long suffering eyeroll, and Jim smiled to himself as he invented a call and saved them both from some long-winded reminiscing.

“Nicely done, partner,” Harvey praised, over the table of their regular diner, and clinked their coffee cups together, “to tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Jim said, feeling the first tendrils of excitement, and though he declined the repeated offer to go out drinking after shift, he couldn’t put into words how much it meant that Harvey texted him regularly throughout, just to let him know that there were no shoot outs or bomb scares, and that the new transfer from the 21st was keeping his hands to himself.

He spent the evening double checking his arrangements. Rifling through his own collection of sentimentalism, the battered keepsake tin that had once belonged to his father, and wondered if he would be happy for him. He hoped so, liked to think so, and ignored the impersonal congratulations card his mother had sent in favor of trailing his fingertips over the post-it note Harvey had left on his computer screen the Valentine’s of that very first year, telling him that roses were red and violets were blue, and that if he didn’t get his part of their expense claims in by the deadline he’d wish he was dead too.

It had driven him up the wall then, but made him smile now. Made him think of all that had gone since, both the good and the bad, and how Harvey had stuck with him through thick and thin, even when he hadn’t deserved it.

Harvey wasn’t drunk when he rolled in, though he was definitely tipsy. Enough to be honest and open, and tell him simply that he loved him more than anything. Repeated it again the following day, sober and a little roughed up because there was no such thing as a day off in Gotham.

They had made it though. Were dressed for the occasion, or close enough, and Jim didn’t care that it was nothing like the weddings he had once been planning. It wasn’t about the trappings or the color scheme, or how much it had cost them. It was about him wanting to be with Harvey, and Harvey wanting to be with him, and them both wanting the world to recognize it.

“Was it enough to make you believe in Valentine’s?” Jim asked later, when it was just the two of them. When he had Harvey all to himself, drunk on the simple truth of the fact, and the way Harvey’s weight was blanketed so perfectly over him.

“I’m on my way to being convinced,” Harvey conceded, voice cracking a little when Jim scratched fingers down his back just so, and Jim hauled him into another kiss.

He never liked to leave a job half done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	276. Chapter 276

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock NSFW prompt (blushes): Jim taking care of & worshiping Harvey in bed, like, fingering (prostate milking plz?), licking, nipping, & kissing an oversensitive Harvey through a couple orgasms or through an amazingly loving & emotional orgasm denial session._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been setting up a weekly gordlock newsletter to try out TinyLetter - it'll be out every Saturday at least until September. You can check out the first one [HERE](https://tinyletter.com/falsteloj/letters/newsletter-1). :)

“Harvey, a word!”

Jim saw the grimace on his partner’s face. Was about to be petty, to add a curt ‘now’ to the end of the command, and then he looked more closely. At the white knuckled grip Harvey was employing on the edge of his desk, and the way he grit his teeth as he heaved himself out of his chair.

It put a different light on things. Made it all too clear why Harvey had given up before he had started on the foot chase.

Jim sighed because he had tried being patient, and he had tried being reasonable. But if Harvey wasn’t going to take better care of himself, Jim was just going to have to do it for him.

Told him to go home, in no uncertain terms, and when Harvey protested Jim shut the door and lowered the blinds, and stepped in close so that nobody would overhear them as he said that he wasn’t willing to watch Harvey grimacing in agony.

That it scared him, genuinely, to think of what might happen should some crazed killer come through the door and Harvey couldn’t move quick enough.

“I’ll be fine,” Harvey reiterated, “I just need another painkiller.”

“What you need,” Jim countered, arms folding across his chest, “is to listen to the doctor. It’ll only get worse if you don’t, Harv.”

Harvey balled the fingers of one hand in frustration. Made to tell him all over again that it was nothing, that he was overreacting, and then his back spasmed up as he took a step forward, and he had to clutch at the desk in front of him, breathing through his mouth as he attempted to stand up straight again.

Jim helped him up. Let his hands linger, wishing he could take the pain away, and told him again to go home and soak in a hot bath, and to get into bed afterwards.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” Harvey asked, churlish, and Jim just smiled sweetly and said,

“If you’re in bed when I get home I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jim thought about it intermittently throughout the rest of the day. Imagined Harvey stretched out in the bath, the movement of his hand easy and slow, enjoying the heat and the privacy, and then daydreamed about peeling him out of his sleepwear so he could press his nose into soft skin and inhale the scent of the soap he had used.

So he could do all manner of things that weren’t suitable thoughts to be having during the workday, no matter how much more appealing they were than going over his audit reports.

“You had better be in bed,” he called out later, locking the door behind him, and Harvey glared at him when he pushed through to the bedroom, complaining,

“Where else am I going to be? I can barely move, Jim.”

He was clearly frustrated, obviously hurting, so Jim simply tugged at the knot of his tie and said,

“You won’t need to move. All you need to do is lie back and let me look after you.”

That was something he rarely got to do, neither in the bedroom nor out of it. Harvey’s hands were just so talented. His mouth was absolutely mind blowing. He loved nothing more than driving Jim wild, than watching him lose control, and taken together it meant that Harvey was usually the one pinning him to the mattress.

Jim figured it was high time he got his own back.

“What good is that gonna be for you?” Harvey huffed, reaching a plaintive hand out for him, “Why don’t you get up here and let me suck you?”

Jim tilted his head to the side, as though in consideration. Had to take a moment, truthfully, to get over the idea, knowing from experience just how exciting it was to be up on his knees, forehead pressed against the wall above the headboard as Harvey robbed him of his higher functions.

“No,” he said finally, cheerfully, “I think I’d rather hear you beg me to let you come.”

He unbuttoned his shirt as he said it. Undressed easily, socks and underwear joining the pile on the floor, and crawled under the covers beside Harvey, soaking up the heat of his bare legs and enjoying the way Harvey slowly turned his head to the side, seeking out the taste of his mouth.

They kissed leisurely, the intensity ratcheting up almost imperceptibly until Jim’s hand had to steal under the cotton of Harvey’s t-shirt, thumb rasping over a nipple. Harvey made a breathy noise against his lips. Tightened his grip in Jim’s hair, helpless, and Jim couldn’t help the smile that curled across his face as he did it again.

And again.

Shifted a little, pushing the blanket down with him, so that his thumb stayed busy while he dropped his head and licked at the other nipple, getting the fabric first damp and then sodden.

“Jim,” Harvey groaned, hand petting at the nape of his neck and across his shoulders, and then tangling back in his hair when Jim began suckling in earnest.

It was so hot, having Harvey at his mercy. Knowing it was him coaxing those responses out of Harvey. His name Harvey kept breathing, squirming slightly as he attempted to encourage Jim to move his hand down lower.

Harvey tried to take the matter into his own hand. Was almost touching before Jim took hold of his wrist and gently placed it on Harvey’s chest, so he could stroke his fingers over his hardened nipple.

“I don’t think you’re ready for that yet,” Jim said, all playful smile, and Harvey just pressed his head back into the pillow, frustrated, and told him that if he got any readier he’d be able to cut diamonds.

Jim hmmed in sympathy. Hitched Harvey’s t-shirt up for access and then lay his head back down, his own cock throbbing at the way Harvey twitched when his tongue made contact with Harvey’s flesh. Harvey smelled as good as he had known he would. Tasted even better. Groaned out ‘that’s it, just like that’, and whined in self-pity when Jim’s fingers skirted under the hem of his boxer shorts, only to veer away at the very last moment.

There was no rush, nothing in the world he would rather be doing, and Jim set about teasing Harvey to the edge of his endurance. Scratched his blunt fingernails up the inside of his thighs, and sucked harder at Harvey’s nipple, just to hear the cut off curses he started voicing with every exhale.

When his fingers finally grazed over the head of Harvey’s cock, still trapped within his underwear, it was to find the fabric sticky and wet, Jim’s cheeks flushing yet hotter with the proof of how desperately turned on Harvey was. He knew how it felt, understood completely, and had to rut against Harvey’s thigh for a few moments, painting wet smears of his own into Harvey’s over-sensitized skin.

“If I could roll over right now,” Harvey said, eyes dark when Jim raised his head to meet them, and suddenly Jim needed a whole lot more. Tugged Harvey’s boxer shorts down and off, and moved to kiss him deeply for a couple of minutes before straddling the tops of his thighs.

Trailed a single fingertip up the length of Harvey’s cock, transfixed by the glistening fluid at the tip, pulsing wetter the closer he got to it.

“Oh, Jesus,” Harvey breathed, one hand pinching at his chest and the other clenched tight in the bedclothes, “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

“If you want to stop,” Jim suggested, amused, “it’d be one less thing on the list for your next confession.”

Harvey fixed him with a glare that bordered on murderous.

“If you stop now,” he warned, voice scratched up in a way that made Jim shiver, “I’ll - I don’t know what I’ll do. You’ve just got to touch me, Jim. Come on.”

Harvey always had some wisecrack at the ready. Was never at a loss for words. Had to be absolutely desperate if he was begging already, and Jim rewarded the plea by bending over to swipe the head of Harvey’s cock clean, realizing too late that Harvey was going to try and arch up into it.

The pained gasps were not what he wanted to hear, not right then. Not ever. So to make it up to Harvey he kissed the flesh of his milky white thighs before settling his cheek against one. Darted his tongue out occasionally, breathing in the heady scent of him and letting his fingers explore the soft skin of his balls before sliding behind them. Teasing and testing and rubbing tentative circles, all the while using his other hand to press against Harvey’s middle and remind him not to move about anywhere.

He thought about how best to proceed. Stroked Harvey’s cock a few times as he deliberated, loving the feel of the hard heat in his palm, before agreeing with Harvey’s assessment that it would be best if he rolled over. It took a little maneuvering. A few sharp winces from Harvey, brought on by the movement, but then it was done and Jim’s breath caught in his throat because Harvey was trusting him so completely.

Was giving himself over, presenting himself for Jim’s attention, and Jim spent some time rubbing his hands over Harvey’s back in gratitude. Eased the stiff tension in his shoulders, and dug his thumbs carefully into the injured muscle of his lower back, gauging Harvey’s reactions to ensure it stayed the right side of uncomfortable.

Finally he allowed his hands to wander to the backs of Harvey’s thighs. To work up them, slowly but surely, heart rate picking up as he got to claim handfuls of Harvey’s backside. It felt so good, got him so worked up and excited, and he had to rock his hips into the mattress as he kissed his way closer and closer, needing some kind of relief from the self-inflicted torture.

Harvey muffled a moan into the pillow when he swiped his tongue delicately over his hole. Had to be warned not to move, time after time, and still tried to push up onto his knees, cock hanging heavy and neglected so that Jim had to take pity on him. Helped him to lay on his back, flat to the mattress, and took the head of his cock into his mouth even as he pushed a spit slick finger inside him.

He groped for the lube in the bedside cabinet, to make the going easier, and watched intently as his finger made contact with what he was searching for. Harvey cursed up a storm. Bent his knee and pulled at the sheets, and dribbled fresh precome in sticky trails, so that Jim added another finger and pressed in harder.

Kept it up long enough to give Harvey hope, to convince him there was a possibility of getting off by it, then gentled his touch to almost nothingness, gut clenching up tight at the bereft hitch in Harvey’s breathing.

They repeated the same pattern for what seemed like hours, him so turned on it felt like he had never been anything but achingly hard, and Harvey completely lost to everything but his touch. The sound of his voice as he praised Harvey for doing so well, the same way Harvey did to him when their roles were reversed, and the kisses Jim kept surging up to claim, light headed with the perfection of the slide of Harvey’s tongue, and the sharp teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

“I need to come,” Harvey sobbed eventually, actual tears glistening in his lashes because he had been so close, so feverishly close, but Jim was timing the rhythm in his head, ruining it with a misstep to ensure that Harvey was kept teetering. “Please, Jim. Please, you’ve got to.”

Jim just sucked at the skin of Harvey’s throat, thrilling with the promise of the marks he was leaving, and worked his fingers just so, again and again until he had to pull away to watch, Harvey’s cock bobbing with every graze to his prostate.

It was beautiful. Breath taking. Had him whispering in Harvey’s ear that he loved him, and that if he was ever stupid enough to go to work in a state like that again, he’d tease him for an extra hour. Might simply refuse to let him come at all, and cuff his wrists to the headboard to make him watch as he finished himself off and left him completely unsatisfied.

He punctuated that with his fingers, the slide back into Harvey’s tight heat so smooth that he had to grit his own teeth together to keep control of himself, and surprised himself with the filthy talk that fell from his lips about the pool Harvey was forming.

Harvey was trembling all over, panting open mouthed for breath and trying so hard to obey Jim’s instructions. Couldn’t quite manage it, all the same, hands grasping for something to hold onto, and toes curling with sensation.

It had to come to an end soon. Neither one of them could hold out much longer. Jim fumbled with the lube he had discarded earlier. Knew what he wanted and how to get it, biting down hard at his lip as he sank two fingers into himself, gaze locked with the glittering intensity in Harvey’s eyes.

“I can’t,” Harvey cried when Jim positioned himself. When he took hold of Harvey’s cock and tipped his head back, overwhelmed at the uncompromising pressure. “It’s too much, Jim.”

Jim gripped at one of Harvey’s hands. Clung tighter with every inch he conquered, and told him brokenly that he could.

That he didn’t really have any choice in the matter.

Because Harvey felt even bigger than usual. Had him so stretched and so full Jim’s legs were shaking, and all he could do was lean in close and frame Harvey’s face with his hands. Press their foreheads together, the entire scenario overwhelming in its intensity, and then he was rocking a little. Driving himself frantic, desperate, and then Harvey’s hand was tugging at his cock, thumb pressing just so on the upstroke, the fiery pleasure stoked still higher by Harvey’s rasping promise that he loved him.

That he was going to give Jim what he wanted - what he needed - and fill him up so good he’d be able to taste himself when he had him sit on his face afterwards.

It was raw and crude and filthy. Made his rhythm falter, lust enflaming his every nerve ending, and then he was grinding down in jerky, helpless motions, Harvey looking up at him like he was the eighth wonder of the world as he came and came and came, light headed with the force of it.

He could feel Harvey following suit. Shook with the physicality of it, all bound up with what it meant to him, emotionally. What it meant to Harvey, his hands seeking contact with him all the way through. Cradling him close and echoing his whispered love confessions.

Jim returned them gladly. Clung to Harvey until his heart rate returned to normal and it became clear that he had perhaps let his enthusiasm get the better of him.

He had to help Harvey sit. Had to stand with him, Harvey’s grip on his arm white knuckled as sweat beaded along his brow, and help him back into bed afterwards, guilt mounting as Harvey winced with every slight movement.

“I was supposed to be making you feel better,” he pointed out, the truth of it forcing its way through the happy haze of endorphins, but Harvey simply kissed it into submission. Told him that he had been teaching him an invaluable lesson.

“That you should listen when the doctor tells you you’re not twenty-five anymore?”

Harvey shook his head. Tensed a little as his body protested the movement, and clutched Jim a little closer to his chest instead, as though for reassurance.

“That just when I think I can’t fall any harder for you, you prove me wrong again.”

He got a kiss to his cheek to go with it, to seal the deal perhaps, and Jim grinned stupidly to himself even as Harvey’s breathing evened out in sleep. He would let him have a few hours, just to get his strength back - and then he’d see about making it up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	277. Chapter 277

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I would love, love, love a Gordlock fic where one of them (or both) has a praise kink._

The only constant in Jim’s life was that he was a disappointment. He let people down, fell short of expectation, and though he tried - nobody would ever know exactly how much he sacrificed to the effort - it was no surprise that words of praise were few and far between.

Formed the basis of almost all his favorite memories, to reach for and cherish when times were bad, and mixed up in his head with the other things that made him feel good about himself, like the taste of another’s pleasure against his tongue and the clutching hands that pulled him close when he succeeded in doing something right for once.

That took hard work.

Self-restraint and dedication.

Harvey didn’t seem to have received the memo because he had tender fingers on Jim’s cheek, voice raspy and awed as he told him that he was beautiful. Clever and talented, and that the thing he was doing with his tongue was so impossibly wonderful he could scarcely stand it.

Jim had hardly started. Inclined his head a little, arching into the touch of Harvey’s hand in his hair, and concentrated on swallowing past his gag reflex. On pressing closer and closer, wanting to prove how much this meant to him.

Needing to hear Harvey say that he was good at something.

Harvey groaned, like it was wrenched from someplace down deep inside of him, and told him that his mouth was heaven sent. That he was a good boy, such a very good boy, and Jim doubted the sentiment even as he had to pull back and pant for breath, hips hitching forward to rut against Harvey’s leg.

“Look at you,” Harvey said, eyes darker than Jim had ever seen them, “how did I get so goddamn lucky?”

Lucky was finding someone with their head sorted. Lucky was landing a guy who could find something to laugh about when the world was falling apart, and took the time to put a hand on his shoulder and a kiss to his cheek, no matter what was going on and who was trying to kill them that morning.

“I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” Harvey reiterated all the same, pulling Jim in close enough to kiss him deeply, one hand sneaking between them to wrap around Jim’s aching hardness.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was meant to be on his knees proving his worth. He ought to be focused entirely on the man in front of him.

“You look so pretty, flushed up like this,” Harvey said instead, stroking him with a grip so perfect it made his knees weak, “You can feel what you do to me.”

He could feel it, hot and hard and wanting, and when he tried to say as much, to explain how amazing Harvey was and how good he made him feel, it was to see Harvey’s face redden and his cock pulse in eager reaction.

“You do,” Jim insisted, far enough gone that he could get the words out, “you always know what to say. How best to touch me.”

Harvey caressed hands down his back, over his ass. Kissed him lovingly, needily, and it slowly dawned on Jim that they were even more alike than he had suspected. They had so much in common, were so perfect for each other, and when the kiss broke apart he buried his nose in the crook of Harvey’s neck and whispered out a long held confession about how much he loved the way Harvey smelled.

How it made him lose himself, want nothing more than to push closer, and somehow they ended up falling into Harvey’s bed together, him admitting how much it excited him to have Harvey braced above him, and Harvey praising the skill of his fingers and every curve of his body.

They rocked together clumsily, all thought of technique forgotten in favor of clinging to each other. Jim gazed up into Harvey’s eyes. Shivered with the intensity of it even as his fingers curled in Harvey’s hair, his hips shifting frantically.

“You’re so good at that,” Harvey breathed, so that Jim wasn’t even sure what exactly he was referring to. Felt the warmth of honesty regardless, of knowing that Harvey truly meant it, and he heard himself praising the strength in Harvey’s arms.

The delicious rasp of his beard, and the timbre of his voice as he told him things Jim had been certain he would never hear from anyone.

They collapsed together afterwards, wrung out and overwhelmed, Harvey pledging ‘I love yous’ into the sweat damp skin of his neck.

“Not as much as I love you,” Jim countered, comfortable and at ease with himself in the wake of everything they had just shared, and then laughed aloud, startled, when Harvey tickled along his ribs and warned him that was fighting talk.

Kissed him soundly and gave him a look that took his breath away when they lay side by side, fingers linked as they faced each other.

It was the kind of fight Jim decided he didn’t mind - no matter what the outcome, both of them were already winners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	278. Chapter 278

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Jim falls asleep at Harvey’s place and has a wet dream, slipping out Harvey’s name. Harvey sees the whole thing. Maybe they get together, maybe Harvey says nothing about it?? *__*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has commented, sent me asks, etc, etc, this weekend. I have f***ed my back up big style and it helped make up for having to stay home the entire time! <3

Jim Gordon was in his bed. And, okay, that didn’t mean Harvey got to be in it with him, but it was still something worth celebrating.

Something worth thinking about as he lay on his ratty old sofa, wondering how long he could get away with not washing his bed-sheets for. How long Jim’s scent would linger on them. He supposed it depended how much Jim was wriggling about beneath them. What he was doing in the warm cocoon of Harvey’s blankets.

Harvey’s imagination was all too vivid. Brought up technicolor images of Jim flushed and wanting, his breathing coming harsh and frantic as he teased fingers along his length before really taking hold and racing for the finish line.

He would look like something from a centerfold, lashes damp against his cheek and muscles trembling, and the sounds he’d make would be so beautiful. Cut off moans and breathy little whimpers.

His own hand was wandering, spurred on by the fantasy, when he dreamed up a sound so lifelike it sent shivers through him. It could have fallen from Jim’s own lips. Could have been right there in the apartment with him.

Was coming from the other side of the room because he heard it again, a desperate whine for attention that had Harvey heating up all over before being shocked with the icy cold of realization.

Jim was having a nightmare.

Harvey had heard them before. Had been dragged from his bed countless times in the aftermath of Blackgate to shake Jim awake, and to pretend afterwards that Jim hadn’t clung to him in terror, face wet with tears.

So he carefully disentangled himself from his blankets. Worked his way past the coffee table and his discarded shoes, ready to remind Jim that he was safe and secure, and that Harvey was with him. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

Except the sodium of the streetlights was filtering through the blinds, enough for him to see the details of Jim’s face by, and when he reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm Jim groaned.

Tipped his head back into the pillow and squirmed a little. The difference was that it was into his touch rather than away, and Harvey made the mistake of looking down over Jim’s sleeping form. It was a warm night, warm enough for Jim to have pushed some of the covers aside. To have hitched up his undershirt enough for Harvey to be able to see the quivering of his stomach muscles.

To follow the movement, helpless, to the unmistakable tenting of his boxer shorts.

It hit him like something physical. Had his cheeks flooding with color, prickles of heat spreading swiftly down the back of his neck and pooling in his stomach. Robbing him of his sense and reason, so that he had his hand splayed over Jim’s firm abdomen before he had chance to think better of the idea, Jim’s skin smooth and hot to his touch.

Jim made a pitiful kind of noise in reaction. Squirmed some more, sweat beading on his brow and trickling over his collar bone.

“We gotta get you a woman,” Harvey told him, meaning for it to sound like the kind of brash wisecracking a guy ought to wake up to when he was on the verge of getting off in his best friend’s apartment. In the guy’s bed, even. Instead it was a croak of a whisper, every bit as reluctant as Harvey felt on the point.

He didn’t want to see Jim with some new chick who would mess him up even worse than the ones before had. Worse, some woman who would be everything Jim had ever wanted, highlighting how selfish Harvey really was as he struggled to be happy for the man he would willingly lay down his life for.

“Oh,” Jim panted softly, arching up into the hand Harvey still hadn’t removed.

The hand he really ought to remove, right now. He should go back to the sofa. Go and hide in the bathroom until it was over and give Jim chance to calm down and recover himself.

All he actually did was perch on the edge of the bed and watch as whoever it was Jim was dreaming about worked him closer and closer to orgasm. Jim was close, there was no denying that. So close Harvey couldn’t breathe for it, couldn’t have torn his gaze away for anything, and then - then it was happening, Jim’s leg twitching as he whined out a desperate,

“Harvey!”

Harvey froze with the shame of getting caught. Felt lightheaded with lust even as he searched frantically for something to say. Some explanation that wouldn’t result in Jim wanting nothing more to do with him.

Was so busy panicking that it took a long moment for the reality of the situation to sink in.

Because Jim was relaxing into the pillows, breathing evening out with the first hint of a snore rattling as he inhaled. Jim hadn’t called out his name because he had woken up and caught him watching. Jim had called his name because he was dreaming about him.

Jim wanted him.

It was too much to take in. Not something he should allow himself to believe. Dreams were weird like that. He had once woken up in a cold sweat to the memory of himself and Tuttle going at it. It hadn’t meant anything.

This didn’t mean anything.

He brushed a kiss to Jim’s forehead all the same. Tucked the blanket around him and lingered for a long moment, heart aching with the bitter sweetness of loving Jim the way he did. He had to touch himself when he lay back down. Felt guilty, dirty, but glanced back over at Jim’s sleeping form, heart twisting into knots in his chest and his flesh aching for attention.

Jim shifted and sighed, settling back down, and Harvey bit down hard at his lip to stifle the sounds of his own climax. Lay there, heart racing and head spinning, and wondered where the hell he went from here.

To the bathroom in the short term, to wash up a little and stare at his reflection under the unflattering strip light, a reminder as to why he needed to keep his mouth shut. As far as Jim was concerned it had probably been a nightmare. The poor guy would likely feel sick to his stomach in the cold light of the morning.

Was already in the shower when Harvey woke up, a crick in his neck and the ever present pain in his back making it a serious effort just to haul himself into a sitting position. He looked over to see that Jim had folded the blanket neatly at the end of the bed. Had stripped out of his under shirt right there, the pull of it like a magnet.

It was sad bordering on pathetic. Creepy, maybe, but Harvey couldn’t help himself. Buried his nose in the cotton and breathed deeply, sparks of hopeless want jittering through him. He lost himself to it for a moment. Imagined holding the real thing, Jim crushed tight against him as he nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

He was so gone he clung to the shirt a beat too long. Tried to shrug it off, to come up with a joke to cover his discomfort, but his mouth was just as useless as his brain, both of them beyond his control as Jim stood there in nothing but the towel slung around his waist, and another in his hands to dry his hair with.

At least that was what Harvey assumed he had been doing before breaking off to stare at him as though he had never seen him before.

“I was just,” he started weakly, praying for inspiration.

“The shower’s free,” Jim said, and just like that it was the end of the conversation.

They didn’t say anything more about it as they left for work, Harvey casting anxious glances at Jim the entire drive to the precinct, and they didn’t talk about it when the day was over either, Jim asking to be dropped off at his own apartment though he hadn’t been home in almost a week by that point.

Days became weeks and it remained off-limits, Harvey’s awkward attempts to allude to that morning shut down by Jim hurriedly changing the subject, and Harvey knew how to take a hint.

He had plenty of experience in that department.

It didn’t make it any easier though. Didn’t make it hurt any less to know that Jim just wasn’t interested. To know that hearing his name on Jim’s lips that one time, when Jim hadn’t even known about it, was as close as he was ever going to get to what he wanted.

He needed to move on.

Needed to start living in the real world.

Didn’t brush off Gloria’s hand when she began sliding it up his thigh, and let her tell him how he must have missed her, and how they always used to have such fun together. They had, if fun meant wringing a drunken orgasm out of him and then leaving him alone to wallow in self pity. He had the cash though. Was so damn lonely that he was seriously considering handing it over.

Ended up fumbling for his keys, Gloria giggling in his ear as she groped at the front of his trousers.

It had been a while. A long while. So long that he had forgotten how these encounters always went better when he left the lights off - neither of them were exactly where they wanted to be, after all - and then Gloria was screaming because Jim looked for all the world like an expectant serial killer, sat alone in the dark with his overcoat still on, contemplating the drink in his hands.

“I’ll go,” Jim offered, like his being there had ever been the problem, and Harvey waved Gloria off and tried not to think about how she was taking a sizeable chunk of his disposable income with her.

He asked Jim what he was doing, what the matter was, and Jim had obviously been drinking for some time because instead of stoic silence Harvey was treated to,

“I thought you’d go back to her place. I wasn’t going to do anything I shouldn’t.”

Harvey poured a drink of his own and raked a hand through his hair. Tried to get the message through to his traitorous body that it wasn’t getting any, no matter how ridiculously pretty Jim looked with his hair falling across his forehead like that. Gave up and asked Jim what he was talking about, and the frustration must have bled into his tone because Jim shifted a little, guiltily, and said that he was sorry.

That he wasn’t proud of himself for messing up Harvey’s bed like that, but he hadn’t been able to help it. He wouldn’t do it again, he promised, if only Harvey would stop holding him at arm’s length. Jim had plenty of self-control, and it wasn’t fair for Harvey to keep on punishing him.

Jim shut his mouth abruptly, suddenly aware that he had said way too much, and Harvey replayed the now familiar memories. Jim’s wide eyed expression when he’d caught him with his shirt. Horror, Harvey had pegged it as. Horrified embarrassment wasn’t so very far removed, not really, and he thought of the color in Jim’s cheeks as he had changed the subject.

The way he had fidgeted, uncharacteristically, as they sat in their regular booth at the diner and started talking about crime stats rather than where he was planning on sleeping that evening.

“I was punishing myself,” Harvey said softly, more to himself than anything, and Jim rounded on him with much more characteristic stubbornness, gesturing at the door and demanding to know why he would do that. Go back to that lifestyle - the drink, and the pros, and the testing at the downtown clinic because his luck would only hold out so long.

He could have used that juncture to point out that he was no idiot. He knew how protection worked. There was more to Jim’s outburst than self-righteousness though and he chose to call Jim the idiot. Ignored the indignant look on his face to take hold of Jim’s wrist. To tug him in close, knowing it was the right thing to do when Jim went willingly, head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t pissed at you for getting off in my bed, Jim.”

Jim clung tighter, the flush radiating from his face.

“I was thinking about how much I wished you would let me help you do it all over again.”

Jim tensed. Pulled back enough to look at him - to get him worried that, after everything, he had misread the situation. Then Jim just kissed him, intense and single minded, while Harvey did his best to give as good as he got, pushing the coat from Jim’s shoulders.

Tugging his own tie loose and anchoring a hand in Jim’s hair, Jim walking him backwards to his unmade bed. Not letting up, not for a moment, until they were both sprawled across his sheets, Jim’s hands urging him to settle his weight atop him, his hips grinding up into the contact.

“There’s no rush,” Harvey panted into his ear, Jim only clutching him closer in response to the kisses Harvey went on to press to his neck, and instead of calming down Jim moved with more purpose.

Gasped out, “Not for you, maybe,” and it was so unexpected Harvey couldn’t help his startled laughter - no more than he could hold back the groan that followed, Jim worshipping the skin of his throat as his hands gripped at his backside and set a perfect rhythm.

Got him aching and breathless and greedy, and when he returned the favor Jim clawed at his back and moaned out his name the way he had done the night that had started it all. The sound of it was so beautiful. Had featured in his fantasies so often that it garnered certain associations.

Had him shuddering in Jim’s hold, Jim gazing up at him with wide eyes, expression twisting in pained pleasure as his own climax overtook him.

“Is this your way of telling me I need to do more laundry?” Harvey asked when he finally got his breath back, in between kissing Jim and attempting to find somewhere to put his hand that wasn’t damp and sticky. Jim looked like he was going to protest for a moment. Looked kind of offended, even, before catching sight of the goofy smile on his face and grinning back in reflection.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Jim quipped, even as he stretched out a little, apparently uncaring what kind of state his clothes were currently in, “I’m all for washing of every sort.”

“Yeah?” Harvey queried, fingers trailing down Jim’s stomach and thinking of the kind of fun they could get up to under the spray of the shower. Jim just caught hold of his hand and pushed it lower, just as bossy as Harvey had always suspected, lashes fluttering against his cheek while Harvey thought wistfully of the days when he too had been under 40.

“Yeah,” Jim managed, low and distracted, and Harvey just beamed wider and dropped his head to get his mouth in on the action.

There was no point in cleaning up until he was finished making a mess, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	279. Chapter 279

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Tetch Virus AU where infected Jim realises his true feelings for Harvey, and essentially tries to fight the virus because he fears not what it’ll do to himself, but to Harvey. Harvey doesn’t realise at first, and assumes Jim loves Lee. They eventually figure it out - I’ll leave the rest of the details up to you ;)_
> 
> I shamelessly lifted (and in one instance altered...) a few lines of dialogue from the episode.

The moment he sank the needle into his neck, Jim Gordon was reborn.

Gone was the confusion and the uncertainty. The self-doubt and the constant feelings of failure.

In their place was clarity of purpose. Absolute confidence in his ability to claim what he wanted.

Harvey Bullock was his.

He had been from the moment they were partnered together.

It was so obvious now that everything else had been stripped away. It wasn’t duty, or friendship, or brotherly affection that fueled his desire to be close to Harvey. It was need, plain and simple. It was the certain knowledge that they were meant to be together.

Jim would have acted on it too. Would have shoved Harvey up against the wall of the precinct and taken what the virus assured him was rightfully his, uncaring of how Harvey felt about it. Whether or not Harvey wanted him to.

It terrified him when he regained some kind of semblance of himself. Had him retching and shaking in the locker rooms, tears on his cheeks as he desperately tried to control the darkness inside him.

Harvey was the one who found him, of course. The one who asked him what was wrong, and if he needed to go to the hospital. If there was anything Harvey could do to ease the burden.

Jim had to blink back tears all over again. Curl his fingers into fists at his side, digging bloody crescents into the skin of his palms, and confess to Harvey that he was struggling. That he didn’t know exactly how long he could hold out for.

He had lost control once already. If Harvey had been slower. If Harvey had been less willing to swing for him.

“I’m going to keep hold of this until you’re feeling better,” Harvey told him when Jim handed his badge over, the separation hurting like something physical, and Jim watched him walk away with a sense of desolation.

Harvey deserved better, so much better than Jim could ever offer, yet the urge to take what he would never be given was clawing at his insides.

Had him growling low in his throat as they worked to secure the antidote together, wanting to rip out the throats of everyone who dared to so much as look at his property.

In his lucid moments it was sickening. Horrifying. Because he knew that he was capable of doing it. That somewhere deep down inside himself he must agree with that assessment of their relationship. He must truly believe that Harvey belonged to him, and that that was justification for the awful things he did sometimes.

The way he snapped his fingers and always expected Harvey to come running.

He tried to explain some of that to Harvey, the darkness crawling under his skin. Taking over his thoughts and coating his tongue, so that every word was a battle to force out into the open.

“It’s all right, partner,” Harvey assured, eyes soft with understanding as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Jim let himself believe, just for a moment, that it would be. But then Harvey carried on talking, “I know how much you love her.”

Jim just frowned at him. Wanted to howl out his frustration because maybe he had, once, but it didn’t matter now. Or, mattered only in the sense that he could feel the anger overwhelming him. She had tried to come between them.

Wanted him out of the picture and Harvey to herself, perhaps, and when he became aware of his surroundings once more it was to find his fingers twisted in the fabric of Harvey’s jacket, and his teeth clenched tight together.

Harvey had his hands up in surrender. Looked afraid of him, of the monster he was and had always been, and he let the haze descend all over again, ready to wreck vengeance like the man he truly was.

The man Lee had always told him was lurking, just beneath the surface.

Later, when the virus was out of his system, he would wake up from nightmares where he had gone through with it. Where he had snapped out of it to find her broken in his arms, vicious triumph on his face at having succeeded.

In the moment he cared about nothing but suffering and violence. It had felt so good when he had killed Fish, in the brief moment before it felt really really bad, and though Lee fought back he overpowered her. Had his arm across her throat to pin her in place, his breath coming in labored pants and her hair in tangled disarray.

“This isn’t who you are, Jim,” Harvey told him, as though he wasn’t the reason Jim was doing this, and when he let go of Lee it was to shove Harvey brutally. To slam his fist into the wall beside Harvey’s head, unable to control it.

He was a bad man. Harvey knew that.

Except Harvey was looking at him not with fear but with something else entirely. Understanding. Empathy.

Love.

“Who you are is a choice. It always has been. It still is.”

Harvey held up his badge, thumb rubbing over the tarnished metal.

“You’re the best cop I ever worked with. The best friend I ever had.”

Jim shuddered with the pressure of the virus. With the whispering inside his skull, a thousand different voices all telling him what to do.

“If you love me,” Harvey said simply, fingers slowly reaching out to touch the raised flesh of his face, “go save her.”

He took the badge from Harvey. Brushed their fingers together, letting them linger for an extra beat. Then he went to prove himself. To be the man Harvey saw when he looked at him, not the one Lee believed to be his destiny.

Harvey held him when it was done. Petted at his hair as he shook and trembled, the dose he had been given so much stronger than the airborne virus that it didn’t want to leave. Wasn’t willing to release him without putting up a fight.

“How did you know?” Jim croaked out eventually, weak limbed and wrung out with the effort.

“I didn’t. But I hoped. I saw the way you looked at me before you left and I prayed to God that it wasn’t just my wishful thinking.”

“It made me understand myself better,” Jim confessed, head cradled against Harvey’s chest where he could hear the comforting thump of his heart, “it scared me, Harv, some of the things it revealed.”

He thought of how he had been so willing to take. To deprive Harvey of any semblance of choice - of his own individual agency.

“You think we don’t all have thoughts that scare us? You think there haven’t been times where I’ve been ashamed of some of the decisions I’ve considered making? It’s what we do, Jim. It’s our actions that are the real measure of us - and even then I think you get something of a free pass when you’re off your face on psycho virus.”

“You sound very serious,” Jim said, aiming for light hearted though he succeeded only with solemn and breathless.

Harvey picked up the slack for him. Pressed a kiss into his damp hair and joked,

“You did hit my head pretty hard. Must have knocked some sense into it.”

Jim smiled weakly, too exhausted to do more. Settled more comfortably against Harvey and let his eyes fall closed.

“I do love you,” he tried, words running together because he could feel sleep pulling at him, but needed Harvey to know that he had completed the challenge he had set. He had made the choice for Harvey. He had saved Lee for him.

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining Harvey’s response, the words sounding fuzzy and distant, but then it didn’t really matter if Harvey hadn’t said it aloud. He could hear it loud and clear in the way Harvey tightened his hold, just slightly, and rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.

Whatever he was on the inside, Harvey loved him back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	280. Chapter 280

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _soulmate au where soulmates share physical scars? thank you <3_
> 
> TW for mentions of self harm.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in so long.”

“Like what?” Jim asked, drunken confusion wrinkling his brow before he slid back into the mindless happy smile, and Harvey had to swallow around the sudden lump of emotion lodged in his throat.

They were sat in the middle of a warzone, the lights blazing but the air freezing. Some of the precinct windows had been smashed by Jerome’s cronies, and Jeremiah’s generator had been no match for the ancient central heating.

Outside the night was filled with the sounds of looting. Of fistfights and rivalries and the revving of bike engines.

All they could do until morning was wait.

Get blind drunk and pray that it wouldn’t be the last sunrise they ever saw.

Some of them were going to sleep through it anyway. Lucius was snoring, cocooned in a nest of shock blankets, and the handful of others who had stayed - some fighting for life, some to escape from it - had retreated to their own dreams.

That left him and Jim, sides pressed together to share body heat. Jim was bundled up in his jacket and his overcoat, and when he fumbled with the bottle he pulled off a glove in the hope of getting a better grip on it.

Harvey simply stared at him. At the long sweep of his eyelashes and the bow of his upper lip.

The permanent marks on his skin just visible around the strap of his wristwatch.

Of all the scars on Jim’s body, that was the one he chose to keep hidden.

The one he was ashamed of.

Jim had flinched from him the first time he had reached out and tried to touch it. They had been drinking then, though not to such extremes, and Harvey had Jim’s hand cradled in his own before he could think better of it. Was touching his fingertips to the raised skin and opening his mouth to ask a question.

It could have happened on the job, or out on deployment. Could be a sporting injury or a reminder of the car crash that had killed Jim’s father.

He had known exactly what it was, right from the beginning, and the fear in Jim’s eyes as their gaze met only confirmed it.

The marrow deep ache in his own wrist was enough to keep his mouth shut on the subject.

Because it was supposed to be a beautiful moment, discovering your counterpart. The sun was meant to shine and the birds to sing. The romantic score to swell around them and the realization to settle around them, bright and wonderful, as they compared the perfect correspondence of their identical markings.

Harvey had studied Jim’s wrist long enough to be sure. Would never have dared touch if he wasn’t certain.

In the real world it didn’t make any difference. Soul mates or not, people still killed each other. They were still bitter and petty and cruel, and resentful of this thing that bound them to someone they would prefer to never have known. If Jim didn’t want him Harvey would never push.

If Jim wanted the scar covered up and forgotten, there was nothing for Harvey to do but respect that.

“I did it to myself,” Jim said back in the present, delivery a little sloppy but not slurred, clearly aware of why Harvey had fallen silent, “if we - if tomorrow…” Jim trailed off, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey for courage before continuing glumly, “you have to know that it was never the real deal, Harvey.”

Harvey reached out slowly - partly because he was so drunk he needed to concentrate, but mostly because he wanted to give Jim enough time to pull away, should he want to. Jim kept still. Let him gently take hold of his wrist, and watched as Harvey undid the clasp of his watch.

Met his gaze when he glanced up at him, an endless sea of blue Harvey knew it would be easy to drown in, and reacted with nothing but a sharp intake of breath when Harvey stroked his fingers over the scar that had brought Jim to him.

The one that had lead to him narrowly avoiding a bad conduct discharge, and his decision to try and find new purpose within the Gotham City Police Department. That had brought him onto Harvey’s path and entwined their lives forever.

It didn’t matter what people said about self-inflicted wounds. Harvey didn’t care how many scientists had conducted how many studies. He knew in his heart what it meant.

The burning chafing itch of his own wrist was all the proof he needed.

“I was 19,” he admitted quietly, thumb soothing along the raised skin, “I didn’t want to wake up again.”

It was his turn to pause. To struggle for the right words, to convey to Jim what he needed him to know before they went out and laid their lives on the line for no better reason than knowing it was the right thing to do.

“Me and you - it felt real, Jim,” he smiled, genuine but painful, “it’s more than I ever thought I’d have.”

He brushed a kiss to Jim’s wrist then, eyes falling closed as the symbolism washed over him.

It was more than he had ever deserved to experience.

Would have to be enough to to get him through whatever the daylight was going to bring with it.

Except then there was the sparking sensation of fingers curling around his own wrist. The blissfully perfect ache of knowing he was the focus of Jim’s attention.

“Maybe real is a matter of perspective,” Jim whispered, pale and tired but that same beautiful smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe,” he agreed, overcome, and wrapped an arm around Jim to pull him a little closer.

If they were lucky today, maybe they would get the chance to really explore that thought further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	281. Chapter 281

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Soo, I'd like some meet-cute au for Harvey and Jim. Maybe a coffee shop AU where Harv is the barista and Jim is the client Who comes during strange hours and only for Harvey (coffee is awful in this place) ?_

Harvey kept a close eye on the new guy. Didn’t like the way he kept glancing over when he thought Harvey wasn’t paying attention, and definitely didn’t like the defeated slump to his shoulders when he checked something on his cell phone and put it back in his pocket.

He hadn’t been a cop for a while now. Three years, almost. But there were still plenty of guys he had put behind bars wanting to track him down when they got free again. Their relatives too, friends and significant others, because Harvey was sure that if he had collared anyone who looked like that he would have remembered it.

Faces like that weren’t a regular part of his world.

It was the big blue eyes that really got to him though. Pinned him in place when the guy came the counter to pay and ask what time they were open until.

He caught himself at the last moment. Thumbed over to the sign on the door because he had a reputation to maintain, and grunted dismissively when pretty boy thanked him for all his help.

“You won’t see him again,” one of the regulars opined, around their hacking smoker’s cough, and Harvey flipped him the bird even as his gaze lingered on the stranger’s retreating backside.

He didn’t suppose they would.

Except the guy came back the next night, and the night after that, and Harvey called on his contacts and his atrophying detective skills to learn what he could about Jim Gordon.

That was the name on his driver’s licence, when Harvey took his payment at the booth he was sitting in, and then, just as Harvey was congratulating himself on his underhanded genius, Jim stuck his hand out and introduced himself.

Propped himself on a stool at the counter the next night and regurgitated everything Harvey had gleaned back to him. He was ex-military. Mostly jobless on account of the dishonorable discharge. Just looking for a pick me up to get him through the rest of the evening, and suddenly it was entirely too clear why a guy like Gordon was wasting oxygen talking to a guy like him.

He was past that though. Told Gordon as much as he showed him where the door was, angrily pouring the half cup of bitter coffee down the sink and shoving it in one of the trays for the dishwasher.

A few years ago, sure, he had been all about making a little extra green on top of his pay check. Had made deliveries and sold little packets in shady corners of the precinct’s winding corridors. He had paid the price for it. Had jumped from the job before he was pushed and, for all that he had been on course to drink himself to death after Dix shouldered the burden that was meant for him, there still wasn’t a day went by that he didn’t miss it.

“Don’t come back,” he warned Jim, the same tone he had used to take with wayward kids who needed a good scare before being dropped back off at their parents’, and ignored the way Marcia glared at him when he slammed and banged behind the counter.

He knew they couldn’t afford to scare away paying customers.

At least he was off the next few days, a longstanding engagement to go upstate and give evidence in a case that had taken longer than one of the poor little victims had ever lived to make it to the courtroom. The scumbag got a suspended sentence, on account of his mental anguish, and Harvey felt so disgusted and done in when he got back to Gotham that it took everything he had to turn up to work and not try again with his quest to end up in a body bag.

“What the hell is he doing here?” He snapped at Marcia, none too subtle, and she just gathered her coat and purse together and told him to deal with it.

Went home to deal with a couple of ungrateful teenagers and her freeloader of a husband, and left him to serve up grease laden plates of food and still greasier coffee. To glare at Jim, spoiling for a fight, only for the man to slink out without having the guts to say a word to him.

That was typical. That had him wanting to put his fist through something.

Had it draining out of him, leaving nothing but the ache in his throat and the images of kids who would never grow up and live lives of their own seared behind his eyelids.

It was almost closing when the bell jangled above the door. When he heaved a sigh and dropped the dishcloth to go and see what they wanted.

Jim held up a bottle of cheap whiskey and shrugged a little.

“They paid me cash in hand. Want to help me spend it?”

Harvey didn’t ask Jim what he had been paid for. It was one of two options, judging by the bruise marks around his wrist and along his jawline, and Harvey figured it was better he didn’t know either way.

He would only want to play the white knight and put himself in the hospital.

So he took Jim back to his dingy apartment and poured whiskey into a couple of chipped coffee cups he had pilfered from the diner.

“Christ, that’s terrible,” he hissed as it burned its way down his gullet, and Jim just pulled a face and nodded in agreement.

Held his cup out for a refill, just the same, and somehow dawn found him slouched into his sofa cushions, Jim’s head pillowed in his lap.

“Won’t your girl be wondering where you got to?” He asked casually, fishing, and Jim told him there was no woman waiting at home for him.

No man, either. No family who cared to know what he was doing, and the only friends he had were spread in pieces across enemy desert.

He could see what Jim had wanted the drugs for.

They wouldn’t make things better though, not for more than a couple of hours. If that. So he let his hand rest on Jim’s shoulder, just for a beat or two, then chucked eggs and bacon in a pan and told Jim it was bad manners not to eat your host’s cooking.

Jim gave him a smile, fond and kind of long-suffering, and just like that his life started revolving around the brief interludes he could spend staring openly at Jim Gordon. The words they exchanged at the diner, necessarily superficial and curtailed, and the secrets they spilled in his apartment, on those nights when Jim trailed back with him.

“Anybody would think you’ve no home to go to,” Harvey joked one night, watching Jim rifle though his ever present backpack for something or other, and the truth was so obvious he wondered how he had ever managed to make detective.

“I was voted the person most likely to succeed in high school,” Jim said quietly after the silence had stretched brittle between them, “I turned down a scholarship to join the army.”

“Your classmates must have been a bunch of dumbasses,” Harvey said, the words soft in spite of their sentiment, “what did you go and do a stupid thing like that for?”

Jim swiped a tear from his cheek that neither of them commented on.

“My dad made sergeant before he went to college. He always said it was the making of him.”

Jim’s dad had died when he was still a kid, Harvey knew. He had read it on the microfiche machine at the city library long before Jim himself had trusted him enough to talk about it. Who knew what he might have said on the subject when he wasn’t keeping it suitable for the ears of a nine year old?

“My couch ain’t much but you clean this place up a little? You’re welcome to it.”

He was covering for Marcia the following day, so that his back was a mess by the end of the first shift and seized up in agony by the time he finally fished his door key from his pocket. Maybe Jim would be long gone. Maybe he would have taken anything of value with him.

The smell of bleach assaulted him the instant he got the door open, the place so neat and tidy Harvey scarcely recognized it. Jim was curled up on the sofa, back to the cushions and knees drawn up as though for protection.

Harvey wished he had some of his own. Some kind of defence against the web he had found himself tangled in. The web he was already certain he would never fully escape from.

“What am I meant to do with you, Jim?” He sighed, fingers stroking through his hair for a moment, and then fell into bed fully clothed, in too much pain to do more than work his lace ups off.

In the morning Jim made breakfast. Watched him with an unreadable expression as he struggled to sit up and move to eat it. Came back from wherever it was he went - to do whatever it was he did - with a bottle of oil and though Harvey cracked a couple of filthy jokes he still ended up face down on his bed, the frame protesting as Jim added his weight to the mix and dug his thumbs deep into the muscle.

Worked the rest of the oil into his skin rather than simply wipe it off on the sheets, so that Harvey couldn’t help the pitiful sound that escaped him. It had been a long time since he could afford to have someone take the edge off for him.

Longer still since someone had touched him because they wanted to.

“People will think I’m one of those landlords,” he quipped as he sat, limbs strangely heavy and head floating, and Jim only set about getting ready to go back out and told him he was welcome to return the favor.

He did, a few nights later, after a long shift made bearable only by the fact Jim took up his regular seat at the counter and shot him heartbreaking little smiles when they weren’t actually talking. Looked so ridiculously good, the buzz cut he had when they met now grown out into some semblance of a style, strands of hair falling just so over his forehead.

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m reading this wrong,” was the line he went with, Gotham not being the kind of city for romance, and Jim responded by tangling a hand in his hair and kissing him.

It was more intense than he was used to. Felt less like stress relief and more like he was drowning. Like he would never be the same again, gazing into Jim’s big blue eyes and holding his thighs in place as he pushed into the tight heat of his body.

Jim was so beautiful, so responsive, and when he shifted position so he could press their foreheads together, Jim held his head in place and kissed him until he was lightheaded. Until he was panting and desperate, teeth aching with the sweetness of the moment as he worked them both closer and closer to orgasm.

They lay together afterwards, his heart rate slowly returning to normal, Jim still crushing him close and bestowing kisses into his hair.

He should have known the kid would be a cuddler.

“Does this mean I’m upgraded from the couch?” Jim asked when sleep began to tug him under, and Harvey snorted softly and pointed out,

“If you think this is an upgrade from anything you need your head tested.”

He had nobody but himself to blame when Jim’s answer was a serious, “I’ve got my final psych assessment next week.”

Because that was the reality Harvey was burying his head in the sand to avoid facing. Jim was going before the appeal board. Was hinging all his hopes on getting the dishonorable discharge overturned and backdated benefits into the bargain.

If he got it Harvey supposed he would never see him again.

He ought to be wishing Jim every success.

But he was selfish. Over the hill and past his best, and not ready to let go of the most unbelievably wonderful thing to ever happen to him. All he could do was make every second count. Fucked Jim into a mewling mess every chance he got, and stayed awake afterwards, cramming years of overly sentimental bullshit into a few hours of tracing fingertips over Jim’s features as he watched him sleep.

“You gonna wish me luck?” Jim asked when the morning of the big day finally arrived, and Harvey hated himself more than usual for the lacklustre effort he gave before turning away.

He should have tried to explain. Should have caught Jim at the door; given him one final kiss and told him that all he wanted was for him to be happy. Instead he took his anger out on the coffee machine at the diner, bashing the thing into obedience, and wondering why it was such a crime to want to be happy for himself into the bargain.

It was quiet when he got home. A total silence he had forgotten was so all encompassing. He put the TV on then switched it off. Tried going to bed but couldn’t sleep for the scent of Jim clinging to the pillows, and sprawled across the sofa instead, the pain in his lovesick heart so overwhelming he didn’t care a damn what state his neck and his back would be in in the morning.

Repeated it the next night, and the night after, and didn’t even bother moving Friday, all of Marcia’s calls going through to voicemail. Finally he woke up Saturday to find all three were in agony, so much so that it took a long moment to realize that he wasn’t alone in the room.

To haul himself into a sitting position, trying to gather his wits together.

“I went to the diner last night. You weren’t there.”

“So you thought you’d break in here, huh?”

“You gave me a key.”

Harvey scrubbed a hand across his face. Of course he had.

“You’ve always been wrong about me,” Jim stated simply, arms folding across his chest and highlighting the well developed muscles hidden under his shirt sleeves, “I won, by the way.”

“I’m happy for you.”

He sounded anything but. Tried again,

“I am, Jim, I swear. I just - I’m sorry for myself. I’m going to miss you.”

The last was little more than a whisper, having had to battle its way past every last one of his defenses. He risked a quick glance up at Jim. Just had to drink in his beautiful face again.

Jim didn’t look disgusted. Looked anything but, if Harvey were any judge, and he could hear the strain of emotion in Jim’s voice as he said,

“I was never looking to score at the diner. I was trying to flirt with you.”

“You were…” Harvey echoed dumbly because he knew what flirting looked like. It was in no way related to the jittery awkward conversation Jim had been initiating. Except, maybe it was. Jim had told him more than once that he wished he were better with people.

That he knew the right things to say to make himself understood.

“I want to go into partnership with you,” Jim went on, “I can’t get a license of my own until I’ve worked for a licensed agency.”

Harvey frowned up at him, lost, and Jim smiled bashfully as if to say that he knew he had missed out some of the pertinent information again.

“You were a detective. People say you were a good one. That you’d make a great private investigator.”

Harvey shook his head, scarcely able to make sense of what he was hearing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’d be better at that than you are at making coffee.” Jim shrugged a little, though the underlying nervous tension was clearly visible, “I know you’d enjoy it more.”

“And if I say no?”

He had to know. Had to dig himself into a hole instead of jumping for joy at what he was being offered.

Jim just dropped to sit beside him, those big blue eyes searching his face hopefully,

“Then I still want to be your partner.”

Harvey could only kiss him and pray that Jim understood what he was trying to tell him.

Always.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	282. Chapter 282

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Can we get a companion piece to gordlock-nsfw-fanart’s[age reversal pic](https://gordlock-nsfw-fanart.tumblr.com/post/174089418492/age-reversal-au-where-detective-bullocks-helps-the)? Pretty please?_
> 
> I may return to this concept for smut purposes...

“Detective Bullock, Sir. We met at the award ceremony.”

Harvey said it like he needed the reminder. Like he hadn’t woken up that morning with his face flushed and his pulse racing, desperately clinging to impressions of green eyes and red hair as his alarm sounded.

Jim inclined his head, detached and professional, and made sure to keep his tone clipped and curt as he asked Harvey to update him on what they were dealing with.

This was the third known victim. Same profile, same MO.

They were officially looking for a serial killer.

Jim took in the details. The chipped nail polish on her left hand, and the slightly off white thread used to sew one of her shirt buttons back in place. The gold plated studs still in her earlobes, and the ligature marks around her neck, matching the ugly blues and purples on her wrists and her temples.

It never got any easier to witness, Jim thought. You simply got better at pretending that you could handle it.

“If you have any ideas, Sir, I’d really welcome your insight.”

He looked up sharply at that because it was so out of the ordinary. Ever since he made Commissioner all he got was assurances that results were imminent. That the investigation was progressing and that there was really no need for him to hover around the precinct, or start checking through anyone’s case reports.

Harvey Bullock just held his gaze steadily and said,

“I want to see this scumbag behind bars. I’m not too proud to ask for help to achieve that.”

That was how he ended up in one of the poky old interview rooms turned storage cupboards at the Central precinct, Harvey having commandeered it as an investigation base. The whiteboard was full of scribbled action points, and one wall was almost entirely taken up by a map covered in pins and string and post-it notes.

“What do these represent?” Jim asked, pointing to the half a dozen blue pins that didn’t match any of the locations he had seen in the report.

“Unofficial tally. I’m 90% certain on them.”

“And I’m 100% certain they’re unrelated,” Drake said, folding her arms across her chest as though gearing up to defend her position in a long standing argument.

Drake was a brilliant detective and one of the best Captains in the Department. In any other circumstance Jim would trust her judgment completely. Harvey looked so eager though. So fired up with determination that Jim sat in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the wall and told Harvey to talk him through his theory.

Harvey did, practically vibrating with focused determination. Spoke with his hands, moving from likely sightings to inference to a match with a partial registration number. It was all circumstantial, very much a long shot, but the timeframe worked out.

If it saved a life the resource outlay would be more than worth it.

So he flipped through the papers Harvey put before him. Worked alongside him in the cramped space for over an hour. Suggested a couple of leads he ought to follow up, and signed off on the forensic work Harvey was so desperate to see done.

Heard Drake giving Harvey a dressing down before he had even reached the end of the corridor, warning him that next time he went over her head on a pet project she’d see him busted back down to uniform.

Jim shook his head, remembering all too well how the interdepartmental politics worked, and then found himself leading a press conference at 10am the following morning, cautioning against forming conclusions at such an early stage but congratulating his officers for their hard work and dedication.

He caught side of Harvey at the side of the room, sleeves rolled up and hair pinned into a knot, but it was fleeting and he had a full day of audit meetings ahead of him. It wasn’t his place to interfere with the interview process anyway.

It hadn’t been his collar.

Except he was just finishing up for the day, the clock on his office wall making it just past eight, when there was a soft knock at his door. His secretary left at six sharp, impending apocalypse or outbreak of martial law, so he braced himself for some new catastrophe needing his personal attention.

Instead the door opened to none other than Detective Bullock, shirt rumpled and hair half down around his ears. He looked tired but no less stunning for it, and Jim stared stupidly for a long moment as Harvey thanked him for his help and asked him if he wanted to join the rest of the team for a drink that evening.

He had to choke back a bark of laughter at that. Nobody had ever invited him to the precinct bar even back in the days when he was just another detective third grade. Before, even, when he had been patrolling the streets in uniform, shoes gleaming and face fresh shaven just like it advised in the handbook.

Harvey’s expression fell for a moment. Evened back out into neutrality, if a little strained around the edges, and Jim told him simply that he didn’t think that it would be at all appropriate.

That it had been a good result but Harvey oughtn’t to grow complacent.

There was nothing but forced politeness on Harvey’s face by the time he closed the door behind him and Jim told himself that it didn’t cut to the quick.

It was exactly as it should be.

* * *

 

The first time he had set eyes on Harvey Bullock he had been recently appointed Deputy Commissioner and was on a tour of the academy facilities. Was being lectured to about the crumbling state of the sports hall, and the shoddy workmanship of the boots his predecessor had deemed adequate.

He had been trying to listen. Failing that, he had been doing his best to nod his head in the right places.

Then he had lost his train of thought completely and almost walked into the back of the dog handling instructor into the bargain.

Because there in front of him, petting a German Shepherd like it was a Terrier, was a guy who took his breath away. Who made Jim want to pretend he didn’t hate dogs just so he could exchange a few words with him about it.

“Bullock!” The drill sergeant of an officer in charge of the operation yelled, way too close to Jim’s ear, “If I have to tell you one more time to pin that hair back I’ll shave it off myself!”

It was already up, if drooping a little, and though Jim resisted with everything he had he still looked back over his shoulder to watch the man redo it, something sparking in his gut like he was trapped in a real life shampoo commercial.

“Worst decision the Union ever made,” sergeant major commented snidely, “relaxing regulations like that.”

Jim thought of the ever declining intake numbers and said nothing.

He looked into it though, afterwards. Wrote an article for the Police Gazette in favor of the GPU initiative, and framed it as a win for inclusivity and a diverse police force. Declined to reflect on where attractive redheads fit into that assessment, then went back to focusing on the disaster zone of a personal life which was falling apart around him.

It wasn’t that he was involved with anyone. He had already accepted that he was too toxic, too broken on the inside to ever make a relationship work for longer than it took his partner to decide they wanted to kill him. This time it was his only brother, Roger, an attorney by trade and an alcoholic by nature.

Or, perhaps more pertinently, it was Roger’s daughter, Barbara.

Jim brought her home after the funeral, watching her as she looked around his dismal two bed apartment, obviously trying to hold it together. He remembered how that was. Knew all too well what it was like to lose a father.

His mother had dealt with it by being both distant and exacting. By ignoring him until it suited her, then demanding he jump through hoops to prove himself worthy of her attention. At least he had still had her, he could accept that, and when the numbness finally began to recede Barbara reacted by screaming and asking him who the hell he was to tell her to do anything.

She was twelve years old, almost thirteen already, and he could count the number of times he had seen her since she started school on one hand.

“I know it’s not ideal,” he said, picking his words carefully, and the next day he came home from work to find her gone and a goodbye note on her pillow.

Uniform picked her up at a Greyhound station upstate and he blew off the stupid dinner he was supposed to be attending to eat pizza and drink soda on the floor of his living room, and attempt for the very first time in his life to make a real emotional connection with someone.

“If you have a girlfriend, you know you can bring her around,” Barbara told him, face still puffy and tear swollen but tone suggesting she was firmly in control of herself, “I won’t mind it.”

Jim quirked a smile, wondering if that was how it always be - she acting the parent and he the wayward teenager - and didn’t explain that there was never going to be another girlfriend.

It was bad for the soul to constantly lie to yourself.

Barbara Kean had known it before he had. Had thought she was finding in him a kindred spirit, somebody who understood that all they were doing was keeping up appearances. He had thought he was finding true love, somebody who could really accept him, and it was only when he was making the funeral arrangements for her parents that he realized that he had never even scratched the surface.

After that he had played his last card. Reached out for his very last chance to live the kind of life that would have made his father proud of him, then fumbled the catch at the last moment.

Now he was alone and convincing himself he was glad of it.

It was better for everyone.

Except at the end of the month he was asked to give a speech at the academy passing out parade, and he hadn’t been there 30 seconds before his gaze zeroed in on Cadet Bullock. The man was so handsome. Made Jim feel like he hadn’t since he was a schoolkid, achingly desperate for Davey Gregor to somehow notice his existence.

Davey had been a year older than him. The track champion and a grade A student. Class president and the Prom King. He was everything Jim aspired to be, and that was how he justified the way his heart raced with excitement every time he spied Davey in the hallways or the cafeteria.

Why he thought about him constantly, and why he cut school for the first and only time, after Davey took him aside after track practice and told him to stop staring at him like such a weirdo.

He was older now. Wiser. Had a better poker face, at least, and made it through the ceremony without incident. Shook Harvey’s hand wishing the GPU had done away with the gloves along with the mandated hair lengths, and watched him be hugged close by people who had to be family afterwards, something twisting up inside him with the knowledge that nobody had ever smiled at him like that and told him they were proud of him.

They never would, either, so Jim poured his energy into doing the job to the best of his ability.

To building a relationship with Barbara, and trying to be to her what he wished his mother could have been to him.

He traipsed after her around the mall, and paid through the nose for popcorn at the movies. Listened, plain and simple, when she wanted to talk, and tried to get her enrolled on the Department’s summer outreach program to absolutely no avail.

Harvey Bullock was volunteering on it, he knew, and Jim didn’t want to examine too closely why he was so obsessed with following the career progression of a uniform rookie. He had a newspaper clipping of the man, shoved in the bottom of a desk drawer, congratulating his quick thinking when it came to saving a little old lady’s pet kitten, and he had pulled up the man’s official files on the computer, though he knew full well it was abusing his position.

He told himself sometimes that Harvey was a case study, a yardstick for how his academy cohort was doing. Other times he accepted that his interest was more personal. That he felt a connection to the younger man, however artificial it was, and wanted to know that he was doing well.

That he was becoming the officer Jim knew from his reports and his test scores he had the potential to.

On occasion though, late at night when he couldn’t help but dream about the warmth of another human body beside him, he had no choice but to admit the truth to himself.

He was a dirty old man keeping tabs on a guy so young he could be his father.

It didn’t stop him from continuing though. He would lay off for a few weeks. Tell himself that he was over it. Then he’d catch Harvey out of the corner of his eye on one of his visits to the precinct, or see another of his community efforts make the local newspaper, and he would be right back to square one, daydreaming about pale freckled skin and how Harvey’s hair would feel, brushing against his torso.

He had been made Commissioner by this point. Barbara had turned her back on glee club and girl scouts, and started wearing too much eyeliner and black lipstick. Lighting candles in her bedroom and listening to a new set of bands Jim had never heard of. He let her, principally because his mother wouldn’t have, and when he blocked off weekends for them to spend together he still had to trail around the mall and hand over obscene amounts of cash at the cinema.

It was just that now everything she wanted him to buy her was black or almost black, and the only acceptable movies were horror flicks. It was where he caught sight of a familiar figure, the light from the screen only making his features more beautiful, and was ashamed of the irrational jealousy that burned bright in his chest the whole time, agonizing over whether or not the girl sat with Harvey was his girlfriend.

When they got home that evening Barbara fixed him with a too knowing look and said she was going to delete the dating profile she had insisted he set up some time previously.

“Did you really think that it would matter to me?” Barbara asked him, like a little disappointed mother, and later, alone in the darkness, he hated himself a little more for crying over the kindness of a fifteen year old.

He heard later that week that Harvey was being considered for the homicide squad. Casually mentioned over a lunchtime policy meeting that he had heard only good things about the uniform contingent at the 21st, then took a long hard look at himself in the mirror when the news trickled through that should he one day be given a restraining order, it would be from Detective Bullock.

His reflection stared back at him miserably. He had been all right looking, once, back when he was as a rookie cop fresh out of the army. Those days were gone now though. His hair was graying slightly, at the temples, and though he kept in shape he could still stand to lose a couple of pounds from around his middle.

He needed his glasses now, to make sense of his case reports, and though the suit he wore was neat and serviceable, it had been years since it had been in fashion.

Barbara said as much to him a few months later, when he had reached new lows of self-loathing on the subject.

“You’re not bad looking, Jim,” she told him, too hip and too cool for titles, “you just don’t make the most of yourself.”

This was coming from somebody wearing what looked like a cross between a binliner and a pair of chintz curtains, but still Jim let her throw away his beloved work anorak and insist he buy the suit the store clerk assured him brought out the color of his eyes.

“He was flirting with you,” Barbara informed him after he had paid, and though Jim laughed the suggestion off, he was rather pathetically drawn to the idea.

The new suit got an airing not long afterwards, to go with his invite to the police awards dinner, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the program because he hadn’t yet seen the entire list of recipients. He certainly hadn’t expected to see Harvey’s name among them.

Jim was so proud of him. So pleased for this man he knew so much about - this stranger he had scarcely exchanged two words with for all the times he had conspired for their paths to cross. He was going to be the one pinning the medal to Harvey’s chest, and he fussed about with his hair and his tie before he left the car, wanting so badly to make a good impression.

He didn’t quite know what to do, then, when they were directed to take their seats and he discovered he was sat at the same table as Harvey Bullock. Really didn’t know what to do when the man pulled a chair out for his plus one, and though he ached to ask a thousand questions, he had no choice but to make polite small talk with the wife of one of the city councilors.

After the main course they had the speeches and the presentations. He smiled stupidly, undone by the free champagne and Harvey’s proximity, and told him in a low undertone that he ought to be proud of himself. That he was proud to have such a competent officer working under him.

Harvey saluted him, straight backed and solemn faced, and the military implications brought back enough bad memories to prevent him making a total fool of himself.

He wasn’t some lovesick teenager - he was the Police Commissioner of Gotham City.

It was high time he started acting like it.

* * *

 

Life had a way of kicking a man when he was down, so that he got home from another miserable day of knowing he had blown his one and only chance to find Barbara in the middle of trying to sneak out to some club or other.

“I’m not going there to get drunk,” she told him, imperious as usual, “and I don’t even want a boyfriend.”

He demanded to know what the attraction was then, and somehow ended up in way over his head, so painfully out of place he could feel it like something physical. It was kind of nice though. It meant a lot to him that Barbara wasn’t too embarrassed to be seen with him.

Even if it meant having to sit through some awful band one of her friends was a member of.

They weren’t quite as bad as he had been expecting, which didn’t say much, and when they were done he was just suggesting that they call it an evening when he trailed off mid sentence.

Was way too blatant, entirely too obvious, and Barbara smiled smugly at him so that he had the horrid feeling he had been played and never once suspected it.

“I did want to see Sara’s band,” she told him, by way of apology, and Jim squirmed awkwardly in his seat, unable to quit looking at the tight fit of Harvey’s jeans and the way his long fingers moved against the fretboard of his guitar.

He was good, but then of course he was. The man was good at everything.

Made it all look effortless, hair falling prettily around his face as he sang backing vocals on some all too relatable song about unrequited love.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Sir,” Harvey said when he came over, stating the blindingly obvious, and Jim did his best to ignore the way Barbara was listening in and told him stiltedly that they weren’t on duty now.

That his name was Jim. Jim Gordon.

“I know,” Harvey said, eyes bright with amusement, and introduced himself fully.

“I know,” Jim echoed, more than a little self-conscious, and asked himself what the hell he was thinking as they exchanged cell numbers.

“He’s cute,” Barbara said, as they sat sipping cocoa before bed, “He likes you.”

“I’m his superior officer,” Jim answered, “I’m old enough to be his father.”

Technically speaking, at any rate. There were fourteen years between them.

Barbara shrugged, unimpressed, and it was that kind of false reassurance that had him lying in the darkness and replying to Harvey’s text message. They exchanged messages for over an hour, talking about the music they listened to, and in the morning it seemed so surreal he had to read through the conversation three times before he could even begin to accept it had happened.

It couldn’t happen again though. He really needed to be sensible.

Not texting back some thirty seconds after getting a message at lunchtime, then digging his fingernails into his palm because he had sworn that he wasn’t going to.

It continued on like that for a few weeks. Some days he stuck to his guns. Other days he was simply too busy to think about anything but Gotham’s latest crisis. Always he ended up sending messages when he was wrapped up in bed at night, perfectly chaste and above board, but every morning he woke up convinced that today was the day there would be an official complaint lodged against him.

That was his first thought when he heard Drake out in his secretary’s office, demanding to speak to him. Instead she was there to tell him that a group of customers being held hostage down in one of the record stores on their patch, and they believed that Barbara was one of them.

It was like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Like he had never received a day’s training in his life, nothing but blind panic overpowering all of his senses.

“I’ve got my best officers at the scene,” she told him, by way of reassurance, and tactfully didn’t comment on the dampness clinging to his lashes as they drove over there.

They got there just in time to hear shots being fired. For him to have to retch at the side of the road, for all that he had reputation for being in control of himself, no matter how bad things were going. He looked up to see Harvey laying down his weapon. Raising his hands in peace, and slowly advancing forward as he offered himself up in place of the frightened and the wounded.

“She’s been shot in the leg,” Drake reported over the buzzing in his ears, “she’ll be fine once we get her to hospital.”

If they got her to hospital, Jim thought bleakly.

Except the switchover was actually working. Harvey was doing a damn fine job of hiding the terror on his face as the masked gunman shoved the pistol into the base of his skull, and a couple of other officers were pulling Barbara and another girl with dyed black hair and mascara streaked down her cheeks to safety.

Jim clung to her. Buried a sob in her hair even as he attempted to compose himself, and huffed a note of frantic laughter when Barbara whispered, in pain but otherwise self-controlled,

“I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. This wouldn’t have happened if I was at school.”

She reached for his hand as they were pushed further back from the scene. Squeezed it as an officer with a loudspeaker attempted to negotiate for getting that gun trained somewhere less fatal. He realized he was squeezing back too tightly only after Harvey had slammed a reckless elbow back, and the guy was on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back.

“I’m going to kill him myself,” Drake ranted, somewhere to his left, and Barbara waved off his apology even as the EMT poked and prodded and made her go deathly pale beneath the white pressed powder.

“You should go and check he’s all right,” Barbara urged a few minutes later, following his gaze to where Drake was attempting to make good on her promise, and when she finally wore him down on the point and he told her to stay exactly where she was, she gestured ironically at her leg and told him that she didn’t really have an awful lot of choice in the matter.

“That was a very foolhardy thing you did,” Jim said to Harvey, very aware of the listening ears all around them, “you might not have lived to tell the tale.”

“It was a calculated risk,” Harvey said in turn, gaze fixed intently on his own, “like asking the Police Commissioner to go out on a date with me.”

“I don’t think -”

“Just one,” Harvey interrupted, head tilted up with determination, “if it turns out you have no table manners and refuse to go Dutch then we won’t have to repeat the experience.”

Jim smiled in spite of himself. Heard his own voice agreeing to think about it and, later, sat at Barbara’s hospital bedside waiting for the all clear, he dared to let himself imagine a future with Harvey in it.

“I was only joking before,” Harvey said when Gotham’s crime levels finally lulled enough to make an evening off possible, “I always pay when I ask a good looking guy on a date.”

“That means I’ll have to pay next time,” Jim said, thrilling inwardly at the idea of getting to repeat the experience.

Because he was infamously bad at dating. Had nothing to say that wasn’t directly work related, and either came on too strong or not strong enough, and didn’t get a phone call afterwards either way. Harvey made it all so easy though. Listened to him talk, and answered his dumb questions, and had him laughing like he hadn’t in years.

Perhaps not ever.

“I guess coffee’s out of the question?” Harvey asked when it came time to go their separate ways, and he was about to launch into some long winded apologia on why this couldn’t go any further when Harvey just smiled wistfully and said that it was okay.

He was already looking forward to next time.

Jim had said, there was no denying it, and when he got home Barbara scolded him thoroughly for not even trying to kiss him.

So of course he had to take it a step further and sabotage himself completely. Ruthlessly erased Harvey’s number from his phone after sending a message that he didn’t think it wise they saw each other anymore, and deleted the replies without opening them.

If it continued, if they took it to the next stage, Harvey would see him for the man he really was.

Would end up hurt, would inevitably wind up hating him, and it was better to put a stop to it now than let it drag on and destroy both their careers.

That was how he attempted to justify the radio silence to the other man, when they found themselves trapped in the bombed out shell of a building together, nothing to do but talk until the rescue team either dug them out or the ground shifted again and they were crushed to death.

“That’s bullshit,” Harvey shot back, angry. “You’re not my direct supervisor, there’s literally nothing in the policy to say it’s a problem. And as for the rest of it? If you don’t like me, just say so.”

“I like you. You have no idea how much I like you.”

It was easier to say in the dark. He couldn’t see Harvey’s face and Harvey couldn’t see his. He didn’t have to see Harvey’s expression change as he gave him the whistle stop tour of his relationship history. Of Arkham, and court cases, and the death threats he still received in the mail from people who had once professed to love him.

“Are you trying to say I need to be locked up in an asylum?” Harvey asked, too dry, so that Jim was falling over himself to demur before he realized that Harvey was joking.

Harvey sighed an apology of his own.

“I always say dumb shit like that. It’s why everybody gets sick of me.”

Jim reached a hand out blindly, needing to offer some kind of comfort. Needing to soak it up in turn - the reassurance that Harvey was okay. That he wasn’t alone in the darkness.

They shifted closer, inch by inch, and Harvey got him to promise that if they made it out alive he would be a man of his word and take him on that dinner date.

“You can be a cheapskate and cook if you like. I’m not fussy.”

Jim thought of Barbara. Of how proud she would be of him.

“You’d have to meet the family,” he warned, already having explained enough of his life for Harvey to understand who that meant.

For Harvey to simply nudge up tighter against his shoulder and tell him he’d like that.

Harvey shoved his hands in his pockets when it was over. When they were free and everyone else was off busy with the clean up effort.

“There’s nobody I’d have rather been trapped in a collapsed building with,” Harvey offered, a half shy smile quirked on his face, and Jim couldn’t ignore the feeling of warmth in his chest.

The fluttering in his stomach and the ache in his fingers to reach out and clean away the smear of plaster dust marring the constellation of freckles along Harvey’s cheekbone.

“You’re not changing your mind now you can see me again?” Harvey pushed, only half joking, and Jim shook his head.

Swallowed around the dry ache in his throat and confessed awkwardly,

“I was just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

Harvey’s eyes went wide. Then they slid shut, the distance between them closed, his arms sliding around his waist even as his nose nuzzled into his cheek.

“Now I know why you have to wear glasses,” Harvey murmured, self-deprecating as ever, and it didn’t matter that it might all go wrong. That he was too old or that Harvey could do so very much better.

He had to kiss him.

Had to let one hand settle on the small of his back, and the other tenderly cup his cheek. To deepen the kiss, losing himself to the heat and the perfection and the press of Harvey’s body against him.

“If you don’t call me this time I’ll know exactly what kind of guy you are,” Harvey said when they reluctantly pulled apart, as though issuing a challenge, and this time Jim only beamed at him helplessly.

He was many things - staid and stupid and stubborn - but above all he was head over heels in love.

Maybe, if he played his cards right, one day Harvey might even return the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a little sequel from Harvey's POV [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/34112480).
> 
> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	283. Chapter 283

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My husband wrote me some Gordlock to prove that coming up with fic ideas is easier than I claim it is. (I edited for line breaks and tense shifting.) It's some kind of crazy Alice in the Wonderland acid trip mash-up...

They pulled through the gates of Arkham Asylum, Harvey’s rust brown sedan turning into the main courtyard where the autumn mist was rolling in from the Narrows and surrounded the late nineteenth century architecture. Jim hesitated for a moment on getting out, looking across at Harvey over the roof of the car. Harvey frowned.

“Are you doin’ ok there, partner?”

Jim remained silent, a look of great apprehension plastered across his face, as Harvey carried on,

“I get it buddy, this guy is the reason you shot Mario in the head, but you gotta suck it up there, cupcake. Paint a smile on that beautiful mug on yours, walk through those doors and kick the truth out of that psycho.”

Jim just grunted as both men walked through the front door, the two waving their badges at the orderly at the front desk and marching down towards the cells. 

They walked down the corridor towards the holding pen, the flickering lights momentarily plunging the green and white hellscape into darkness and then into light, darkness and then light, and then darkness, as the lights sputtered out completely. Suddenly Jim felt the floor connecting with his face and a sharp pain spread through his neck, and a burning sensation flow through his veins.

As he slipped out of consciousness he framed the word “Harvey” but no sound came. 

The first thing Jim that roused Jim was the crackle and whine of the asylum’s PA system. Then the hypnotic monotone of Jervis Tetch, broadcasting to all within earshot.

“Well well well, Detective. You took my heart's greatest desire from me, so I’ve gone ahead and done the same. But unlike my dear sweet Alice, you have the chance to win yours back. You’ll even a little gift from my darling sister to help you on your way. Run the gauntlet, Detective, if you dare.”

Jim struggled to his feet, with one aim in mind, his head swimming. Nothing was coming into focus. He took one step and it felt as though the floor was coming with him, like the walls were merging into the floor. The stained grey dripping into the olive green, the green melting into the black and white tiles. 

He staggered forward towards the first door of the Gauntlet.           

Jim opened the door and nearly fell through to the floor on the other side. He pushed the door closed and slumped down against it, cradling his head in his and hands trying to make sense of what had happened. Harvey was gone and he knew that Tetch had him somewhere in this rats nest of an asylum. If he were even still alive.

He tried to focus.

The world around him was blurring in and out, bright and lurid colours were twirling themselves across Jim’s synapses, and all the while Tetch's words were ringing in his ears - and Harvey kept flashing before his eyes. As he became more accustomed to the light show in his mind Jim rose to his feet, and stumbled drunkenly further along the passageway that lead to the heart of Arkham.

After tripping once more, Jim looked up into a broad Cheshire Cat’s grinning mouth. The cat was preening itself with great, almost compulsive care, but what Jim noticed most of all was the bowler hat, pulled down to almost cover the cat's inquisitive jade eyes. It scratched itself, yawned, and then sauntered around to be looking Jim dead in the eyes.

“Hello Jim.”

Jim just stared blankly knowing that what he was seeing couldn’t be real yet also knowing that when the cat spoke the voice was somehow familiar.

The Cat went on, “Tetch said we couldn’t kill you, which is a shame. We have to give you a chance. So if you pass this test I can let you pass, but if you don’t,” it gave a slight chuckle, “then I can scratch your eyes out.”

Jim did his best to focus on the cat and managed to ask, “What test?”

The cat opened its mouth wider and said, “ How many cats can you put in an empty box?”

Jim rocked back and forth on his feet for what seemed like an age before answering, “One, after that its not empty.”

At this the cat hissed, but slunk away back down the passage that Jim had just walked and Jim headed further into the asylum. 

As Jim continued around the corner, flashes of iridescence lit the way in his mind's eye, he almost walked into a giant emperor penguin perched against the wall. The Penguin greeted Jim with a snide good evening before continuing, “Against my better judgement, I’m going to help you. Tetch is a monster.”

Jim, astounded, swayed as the effects of whatever he has been dosed with began to take even further hold. He tried to steady himself on the wall but collapsed to the floor, hearing Tetch’s mocking monotone “a little gift from my darling sister” running over and over in his head, though he was aware of of someone, or something else, shouting, yelling, “The white tiles, Jim, Only the White Tiles”.

Jim’s breathing began to quicken, and he could feel the sweet pouring down his back he clambered up against the wall to support himself, a tear streaming down his face, knowing that he had to keep moving for Harvey’s sake. He began to move forward again, but then stopped remembering what the penguin had said. He cautiously put his foot onto a white tile and then, when nothing happened, he moved to the next, and then to the next. Until he was at the next door, and went through. 

Just as Jim stepped forward a burst of flame came towards him. Blinded, Jim fell forward feeling the warmth pass over him, and the smell of burning hair fill his nostrils. But as soon as he landed he was on his feet again, a jet of ice burst from nowhere aimed right as where he had been lying. The steam caused by the rushes of heat and Ice filled the room, Jim could only make out two monstrous shapes in the mist. This was accompanied by a rhythmic beating that filled the air.

For three heartbeats Jim stood still, lost in the fog of ice and fire.

Then a jet of fire shot from out of the mist, then followed by a burst of ice, he dodged both, the beating noise still circling around, like the wings of giant bat. Then all at once a burst of ice and a plume of flame met in mid air, and the world erupted, fragments of ice and fire rained down all about the mist filled room, and Jim heard two thuds and then nothing. His head was ringing and blood was pouring. All he knew was that he had to find Harvey. 

He pulled himself through the last door and there, tied to a chair, was Harvey. He was bleeding from a head wound, slumped unconscious, and Jim staggered over to him and undid the rope that was holding him. It was at this point that Jim truly understood what Tetch had meant about his heart's desire, and how close he had come to losing it. He reached over to Harvey. Grabbed him in his arms and pulled him close, eyelashes damp against his cheek, as Harvey rambled about “Tetch and Nygma and Freeze and Firefly.”

Jim didn’t care. He pulled Harvey closer and embraced him, the two partners becoming one for one brief moment in time.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	284. Chapter 284

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _This is probably a crackfic idea but.... Oswald appears to be a heavy drinker. We definitely know that Harvey is. They get into a drinking competition to determine who gets the right to court Jim. Jim watches with mixture of flattery, horror, and amusement. (Or maybe he doesn't even know what the stakes are....)_

Harvey had boasted on numerous occasions, usually as he sloshed quantities of it over its surface, that he could drink anybody under the table.

Never tired of telling the story of how he had once drank all day, and all night, put in a full ten hour shift, and then walked himself into Gotham General where he was promptly hospitalized for alcohol poisoning.

Jim didn’t understand the attraction, wasn’t willing to condone it, yet somehow he had still ended up sat in a plush booth between his partner and Gotham’s self-proclaimed kingpin, adjudicating an unofficial drinking contest.

“You’re all talk, Bullock,” Cobblepot told him, pouring more champagne into a glass with nothing to give away his inebriation but a slight heavy handedness, “you always have been.”

“You,” Harvey countered, jabbing a finger in the man’s general direction with much less finesse as he searched for a follow up, “are a freak. You really think that I would let you near him?”

Jim had missed the beginning of the night’s entertainment. Had had no success in determining what the point of the competition was, or what the stakes were for the winner.

Put a placating hand on both their shoulders, the table jostling as they each moved to defend their dubious honor, and maybe it was his imagination but Oswald’s gaze lingered on it for far longer than was necessary.

Blinked up at him, the make-up Jim had never really noticed before highlighting how beautifully blue his eyes were, and then Harvey slapped his palm down on the table so that he near jumped out of his skin - and got to watch Harvey’s adam apple bob as he drained the rest of the bottle without stopping.

Harvey was triumphant when he finished. Swayed a little unsteadily in his seat, and whispered too loud in Jim’s ear that they were partners, and that he would never ever ever let anything bad happen to him.

It was a pretty sentiment, even if Jim didn’t know what exactly had inspired it, and so the night continued on in much the same fashion, Oswald telling him when Harvey staggered to the men’s room that he had only ever wanted to save Jim from himself.

That Jim had to realize that he was worth so much more than the company he insisted on keeping.

Jim frowned at that, not sure what to make of the words or the hand Oswald placed on his arm, but then Harvey was back and his bigger concern was ensuring that Harvey didn’t do anything spectacularly stupid.

Didn’t fall face first from his seat and bust his nose, or burst into tears in front of one of the city’s biggest gossips.

It was looking an ever more likely prospect because Harvey always started out a happy drunk, cuddly and joking and affectionate, but became maudlin and miserable when he took it too far. Got lost in thoughts of his mother, and fallen colleagues, and repeated to him over and over again that Jim was the very best friend he had ever had.

He blushed at Harvey’s insistence now, at the gushing praise that went with it, but still had his protests fall on deaf ears when an array of multi-colored shots were brought to the table, watching on helpless as Oswald swiped the back of his hand across his mouth while Harvey pressed his forehead to the sticky surface and groaned that he was feeling sick.

That he was really, truly, sincerely sorry.

That was all Jim wanted to hear. Was exactly the kind of victory he had been hoping for.

Enough to have him cutting Oswald’s enthusiastic rambling short, blunt and authoritative, and draping one of Harvey’s arms over his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

“I thought you’d want to stay,” Harvey slurred, or at least something approximating it, and Jim just got him to repeat a few times that he was an idiot. A stupid drunken idiot who deserved to be left to find his own way home, even as Jim dropped him less than gracefully into his bed and warned him not to hog all the covers.

He wasn’t about to let his best friend choke to death overnight.

Woke to the weight of Harvey’s arm pinning him in place, along with Harvey’s face pressed into his side, his voice weak and pitiful as he begged Jim not to move just yet and worsen his hangover.

“What the hell was that about last night?” Jim asked, trying not to focus on how good it felt, to have Harvey’s solid heat so close to him.

Not to imagine what it would be like to repeat the experience with both of them stone cold sober.

“What is any of it about?”

“Money?” Jim offered, trying to make sense of it, and Harvey only patted clumsily at his hand and burrowed just the slightest touch closer as he commented cryptically,

“Jim, they really broke the mold when they made you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	285. Chapter 285

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super sappy little sequel to [Chap #282](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/34080512) (age reversal AU) from Harvey's POV.

“You’re pretty cool,” Barbara told him once, after he found himself talked into playing chaperone at WZPZ’s latest wash out of a music festival, “but don’t think I’m going to start calling you dad or anything. At least not until after the wedding.”

Harvey laughed, helpless, and wondered if it was obvious that he felt kind of giddy with the acceptance. At the mere idea of one day officially becoming part of the family. There was a time not so very long ago that he had been worried, terrified really, that Barbara would take one look at him and decide that he wasn’t good enough.

That she’d tell Jim he could do better, that there was no point in even wasting the time to get to know him, and Jim would listen because anyone could see how much he doted on the kid.

“Would you double barrel your name?” Barbara asked him back in the present, curious, “How do you think Jim would pop the question?”

It was still early days to be thinking of that kind of thing, that was the answer Harvey went with, and Barbara just rolled her eyes as if to say she knew him better than that already.

Harvey supposed he was kind of transparent.

He had wanted Jim to notice him for years. Had lay awake at night dreaming up excuses for their paths to cross, ever more unlikely scenarios that resulted in Jim desperate to know more about him, and thought back to the first time he had seen Captain Gordon of the GCPD on the evening news, promising the city’s citizenry that he was going to steer them safely through the latest crisis.

“I’m sure we’ll all sleep better in our beds for that,” his mother had said, changing the channel, and it wasn’t until he revisited the memory years later that Harvey picked up on her obvious sarcasm.

Because even then, at such a distance, he had known somehow that Jim was the real deal. Jim was a man of his word, a leader in a city full of followers, and when he saw him in action for the first time, halting a riot outside their crumbling apartment building, he made the decision there and then that one day he was going to join the police force.

One day Jim Gordon himself was going to tell him he was proud of him.

“He’s kind of traditional,” Barbara mused, undeterred by his earlier answer, “don’t settle for anything less than him getting down on one knee. Make him do it properly.”

Harvey shook his head, torn between amused and embarrassment, and didn’t say that he would take absolutely anything he could get.

Barbara didn’t need to know exactly how hard he had fallen for her uncle.

They chatted a little more about inconsequentials. Bought burgers for lunch and listened to the less than harmonious vocals of Hangman’s Nooses’ new frontman.

It wouldn’t have been Jim’s scene, not at all, but Harvey still wished he hadn’t had to work. Wanted to spend more time with him than he got, always, because it was hard to find more than a few moments alone when the city was always on the verge of catastrophe, and he was still living in shared accommodation into the bargain.

Tuttle was a decent guy, would almost certainly keep his mouth shut. But Harvey knew Jim was still uncomfortable about the fact he was dating from within the ranks, and the sight of Tuttle’s spare patrol uniform wasn’t going to make him feel any better about the arrangement.

He didn’t want to push his luck when it came to staying at Jim’s place, and it still made something flutter wistfully in his chest every time he thought about the night before, and how good it had felt to fall asleep with Jim’s arms wrapped around him. To wake up to slow sleepy kisses, the urgency ramping up and up until Jim was smothering breathy sounds of pleasure in the skin of his throat and he had his hand pushed under the waistband of Jim’s pajama pants.

They had eaten breakfast together afterwards, all three of them once Barbara finally responded to Jim’s regular knocking at her bedroom door and hauled herself out of bed. It was easy and comfortable, like his fantasies on the subject were that little less impossible, and before Jim left for work he kissed him goodbye on the cheek like something out of one of his favorite black and white movies.

Barbara asked him more questions about Jim as he made sure she got home safely. The first time he had seen him, and whether or not it had been the same moment he decided he was interested.

Harvey muddled the timeline a little and went with the first time Jim had seen him, getting told off and humiliated by his instructor at police academy. Jim had noticed the commotion more than the cause of it, but when the newly appointed deputy commissioner had an article published in the Police Gazette not long later, congratulating the GPU on dispensing with the outdated appearance regulations, he had kept a copy and let himself imagine that Jim had been thinking of him as he wrote it.

As for being interested, he had sat at his graduation ceremony and pledged to himself that he would do his best to become the kind of officer Jim would want to work with.

He had been too tongue tied to do more than shake Jim’s hand when he visited the summer outreach program he was volunteering with, and been so disappointed when Jim had to cancel on one of the fundraisers he had organized that he had felt it like a leaden weight in his gut.

“You two are made for each other,” was Barbara’s verdict, after he delivered a far less sentimental sounding version of that answer, and Harvey couldn’t help but pray that she knew what she was talking about.

Because the Jim Gordon of his fantasies had been suave and smooth and sophisticated. Had been perfect, and untouchable, and almost super human. The Jim Gordon who had pinned a bravery medal to his chest, breath tainted with drink as he told him over earnestly that he was proud of him, was awkward and a touch unsteady.

The Jim Gordon who had listened to his rambling theories even after Captain Drake had dismissed them had been encouraging and professional.

The one who turned down his offer of a drink, arrogant and hurtful.

There were so many sides to Jim but he wasn’t a perfect hero up on a pedestal.

Jim was every bit as human as he was.

It was what Harvey had grown to love about him. Jim’s dedication to doing the right thing even when it seemed pointless. The way he tried, always, even when the outlook was hopeless. The very fact that he was a little inept at times. That he didn’t always know the best thing to say, or the best thing to do, but that he could always dredge up a smile for Harvey’s bad jokes, no matter how long a day it had been.

He hoped today wasn’t one of the bad ones. Suggested to Barbara that they pick up take-out so that even if Jim was back late at least he wouldn’t need to cook anything. Barbara wasn’t listening. Was fiddling with her cellphone, intent, and when she did look back up it was to tell him that she simply had to go and see Sara, but she would be really really grateful if he’d take her key and drop the stuff she’d spent most of the afternoon buying off at their place for her.

Harvey plastered a smile on his face and agreed. He had to go home to Tuttle and his droning at some point.

Waved her off as she bounded up the stairwell to Sara’s parent’s house, then dragged out the walk to Jim’s apartment a little, wondering how sad it would be on a scale of one to ten if he just sat there on his own for a while, soaking up Jim’s scent in Jim’s own surroundings.

Except when he pushed the door open it was to find the place already occupied. Had him gearing up in readiness for fight or flight, and then buckling with the realization it was Jim standing there, thrusting a bunch of flowers at him.

Jim looked more nervous than Harvey had ever seen him. Launched straight into a stilted speech about how he didn’t want to put pressure on him, not now and not ever, but he didn’t need any longer to know that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

That he wanted Harvey to be sure of that.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Harvey asked, because he couldn’t bear another second of this blissful happiness if it was only going to turn out that they had their wires crossed.

“Well, yes,” Jim frowned, kind of hesitant. Enough to make him curse himself for pushing. For putting words into Jim’s mouth that the other man had never intended to say to him. But then Jim was sinking to one knee and it was hitting him all in a rush what the whole day had been about.

The knowing smiles, and the questions, and Barbara’s insistence that she couldn’t possibly take her shopping to Sara’s with her.

“I’m asking you for all of it,” Jim said, fumbling with the plain gold band he had pulled from his pocket, “I don’t expect you to give me an answer straightaway.”

“Yes!” Harvey blurted, too eager. Covered for it the only way he knew how and joked, “You’ve asked now, you can’t take the offer back.”

“I love you,” Jim said simply in return, rising to his feet and taking his hand in his own, so solemn that Harvey had no comeback. No pithy joke and no self-deprecating wisecrack.

“Not as much as I love you,” he offered finally, throat all clogged up with emotion, and Jim just kissed him soundly with a promise that that was an argument he was never going to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	286. Chapter 286

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Harvey asks Jim to be his best man at his and Lucius' wedding not knowing that Jim has been in love with him this entire time. Harvey thought he could never have Jim so he moved on and all Jim can do now is let him go._
> 
> I've been writing Foxlock - Harvey/Lucius - [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761955/chapters/34136459), but I thought this was a better fit in this collection as it's from Jim's POV.

Jim knew that he wasn’t an easy person to get along with.

His teachers had used to write it on his school reports. They praised his work ethic, and his test scores, then used kindly sounding words to explain that he struggled to make friends with the others. He didn’t mix well, lacked the basic building blocks of social interaction, and no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, the older he got the more pronounced the failing grew.

When he did get close to someone he ended up pushing them away. When they responded to him the way he so wanted he panicked, and remembered how much it hurt to place his trust in another person only to have it broken.

He thought of his father leaving him after promising that he would always be there, and his mother observing him with disappointed eyes, asking why he couldn’t be more like his brother.

Barbara took the pattern to its logical conclusion. Made him love her, made him admit it to everyone, and then fell into the arms of a woman who wanted to see the career he had fought so hard for in ruins. Told him it was all his fault, everything that came afterwards, and laughed in his face when she learned of Blackgate, and Lee, and the baby, and said that he knew now how it felt to have one’s life destroyed by James Worthington Gordon.

Harvey was the only person who understood. The one soul in all the world willing to stand by him no matter what he did.

Because loving Lee had made her want to kill him. Asking her to pledge forever, begging her to return his feelings - that had made her hire a hitman. To inject herself with a deadly terrifying virus simply to remove the threads of conscience that had rendered her unable to go through with the hit.

That was why he had kept quiet.

Why he had loved devotedly, desperately, but always from afar.

He couldn’t bear for Harvey to hate him. He needed Harvey like the oxygen he relied on to continue breathing.

Even with those precautions he almost wrecked it all. He punished Harvey for not trusting him, for abusing the faith Jim had placed in his person, and it was only when Harvey walked away that he realized it didn’t matter that Harvey had taken the money, nor what he had used it for.

That he hadn’t been able to face Patel and the others, even.

What mattered was that he had never once asked why, not about any of it, and he shed hot helpless tears when Harvey changed his cell number, because without Harvey to tell him that he wasn’t so bad, there was nothing to shelter him from his own self-hatred.

It had been the worst time of his life, even harder than his lonely stint as a bounty hunter. His time in Blackgate, barely clinging to his sanity, because then he had known that Harvey was still making him his top priority.

Harvey loved him, albeit like a brother, and when they were reunited Harvey was going to welcome him with open arms.

Would hug him close, and kiss his cheek, then not only let him sleep on his sofa but cook him breakfast in the morning.

That was never going to happen again. After everything they had been through together, after all the hard work and the tears it had taken to salvage their friendship after Sofia, he was still going to lose the best friend he had ever had.

The only friend, perhaps, when it came down to it.

There would be no more late night phone calls, when he woke panting and trembling from a nightmare and needed to hear that Harvey was safe and whole and healthy, and no more evenings in some bar or other, their sides pressed close together as he drank just enough for Harvey to let him get away with resting his head on Harvey’s shoulder.

No more hugs and no more kisses, not like before. No more hope of Harvey seeing how pitifully in love with him Jim was, and telling him that it didn’t matter how broken or toxic he was.

He was going to risk loving him back anyway.

“There’s nobody else I’d want to do it,” Harvey said back in the present, still waiting for his answer, “you’re the most important person in my life, Jim.”

That was the kind of line he dreamed of hearing. The type he fantasized about at night, alone in his bed as he imagined Harvey holding him tight.

Making love to him.

But Harvey was still talking, smiling at him bashfully - so beautifully - and said,

“Besides Lucius, obviously.”

Jim blinked back tears at that. Nodded dumbly, the pain of it all encompassing, and forced himself to choke out,

“I’d be honored, Harv. I’d love to.”

It was only a few letters out from what he really wanted to say. What he had felt inside for so long he didn’t remember what had filled his heart before.

Harvey pulled him into a hug. Let Jim cling desperately to him. Inhale his scent and soak up his warmth, so very aware that the chance might never come again.

“It means more than I can say,” Harvey confessed, squeezing back with equal enthusiasm, “to know that you’re happy for me.”

Jim had to suck in a shuddery breath. Was putting so much energy into not breaking down into sobs that he had none left to try and make the embrace last any longer.

“I love him, Jim,” Harvey said quietly, more solemn than Jim had ever heard him - happier than he had ever seen him. He smiled at him, some emotion in his eyes Jim couldn’t read but wished he could drown in, and went on, “I’d given up hope that I could ever move on. That anybody could ever feel that for me.”

It was such a stupid statement because Jim knew what it was to be unlovable. Understood exactly what it meant to be destined to spend his life alone. Harvey wasn’t like that. Jim loved him so much his head spun with it.

“I am happy for you,” Jim confirmed, the words taking everything he had left to give because they were true, so very true.

He just wished that it meant he could be happy for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	287. Chapter 287

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up Meme - #90 'unexpected virgin' and #11 'Neighbour AU'._
> 
> Inspired by a [gobblepot fill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250412/chapters/34119743) I wrote the other day which had Jim struggling with PTSD after leaving the army.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also dumping a link here for another [TinyLetter weekly round-up](https://tinyletter.com/falsteloj/letters/gordlock-newsletter-2). :)

Harvey made sure to take a good long look at the new guy. It wasn’t that he made a habit of cataloging who moved in and out of the building, for all that his profession suggested he ought to. And it wasn’t that he was going to offer to lend a hand and learn that the man’s seemingly meagre belongings were just the tip of the iceberg.

He had always been a sucker for a pretty face, that was the truth of it, and if James Worthington Gordon was desperate enough to be taking out a lease in the next door apartment, perhaps he was up for slumming it in other arenas too.

Jim just ducked his head and hurried past him. Fumbled with the key in eagerness to get the door open, and slammed the thing fast shut behind him. Harvey shook his own head and went back to his own entertainment for the evening - a bottle of Jack and a little medicinal relaxant.

Knowing his luck he had probably arrested Gordon at one point or another.

He couldn’t remember it though. Couldn’t find anything in his mess of a filing system when he had a spare moment to look into it. Surely a guy who looked like Gordon would have imprinted himself indelibly on the memory.

That meant he had to look for another reason why Gordon - Jim he discovered when he actually tried initiating conversation - was so averse to making eye contact.

Why he offered him fleeting but genuine smiles one morning, then stared down at his shoes and marched on by the next, like if he just pretended hard enough he could convince them both he hadn’t even noticed him.

“You doing okay?” Harvey asked him one night, cursing his good upbringing, and Jim just stood there dripping wet and shivering in the corner of the elevator until the doors opened and he could push past him and out into the hallway.

Harvey wished he wouldn’t let it get to him. Someone who looked like Jim, who lived in a place like this… The guy was either nuts or a professional prick tease. Or both. He was better off steering well clear.

Except that night he woke with a start to the sound of screaming. It wasn’t upstairs’ baby, and it wasn’t the couple downstairs threatening to kill each other. This sounded terrified, sounded serious, and though he contemplated it for a long moment, when push came to shove Harvey knew he could never live with the knowledge he had simply closed his eyes and rolled over.

It was coming from Jim’s apartment, had him hoping he wasn’t going to have to break the door down, and he was just resigning himself to the inevitable when Jim finally pulled the thing open.

He looked awful, hair dishevelled and wild eyed, sweat visible across his brow and slip sliding down his collar bone. He was in his underwear, into the bargain, and Harvey couldn’t help but let his gaze linger, even as he herded the man back inside and away from the judging eyes of the neighbors who were gathering to discover the cause of the commotion.

“I had a nightmare,” Jim said, like he was convincing himself as much as Harvey, and Harvey looked around at the dismal lack of decoration.

Personalization, even.

There were no pictures or photographs. No clutter or knick knacks. Nothing but the furniture and a single cup on the drainer by the sink, and when he glanced through to the bedroom it was to see more of the same.

“You doing okay?” He repeated quietly, thinking of their earlier encounter in the elevator, and Jim just fixed those pretty blue eyes on him and forced himself to lie that he was fine.

That it wouldn’t happen again.

“If you ever want to talk to anyone,” Harvey heard himself saying, though the last thing he needed was to take on another bird with a broken wing, and then lay awake for long hours thinking about the scars he had seen on Jim’s arms and legs and the military indoctrinated neatness of the place.

That might have been the end of it. He wasn’t looking for a project, and Jim wasn’t ready to reach out to anyone. But then he answered a call out to deal with gunfire at the city library, and found Jim with his hands over his head under the check-in desk, right in the middle of a panic attack.

He offered to get the man home. Chose his own apartment over Jim’s, and stuck his ancient television set on and ordered in take-out, rather than have Jim stiltedly confirm things which were already obvious. He had spoken to the librarian in charge. Knew all about the veteran’s employment scheme they were involved with, and already had firsthand experience with Jim’s struggle to rehabilitate.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to eat that,” Jim said in lieu of apologizing for the inconvenience, looking genuinely concerned for his continued welfare, while Harvey told him simply there was evidenced correlation between flavor and a poor public health rating and set about demolishing both their portions.

Jim fell asleep on his sofa. Looked so sweet and so peaceful that Harvey draped a blanket over him, and when Alvarez asked him crassly if he had gotten lucky he realized the memory of the sight had painted a stupid smile across his face.

It had been a long time since he had had anything much to smile about. Longer still since he had contemplated setting himself up for rejection. He dragged a comb through his hair and pretended to want to check a couple of paperbacks out, all the same, just so he could act as though he didn’t know Jim’s shift was about to finish and suggest that they go grab some dinner.

Jim was better company than he had expected. Was funny in a dry, subtle kind of way, and laughed at his jokes and his stories like he genuinely enjoyed them. Grew more outspoken and opinionated with every hour they hung out together, until Harvey could see glimpses of the guy Jim must have been before almost getting blown to pieces with the rest of his section.

He made the mistake of saying so once, lulled by food and drink and Jim’s proximity. Jim tensed up and went silent. Avoided him for the next few days, like he had right at the very beginning, and finally told him bluntly that he didn’t know if he would ever again be the man whose goal in life was to be the perfect son and the perfect soldier.

That he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

Harvey kissed him for the first time then. Lost himself to the determined tilt of Jim’s jaw and the fire in his big blue eyes, and prayed to God he wasn’t making yet another catastrophic mistake as he gently pressed their lips together.

Jim kissed him back.

Tried to follow when Harvey pulled back a little, and blinked at him dazedly when Harvey confessed that he had been wanting to do that since the first moment he had seen him out in the hallway with his backpack.

“I couldn’t have done that before,” Jim told him, earnest, and it was only later that it occurred to him that he had been talking about ever, not the last few months they had spent getting to know each other.

Because Jim wasn’t kidding about the quest to be perfect. To push for top grades, and the best track scores. To volunteer in the community and to appear, at least on paper, as though he had everything. To sacrifice everything he truly wanted in the quest of being good enough, like friendship, and happiness, and admitting that he was never going to make it up the aisle with a woman, no matter how suitable.

It still took him longer than it should have to understand what Jim was really telling him. To work through the jokes and the stubbornness, and to look past his own reaction to Jim’s body and his handsome features.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim told him in response, defensive, “I’m not asking you for special treatment.”

Harvey swallowed back the frustration. The urge to knock some sense into Jim’s skull and make him see that he wasn’t in any way complaining about the discovery. Told Jim he was an idiot, just the same, and pulled out his good bottle of whiskey on the promise that if Jim talked about what he had done and what he wanted to do, Harvey would return the favor.

Jim flushed up attractively. Rewarded him for all the extra effort he had been putting in at work, at caring a damn for what the badge represented, by alluding vaguely to clumsy kisses and an almost blow job that got interrupted back in basic training, then looking up at him through his lashes and confessing that he wanted to try again.

There was nothing Harvey wanted more, not in that moment, but the ringing of his cell was followed by hammering at his door, and he had to go out into the night to save the city while Jim took care of his own problems.

At least that was what Harvey supposed he would be doing, under the cover of the blankets and the darkness, and that was how he knew he had it bad. How he knew that he would never be the same again. Because when the bullet hit and he faced down bleeding out on the filthy sidewalk, dying for the job just the way he had always feared, it wasn’t regret that he had never shared a bed with Jim that preoccupied him.

It was that he had never told the man he loved him.

He did, he really did, and when he woke up to find Jim’s eyes bright with tears, hand clenching tight to his own, he was almost too afraid to believe that Jim could genuinely return the sentiment.

“You can do so much better,” he told Jim, the prospect of more lean times ahead as he relied on sick pay and fought against the hold of the painkillers, but Jim only answered seriously that he was beyond through with perfect.

“You trying to say I’m not?” Harvey demanded, mock outraged, and Jim just proved how far he had come by shrugging easily and saying that for a guy who thought that pushing the button for the elevator counted as a workout he was doing better than he ought to be.

The reality was that it did feel like a workout, his entire body aching as he leaned against Jim a little for support, and that night they simply slept together beneath the covers, Jim’s body heat more effective than all the many and varied meds he was supposed to be taking.

It was a special kind of torture by the end of the week. He wanted to do it properly. Wanted to take Jim apart, slowly and steadily, and somehow convince him to be glad he had waited for an over the hill police detective.

Jim was so enticing though. Kissed him, and touched him, and told him in a breathy whine that he was absolutely sick of waiting. Brought home a pile of x-rated literature from his shift at the library, and read it aloud with a too innocent smile on his face.

Got him worked up and wanting, until he had to pluck the book from Jim’s fingers and show it none of the respect Jim insisted it demanded. Had to kiss Jim deeply, one hand finding his jaw and his ear, and maybe it wasn’t going to be as special as Jim deserved.

It wouldn’t be adventurous, or agile, or even particularly energetic.

He would do his best to make it what Jim wanted though, which seemed to involve nothing more than the two of them wrapped around each other.

It wasn’t the first time he had stroked Jim, nor the first time he had kissed over the quivering muscles of his stomach. It was the first time he had guided Jim into the waiting heat of his mouth, and the frantic sound Jim made - the sounds he kept making - were enough to convince him that he would be happy if it was all he ever did for the rest of his existence.

Jim was so responsive, so obviously overwhelmed by the sensation. So eager that it was all over in a matter of moments, Harvey continuing to suck him until he simply couldn’t bear the stimulation any longer.

He switched to his hand then. Kept it light and teasing to let Jim get his breath back. Couldn’t quite help himself, so loved the breathy helplessness of Jim’s reactions, and before he knew it Jim was hard and aching once more, leaking precome over his fingers even as he kissed him desperately.

“What should I do?” Jim asked, so perfect laid out beside him, for all that Jim would protest the description. “How do you want me?”

The question made him shiver. The implications had him pulsing, throbbing with how badly he wanted everything. He forced himself to simply kiss Jim, soft and slow and tender, and tell him that they could do whatever he wanted. Jim was the one with the catching up to do.

Jim bit at his lip for a moment. Hesitated as he debated whether or not he could ask for it.

“Anything,” Harvey reassured, fingers playing at the nape of Jim’s neck, and they met each other half way with Jim’s stilted attempt at expressing himself and his own fevered search through the drawer of his bedside cabinet.

He handed over the bottle without trepidation. Trusted Jim to apply himself with the same dedication he showed everything, then helped him along with rasping words of encouragement, guiding Jim’s fingers to the place he most needed them.

“There,” he ground out, pushing into Jim’s touch wantonly, “that’s it, Jim, right there.”

Jim watched him intently. Was a fast study, a regular genius, and licked at the head of his dick when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, so that his back arched like a bow and he had to beg Jim to take pity on him.

To shift closer, to get into position, and he rolled the condom down Jim’s dick in firm, even strokes, kissing away Jim’s fears before laying back down again.

He ran his palms down Jim’s arms. Over his back and his shoulders. Clenched his eyes shut for a moment, breathing heavily, then the flare of pain was gone and all he could concentrate on was how good it felt.

The pressure of Jim’s dick and the anguished ecstasy on his face. The sucking kisses Jim delivered to his leg, hitching it up in place, and the broken sound of his name on Jim’s lips, warning that he didn’t know how much longer he could last for.

He encouraged Jim to go for it. To thrust a little harder and a little deeper. Clenched down around him, just because he could, and brought himself off with frantic movements of his own hand, pushed beyond reason by Jim’s trembling attempt to explain how desperately close he was.

They lay tangled together afterwards, sated and comfortable, so that Harvey toyed with the ridge of Jim’s ear and told him it was a good job he didn’t have a prude of a neighbor, what with all the noise they had been making. The moaning and the groaning and the rhythmic banging of the headboard.

“You might have one soon,” Jim said in turn, freezing Harvey’s insides up with fear for a moment at the thought of Jim moving away and leaving him.

Making him grin a few seconds later, the real explanation dawning.

“What happened to being asked to move in?” Harvey asked, tone making it clear that he didn’t mind the turnaround at all.

Jim pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, grateful, and smiled happily up at him,

“I told you already - I’m done with waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	288. Chapter 288

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up Meme - #46 'Blind Date' and #53 'Mutual Pining'._

Now the moment had arrived Harvey wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

He had agonized over it all week. Had told Harper in the beginning that he didn’t think he was the kind of guy her friend was looking for. He wasn’t the kind of guy anyone was looking for.

What did he have to offer? He didn’t have any money, and he sure as hell didn’t have a high flying career or a nice house. Good looks, even, or an attractive personality.

He was overweight and over the hill, and so desperately in love with Jim Gordon sometimes it was physically painful.

“It’s just a date,” Harper countered, complete with eyeroll, “it’s not like you’ve got to get married.”

“Might do you good,” Alvarez said when he went back to his desk, having been eavesdropping as usual, “you never used to be this miserable.”

He never used to be a heartbroken wreck but, hey, things changed.

Jim told him that he was going to be busy that weekend himself. Was a little evasive as he said it, avoided making eye contact, and Harvey knew then that he had only ever been kidding himself. Jim had probably convinced himself he was half in love with her already.

So he went out and bought a new shirt. Pressed his nice suit and busted out his good aftershave.

Spent way too long getting ready, staring at himself in the mirror and wondering what the hell he had been thinking.

Whether it was too late to ring Harper and cancel.

He tried, even, but the call went through to voicemail. The poor guy would be sat there thinking they had been stood up. Would be, technically speaking, and imagining himself in their place was enough to force him to turn up at the bar.

To stand outside for a few moments, working up the guts to go through with it. He was fifteen minutes late already. It was now or never.

He headed straight for the bar. Glanced about as he was getting served, searching for a man with a newspaper and a single carnation. That last was Harper’s input, obviously, and he decided that he was going to kill her Monday morning because he was going to have to walk around and peer more closely at the tables and their occupants.

Was probably too late anyway, had squandered his chance not to be such a luckless loser, just for a single evening.

Except he could sense a presence behind him. Downed the rest of his whiskey and turned to face the music.

Gaped helplessly at the sight of Jim, gaze taking in his bashful smile, and his newspaper, and the single carnation pushed through his buttonhole.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Jim said, eyes saying everything the simple words didn’t, and Harvey floundered for a few seconds longer until he could fall back on his usual bluster.

Until he was sat across from Jim in an actual real life restaurant, losing himself a little in Jim’s pretty blue gaze.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Jim told him of the subterfuge, fingers fidgeting against the tabletop, “I’m no good at any of this, you know that.”

Harvey couldn’t help himself. Had to take the risk and reach out for Jim’s hand, thrilling inwardly when Jim let him, apparently unconcerned that they were in public. He just gave him a hint of a smile, enough for Harvey to squeeze it before letting go.

“From where I’m sitting you’re doing just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	289. Chapter 289

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up Meme #5 'Bar/Restaurant AU' and #45 'Chocolate of Romance'._
> 
> I went with Harvey as a bartender on one of his many brief interludes - who knows what idiocy Jim has been pulling off at the GCPD this time? - and est. relationship.

For somebody who had been with some high calibre women, Jim was lacking in the most basic of dating etiquette. No flowers, no chocolates, not even a courtesy compliment.

He might not be Sofia Falcone, a woman whose name got knees trembling all across the old East district, and so he didn’t have a patch on Leslie Thompkins, selfless - or so she claimed - re-distributor of wealth. He wasn’t some two-bit whore Jim had picked up to give him a helping hand either, so he wasn’t going to get out of putting some effort in.

End of story.

Jim laughed when he laid his cards on the table. Frowned when Harvey kept his gaze firm and steady.

“I didn’t think,” Jim started finally, no doubt gearing up to some dumbfounded statement about how their long association was supposed to free him from societal expectations.

“You never do,” Harvey countered with a shrug, “so if we’re done here I’ve got customers waiting to be served.”

He even managed to do it. Turned his back on Jim and poured drinks and, though the urge to accept anything Jim was willing to give him clawed at his insides, he stayed strong and refused to give into it.

They had been here before. Jim had claimed his friendship was everything to him, had claimed that their partnership was what got him out of bed in the morning. And then he had let it all fall to ruin in a moment.

Jim had hurt him in ways nobody else had ever come close to. Had left him feeling broken and useless, torn apart from the inside out, and this time he was determined not to let Jim trample all over him.

“You really don’t want me to stay?” Jim asked when the bar was quiet once more, blue eyes wide with a mixture of incredulity and something else that really could be anything from genuine emotional hurt to indigestion.

Of course he did, it went without saying. Perhaps he hadn’t literally crawled across hot coals for Jim but he had done just about everything but. He was crazy about Jim.

He loved him.

That was why they had to lay some ground rules now, because every passing day made it more difficult to view the situation with any kind of objectivity.

“It’s the presumption, Jim. You swing by my place of work and tell me that I’m in luck because I’m stuck with you until daybreak. That ain’t the way to treat a fella.”

Jim’s face fell further.

“That was a joke. I didn’t mean that you had to -”

Harvey cut him off again, sighing as he wiped his hands off on his apron. Couldn’t help the way his tone went soft and fond, a little done in by Jim’s anxious expression.

“I know, you putz. What I’m saying is that today, maybe, I expected something better.”

Jim wasn’t even paying for his own damn drinks as he waited for Harvey’s shift to be over, so it stood to reason that the comment went way over his pretty head as he gazed downcast at the counter for a moment and murmured an apology.

There was nothing for it but to accept, graciously as he could, and save the self-recrimination for afterwards.

What he hadn’t counted on was being the one to underestimate Jim Gordon.

To judge him and find him wanting, even before he had all of the facts in front of him.

Because when his shift did finish, when Jim slid down off his bar stool and asked if he was ready to get going, it was to find himself staring stupefied around the apartment they had been sharing.

“I didn’t forget, Harv,” Jim said quietly, a smug half smile playing across his features, “if I didn’t love you so much I could be kind of insulted.”

It was the same joking tone from earlier, and it was obvious now what he had struggled to place earlier. Jim was pleased with himself. Couldn’t keep it out of his voice or off of his face, and though Harvey had never quite mastered the delicate art of being wrong, in this instance he was more than willing to hold his hands up and admit to it.

There was a card, and flowers, and what looked like a box of pastries from the bakery he liked so much.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he said, just to complete the turnaround, and Jim countered easily with,

“Yeah, I did. Happy Birthday.”

He had to clear his throat. Blink back tears under the guise of reading the equally sappy birthday card. Was so obviously on the brink of some emotional blow out, regardless, that he only squeezed Jim’s hand gratefully when he stepped forward and laced their fingers together.

“There’s only one thing you missed,” Harvey said then, rather than sniffle all over Jim’s work shirt, “there isn’t any chocolate.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jim grinned, looking positively gleeful, and tugged at his hand until he followed Jim through to the bedroom. “You know I like to run a clean department,” Jim said, almost straight faced as he held up a little jar of chocolate paint he certainly hadn’t found at the bakery, “so I’m expecting you to make a thorough job of it.”

Harvey took the jar from him, along with the helpful little paintbrush, and pulled Jim in close for a kiss. Thought about how good Jim was going to look, spread out across their sheets as his living canvas. How good he was going to sound, _taste_ , when he set about making him presentable again.

It was enough to make him beam in response, more than ready to get started,

“Trust me, Jim, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	290. Chapter 290

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I enlisted a couple of Diamond Select action figures to demonstrate the scale on my new 1/12 and 1/6 scale miniatures from [miniatureVictoriya](https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/miniatureVictoriya) on etsy... Definitely some of the more unusual pieces I own! :)

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	291. Chapter 291

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I just came across an awesome pic of Donal Logue/Harv on a motorcycle, so... Anything involving him on a steel horse, maybe Jim clinging to his back and loving the smell of his leathers, and later the boy scout gets bent over the handlebars??_
> 
> (Also did you see [sinningia's drawing](https://sinningia.deviantart.com/art/HarveyxJim-digital-graphic-tablet-730602812) on this theme? :D)

Harvey had always been way too good at coaxing the truth out of him. The deep, dark, embarrassing truths he kept hidden away - the thoughts, and the feelings, and the things that stretched right back to the kid he had been in grade school, lonely and hurting and in desperate need of validation.

He didn’t even have to work that hard at it. Just bought him a few drinks, slung an arm around his shoulder, and almost before he knew it Jim was slurring out secrets about the lonely hours he had spent trying to be the perfect son, and the guy he had had a desperate crush on anyway.

“I bet he was a pillar of the community,” Harvey teased, “a total goody two shoes.”

Jim slouched down further into the padded seats of the booth and shook his head. Chris had been a bad boy. Cut classes and smoked cigarettes under the bleachers. Hated him on principle, of course, and rode to school on a real life motorcycle.

“As opposed to a pretend one?” Harvey laughed, amused enough to press a friendly kiss to his temple, and Jim could only smile at him dumbly and attempt to organize inside his own head all the reasons why Chris Berring had been so endlessly appealing.

He had been handsome, naturally, but that was only one aspect of it. He had been cool, and popular, and didn’t spend every second of every day striving to be a stranger his parents could be proud of. Was needlessly throwing away his potential, all the same, and Jim had spent many an afternoon in math class daydreaming about being the reason Chris found a happy medium.

Hugged the feelings close to his chest through sentimental love songs and terrible romance movies, lost to the fantasy of taming his own wayward rebel.

That was what he had been searching for ever since, he supposed. He wanted somebody who acted tough but was soft on the inside. What he found instead were people who played at being soft, at needing his protection, only to reveal that they were all teeth beneath the surface.

Else they were exactly what they seemed - cold and heartless through and through, willing to watch him die and then carry right on with business afterwards.

“Don’t keep me in suspense then,” Harvey urged finally, “did you ever get to ride pillion?”

Jim laughed at that, startled, and when the mirth drained away admitted quietly that he had stared too hard for too long, and his mother had been so horrified at the sight of his black eye she had barred him from going to his senior prom in punishment.

It was a miserable memory, most of them were, and he was so grateful for the hand Harvey tousled in his hair that he had to hide the overflow of emotion by draining the remnants of his drink. So happy for the company, for the friendship and the acceptance, that he ended up with his head on Harvey’s shoulder, drunk and warm and comfortable.

Harvey saw he made it home safely. Unlaced his shoes and got him to drink a glass of water. Kissed him on the forehead before he left, Jim was almost certain, and then looked about as bad as Jim felt the following morning at the precinct, groaning as his phone started ringing.

In the relative privacy of his office Jim scrubbed his hands over his face. Spaced out over his paperwork, and came to with a jolt of realization to find he had been sat there for a quarter hour doing nothing but thinking about his partner.

About how much he wished that when he had woken up that morning, it was to find Harvey in bed next to him.

It was the only way it would happen, he thought sometimes. He was too awkward to simply tell Harvey what he wanted, and Harvey would likely need to be drunk before he would be willing to consider it. If it just happened, on the other hand, they would have no choice but to try and deal with it, and Jim could put all his effort into convincing Harvey that they might as well continue with what they’d started.

Somehow, along the way, Harvey might even come to be glad of it.

He clung to those thoughts when Harvey bid him goodnight at the end of shift. Disappeared like they didn’t have a standing engagement to spend every evening doing something together, be it drinking in the nearest dive bar to eating takeout off their laps on Harvey’s sofa, and left him to stare at the walls of his empty apartment and wallow in self pity.

To sulk, and fret, and panic that he had said something or done something to convince Harvey that he no longer wanted to spend time with him.

That didn’t bear contemplating. Was such an awful concept that he was short and snappish with everyone. Stalled when Harvey asked to speak to him, mind racing to find some kind of explanation, and then he was standing in the locker room, more than a little dumbfounded.

“I’ve got a friend who owed me a favor,” Harvey said, pulling spare gear out of his locker, “so put this on and let’s get going.”

It was so far from what he had been expecting that it took a moment to catch up with it. Another to pull the jacket on, the first twinge of excitement fluttering in his stomach, and follow Harvey out to the precinct parking lot.

Once they were in front of the bike, that was when the worry set in. When he couldn’t help but think about traffic collision statistics and how very little protection there would be should something go wrong.

“I worked highway patrol for nearly eighteen months, you don’t need to look so terrified.”

Jim offered up a smile, albeit strained at the edges. Took the proffered light crash helmet and fought back the confused swirl of want and repression and fear as Harvey mounted the bike and motioned his head for him to follow.

This wasn’t the kind of bike the motor units went out on though. Wasn’t as big and wasn’t as bulky, and when he lifted his feet to the foot rests he clung to the underside of the seat, not at all enamored of the lack of control and the shift to his center of balance. Then Harvey kickstarted the thing into motion and suddenly he was clutching tight to the other man’s middle, fingers clawed in a death grip.

He put his life in Harvey’s hands every single day. Let him drive him around in his rustbucket of a Diplomat, and relied on Harvey’s reflexes to save him from sticky situations. His trigger finger and his negotiation skills, and his willingness to risk his own safety for Jim’s in the first place. It rarely felt quite as immediate as this though. Didn’t lurch through his stomach and cloud all of his senses.

Then again, perhaps that was just Harvey in general, because when they made it the first couple of blocks without incident, he began to calm down enough to register how close he was pressed up against him. The thrum of the engine and the heat of Harvey’s back. The smell of the leather, and the welcoming broadness of his shoulders.

“Sorry,” he offered at the next intersection, attempting to ease up his hold and sit back a little, but Harvey just grabbed hold of one arm and gently put it back into position.

Told him that holding on was all part of the experience, and then they were off again and he wasn’t so comfortable with the movement that he could go against Harvey’s wishes.

When they made it past the city limits he pressed his cheek against the leather. Loosened his hold from limpet to hug, and let his eyes fall closed, dreaming up a world in which Harvey not only knew what the vibration and the closeness were doing to him, but actively welcomed it.

Wasn’t going to judge him for this when they got to whatever it was they were going, and would offer him a helping hand to deal with his ever growing problem.

And it was growing. Had him shifting forward slightly, helpless, the flush creeping across his cheeks and down the back of his neck, and the need pooling low in the pit of his stomach, making him ache with how badly he wanted the man in front of him. Back in high school he would have been nervous and pious and virginal.

Now he wouldn’t care a damn where they were if only Harvey would touch him.

When they did come to a stop the sky was streaked with pink. There was nothing to see but trees and grass, and Harvey unclipping his crash helmet and shaking his hair out like something out of one of his daydreams. Telling him something about how you got to learn all the best places, being on the road all day, and suddenly Jim couldn’t take it any longer.

He had to press their lips together.

Harvey had barely managed to get the center stand in place. Was pushed back against the side of the motorcycle a little, with the force of Jim’s enthusiasm, and then he was giving just as good as he got, one hand on his ass as he pulled him in closer.

Jim put his arms around Harvey’s neck. Kissed with blind, frantic need, hips grinding forward into Harvey without any conscious input. Latched on to the skin of Harvey’s throat when the man pulled back enough to get some real air in, sucking kisses up to Harvey’s ear, so that he let out a breathy moan and shook with what the sensation was doing to him.

That was reason enough to keep at it. He loved the sounds Harvey was making. Adored the way Harvey was clutching at him, hands stroking down the planes of his back and pushing the jacket from his shoulders so he could get them up and under his work shirt.

They kissed again, something raw and desperate about the action, and then Harvey was panting raggedly in his ear and telling him that he had to stop, or else he would never calm down enough to get them back to central Gotham again.

“I want you so bad,” Harvey groaned, hands still directing the rocking motions he was making into Harvey’s thigh, “I could feel you behind me. All I wanted to do was turn the damn bike around so I could take you home and fuck you.”

The words sent a throbbing pulse of lust through him. Had him pushing his nose into the crook of Harvey’s neck, breathing in the scent of heat and leather, and rasping out,

“I can’t wait that long.”

It was impulsive, stupid, all the things he knew he shouldn’t be. He wanted it though, so badly he was trembling, and it made fresh waves of heat wash over him to know that Harvey wanted it too. Was gazing at him like he was scarcely in control of himself.

Jim put his hand on Harvey’s chest. Blinked at the sight of it against the black leather of Harvey’s jacket. Trailed it down, watching the movement, until his fingers were feathering along the outline of Harvey’s erection.

Until Harvey’s gaze went kind of unfocused, dark and wanting, and then Jim was the one pinned up against the side of the motorcycle, Harvey’s talented fingers pulling at buttons and fastenings. Harvey pressed their foreheads together, their breath mingling even as Harvey looked down and watched as he freed Jim’s dick from his pants. As he spat into his palm, lewd and nasty, and then stroked him so expertly it made his toes curl.

“You like that?” Harvey whispered, and when Jim jerked his hips forward, helpless, Harvey sounded wrecked as he went on, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

The endearment sounded frighteningly good on Harvey’s lips. Had him croaking out an ineloquent ‘more’, and watching in disbelieving excitement as Harvey sank to his knees, palms reverent as they moved over his thighs and his abdomen. As they held his hips in place, Harvey giving him a smile as he looked up at him through his lashes.

Then Harvey’s mouth was on him, hot and wet and mind blowing, and all Jim could do was tangle one hand in Harvey’s hair and cling to the seat of the bike for support with the other.

It was obscene, almost, the sight of his dick disappearing between Harvey’s kiss swollen lips. The spit slick fingers Harvey traced up his inner thigh and over his balls. Further, even, so that his legs were trembling and his breath was punching out of him in unsteady bursts, frantic sounds spilling out of him when Harvey abandoned his dick to suck one of his balls into his mouth, the very tip of a finger pressing into him.

Harvey directed him to turn around and brace his elbows on the padded seat. Fended off the chill of the air with the stroking heat of his palms, and brushed kisses up the back of one thigh and over his ass cheek.

Spouted ridiculous filth about how pretty the view was, and what a lucky guy he was, and then licked at him so perfectly he felt it everywhere. It was too much even as it wasn’t enough. It made his dick ache and drip, and his scalp tingle.

“That’s it,” Harvey encouraged when he couldn’t help but push back into it, demanding, and suddenly there was nothing but Harvey’s fingers, and Harvey’s tongue, and he could scarcely stay upright, enslaved to the onslaught of sensation.

He didn’t know what to do when Harvey pulled away, distantly registering Harvey’s cursing about his knees as though through a thick haze. Watched, lost, as Harvey mounted the motorcycle, only getting with the program when Harvey guided him to do likewise, this time in front of him.

Harvey kissed his neck and his shoulders. Had him shivering, over responsive, and attempting to twist around enough to kiss him.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Harvey soothed, meaning his reaction, or his balance, or any number of other things, hands guiding at his hips as the blunt edge of his cock nudged against him.

He didn’t know if it was going to work. It had been too long and Harvey was pushing past average. But then there was a thumb pressing just so at the head of his dick, and a steady stream of sweet nothings pouring into his ear about how good he looked, and how long Harvey had wanted this. How hot he sounded, and how this was just a warm up for what he was going to do to him once he got him laid out across his bed sheets.

That last was what did it, the promise of this not being a one time diversion, and then he was moaning at the heavy pressure. The unforgiving stretch and the feeling of being filled he had almost forgotten.

He shifted experimentally. Lifted himself up, and pushed down, settled into a slow grind as they both took a few moments to become accustomed to it. Harvey told him that he felt amazing. That his ass looked spectacular. That he loved him, like it was something that had always been obvious, and then there was nothing to be done but cling to the handlebars for dear life, Harvey finding the right spot and pounding into it mercilessly.

“Harvey,” was the best he could manage, the whole experience building and building so that he had no words to explain it. Not the knot of emotion in his chest, or the straining tension in his limbs. He simply needed, that was all he really knew, and he had to rest his head against his forearm, neck strained and teeth gritted tight as he wrapped a hand around himself.

Behind him Harvey was panting out encouragement. Telling him to do it, to lose himself to it, and then he was shaking apart, hot spurts of come covering his fingers, even as Harvey cursed and groaned and scarcely managed to pull back enough to paint heated stripes across his lower back.

He fell back into Harvey’s embrace afterwards. Didn’t spare a thought for the mess or the fact the sky was now dark, preferring to concentrate on the satisfying ache in his limbs and the feel of Harvey’s arms wrapped around him. The scruffy kiss Harvey pressed to his temple, so like the one that had accompanied the original conversation, and the heady sense of contentment.

“You are a bad influence on me,” Harvey groused, lips nuzzling at his ear, “I gotta look Gary in the eye when I return his bike tomorrow.”

Jim let his head rest against Harvey’s shoulder, enjoying the attention. Smiled happily and said that any friend of his surely knew the score.

Harvey protested at that, for all that Jim could feel the answering smile spread across his face, “I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble for just anyone. I wasn’t even expecting anything more than having you pressed up close for a while.”

He shifted then. Worked a hand around the back of Harvey’s head and tugged him into a kiss.

“Are we going back to my place or yours?” He asked when they broke apart, the chill of the night air making itself known, and Harvey’s were careful and tender even as he played the part of being completely cool and calm and collected.

“Yours. You’re going to make me dinner before I blow the top off your pretty head all over again.”

“This how it’s going to be now?” Jim questioned, finally moving and making an effort to dress himself. “What happened to romance?”

He was only joking, teasing, and they both knew it. Did it pretty much all day, every day, but Harvey still wrapped arms around his waist and pulled him close for a moment. Kissed him sweetly and was solemn as he sought reassurance with,

“You do know that I love you?”

Jim knew. Felt the warmth of it everywhere.

Pressed a kiss to his cheek, just because he could, and fought to keep his tone casual in response,

“Good, because I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	292. Chapter 292

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to [Chapter 286](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/34142577) \- Harvey's going to marry Lucius, but Jim can't let go...
> 
> I was talking about this with Jaguaryu so I had to roughly write it up. :)

Jim kept staring at him.

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, he would have given his right arm to be the focus of Jim’s undivided attention. Now it just felt unnerving. Had him fretting about the new suit he had poured himself into, and the way he had scraped his hair back from his forehead.

Lucius had told him once that he didn’t need to hide behind it.

“What?” He asked finally, unable to take the scrutiny, “If it looks terrible just tell me and be done with it.”

Jim blinked at that, his long lashes batting against his cheek, and Harvey wondered not for the first time if this had been a wise decision. Jim was his best friend, there was nobody he would rather have had standing beside him right now. Jim had the ability to make him feel like he was on top of the world. Like he could do anything, stand up to anyone, and hold his head up high while doing it.

He could also bring him down so low he didn’t know how to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Jim had hurt him in ways no beating ever had. Had broken his heart in two, gone on to shatter it into a thousand pieces, and though he was over Jim - though he had found somebody to help him move on - the memory of it still haunted him.

If Jim could be so good and so kind in some aspects, and so cruel and so heartless in others, who was to say that one day Lucius might not prove to be the same?

“You look amazing,” was what Jim actually said. Croaked, really, and Harvey watched in fascinated horror as a sheen of moisture filled Jim’s gaze, turning the blue of his eyes a couple of shades darker. “Lucius is a lucky guy.”

That hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. Jim had got him to the venue on time and had the ring in his pocket. Had been sensible, and organized, and everything a best man ought to be. He wasn’t good at talking though. Had asked him awkwardly over a drink if he knew what he was doing, if he was sure it was what he wanted, but when Harvey had given assurances Jim had only nodded simply and ended the conversation.

Had stared morosely into the bottom of his glass, mind presumably stuck on his own failed engagements, and Harvey had launched into a slightly exaggerated tale about the time they lost Tuttle on a stag do.

It didn’t matter how much time and healing he lived through, he could never bear to see Jim miserable.

That was why he knew things would work with Lucius. What they had was equal. Mutual. He had loved Jim with an intensity that wasn’t healthy. An obsessive heat that could only ever be destined to burn out. This time it was different.

This time it would really go the distance.

Except Jim was swallowing noisily, was so visibly on the verge of tears, and though there was a flash of irritation that Jim would make his big day all about himself, the bigger part of his thoughts were tied up in worrying about Jim’s wellbeing. In stepping in close enough to fold Jim into a hug, Jim clinging back instinctively, and murmuring something about how it was only a matter of time until Jim found the right person.

“I found them,” Jim rasped, hold tightening, and Harvey thought of the lovely Dr. Thompkins.

Of the dark hatred that had twisted him up inside over the years, the jealousy clawing at him until he could scarcely breathe for it. Until he woke in a cold sweat from dreams of choking the life out of her, out of control like some kind of animal, and he wondered if Jim would still love her so if he knew the half truths Harvey had forced himself to tell on her behalf.

If Jim knew the things she had said to him even before the virus, back when he was locked up in Blackgate dreaming desperately of the life she had represented.

“It gets better,” Harvey started, speaking from experience. “One day you’ll think of Lee and -”

Jim choked out a sob. Pulled back enough to look at him, eyes damp and lashes glistening, and then Jim’s lips were on his and for a moment he was too stunned to do anything.

He was about to get married. Was literally minutes away from pledging forever to the man he loved.

Instead of a last minute pep talk he was stood in a side room wrapped around his best man.

“What the fuck was that?” He demanded, pushing Jim back, heart hammering double time in his chest. Whatever it was it couldn’t be happening. Not here.

Not now.

Jim stood his ground. Had the same air about him Harvey recognized from endless idiot missions to save the city single handedly. The look that said there was something he had to do and nothing and no-one could prevent him doing it.

“I wasn’t talking about Lee. I can’t let you do this.”

“You can’t let me do this?” Harvey echoed, disbelieving. Went from shocked to something he didn’t know how to describe. Masked it with anger, hot and livid, and jabbed a finger at Jim’s chest, “You don’t get a say in what I do. It’s my wedding day, Jim, there’s nothing to talk about.”

He made to leave. Stepped to the side only for Jim to move with him. Tried to push his way through only for Jim to use all his weight as an obstacle.

To put hands on his shoulders, immovable, and beg him to listen.

“I love you,” Jim told him, the three little words he had spent years physically aching to hear, “please, Harvey, you have to believe me.”

He did believe him, that was the worst of it. Some way, somehow, Jim had made all his dreams come true - only after Harvey had ruthlessly shot them down in flames. Only after long painful months excising Jim from his heart as best he could, and a slow careful courtship with him fighting to be certain he meant it when he told Lucius that he wasn’t still hung up on Jim Gordon.

This was something he hadn’t counted on. Something he never could have imagined, not even in his most unlikely fantasies.

“Don’t do this,” Jim begged again, eyes huge in his pale face, “Harvey, please. He can’t love you the way I do.”

It was laughable, almost. Had something approaching laughter bubbling in his throat. Perhaps it was hysteria. Because the registrar was rapping against the door to ask if he was ready, and Jim was stood there with tears on his face telling him that he had loved him for years.

That he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t confess it to him.

“Is there a problem?” The registrar asked, sticking her primly coiffured head around the door, and Harvey didn’t know why he was so surprised that the happiest day of his life had devolved into a nightmare.

Jim tended to have that effect on him.

“Harvey?” Jim tried again, and he was as right as he had always been.

He couldn’t do this.

Couldn’t deal with any of it, couldn’t make sense of what he was supposed to do, and then he was out in the main room, eyes meeting those of the guy who wanted to make him happy, watching as the smile fell from his face.

Watching as it all slipped through his fingers, his family staring on aghast as he pushed towards the door, his hand unsteady as he held it over his mouth. He felt sick. Felt like everything was spiraling out of control, no amount of contingency planning able to salvage the situation, and it wasn’t until he was standing out on the rooftop of the building that he fully realized the ridiculousness of the things he had been thinking.

The blank empty headedness he had been seeking.

That was how it had been under Tetch’s hypnosis. He had known what was happening, had known he was standing on the precipice. He just hadn’t cared.

Had felt so free it was terrifying.

Now he simply pulled his tie from his collar. Threw it out to the wind, watching it flutter away into the distance. It seemed important.

Symbolic.

Something to focus on later as he ruminated over and over again on how much of a bastard he was. How he could have hurt the man he professed to love so badly.

Perhaps he and Jim really did have things in common.

He drank until it stopped hurting. Cried until it felt like he was dying.

Opened his apartment door to find Lucius standing there, face a little swollen but firmly in control of himself. Harvey wished he would punch him. Wanted him to scream and to shout. To throw things and call him all the names under the sun.

“We could have been happy,” Lucius said, a plain statement of fact, “but you would always have been wondering. You were never really over him.”

“You deserve better,” Harvey managed, wishing again for oblivion. Wishing he could explain what he meant by that. Lucius deserved certainty. Deserved the kind of passionate love he had been convincing himself was false and dangerous. The kind of love that blocked out all other considerations - what was right, and sane, and proper - and left you broken and alone in your own bed when you should have been leaving on honeymoon.

Lucius blinked back emotion, nodding sensibly. Clenched his fingers in tight then unfurled them carefully, refusing to give in to tears or the urge to fidget.

Sorry wasn’t enough. Would never come close to it.

He said it anyway, heart twisting into knots as Lucius swiped quickly at his eyes, and they parted with the knowledge that they truly could have been happy.

They could have spent the rest of their lives together, content and satisfied with the life they built for themselves.

Jim turned up in the early hours of the morning, bruises purpling along his jawline and blood staining his crisp white shirt. It frightened Harvey how deeply he wished, just for a moment, that he had been the one to put it there.

“I had a run in with -” Jim started by way of explanation and Harvey held up a hand to stop him.

Told him to get out, that he wasn’t ready, and then slid down the wall once Jim shut the door, fist in his mouth to stifle a fresh wave of anguish.

Work was an exercise in awkward. A truly special kind of torture.

The rumor mill was in full swing, most of them veering wide of the mark, and when the truth finally out Harvey could only long for the days when everyone believed that Lucius had jilted him at the altar.

That was how it should have been. Something he could have dealt with. This was something else entirely, something that had him unable to look at his own reflection. Made him hate himself worse than anything Leslie Thompkins had ever inspired, falling into fitful dreams at night about her laughing at the mess he had made of it all.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself,” Lucius told him two months in, as though the wounds weren’t still raw and bloody, “we’re all adults here.”

It was more than he could stand. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

Had him fucking up spectacularly, kissing the man desperately, both of them clutching at each other.

Hating himself still more intently in the aftermath, and the sad smile he was given in response to his flustered apology that he shouldn’t have done that weakened him so much that he gave in when Jim turned up on his doorstep that evening like clockwork.

“You were the reason I got out of bed in the mornings,” he said to Jim, sloshing too much whiskey into a couple of tumblers, “you were everything I ever wanted.”

“I haven’t changed,” Jim said, insistent, and Harvey huffed a bit off laugh.

“I know you haven’t. It’s all about you, just the same as it always was.”

He had spent years putting Jim first. Thought of him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Had ached and wanted and waited, just for some sign Jim gave a damn about their friendship, and then when he was ready to rebuild his life Jim had to wade in and ruin it.

“I know I’m not as clever as him,” was what Jim went with, quiet but clear, “I know I’ll never be as good a person. But if you didn’t feel something for me we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If he was what you really wanted I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Why do you always do this to me?” He asked rhetorically, the pain of it flaring bright, “What am I going to do when it falls apart?”

Because it would, inevitably, and the answer was that he’d never get over it. He could have had something safe and secure and steady, and instead he had thrown it away on something that had always been destined to kill him.

Jim dropped to his knees. Wrapped his arms about him, cheek resting against his middle. Spoke shakily, a real make or break moment,

“I can’t make you promises. I can’t make you believe in them. But if you give me a chance I’ll try my hardest. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”

It was so earnest it was almost embarrassing. So sincerely perfect that he never wanted to leave that moment.

“I’m afraid to let myself love you,” he admitted, in turn, but his fingers found Jim’s hair, petting, and Jim pressed a kiss into the fabric of his shirtfront.

Looked so ridiculous clinging to him like that there was nothing Harvey could do but meet him halfway. Pull him onto the couch with him, fingertips learning the contours of his face, telling him in broken whispers that they couldn’t continue on the way they had been.

That Jim needed to talk to him.

Traded secrets and confessions, and felt his defenses fall away, no match for Jim’s simple presence.

“Let me stay,” Jim pleaded eventually, the first streaks of dawn already visible beyond his windows.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

The only answer Jim gave him was the perfect press of his lips.

It was the answer he had always been waiting for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	293. Chapter 293

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _I'd like to see Jim desperate for Harvey attention and consideration while Harvey is just confused._
> 
> Harvey plays at being confused...

Jim thought that he was being subtle. Kept shifting closer, ever so slightly, one hand casually - so very casually - coming to rest atop his thigh. From there his thumb began stroking. A trial run, first, that he might be able to explain away as a twitchy involuntary movement, and then more focused, the movement sending little sparks of want through him.

Not that Jim needed to know that.

If Jim wanted some action he could try asking.

With words.

So Harvey slouched back into the cushions a little more comfortably and pretended not to notice the attention Jim was lavishing on him. Played dumb to just how close those fingers were skirting, and when Jim inched so far along the couch he was practically in his lap, Harvey just wrapped an arm around his shoulders and went back to watching television.

There was some pointless documentary droning on, Jim believing that the TV was supposed to be a tool for educational enrichment, but Harvey didn’t mind. It suited his purposes. He acted fascinated as the presenter went behind the scenes at the city’s biggest bottling plant, and answered Jim’s exasperated whine of ‘Harvey’ with,

“I know, we should pay it a visit some time.”

Jim gave it up for a couple of minutes. Stared unseeingly at the screen, the flush every bit as visible on his face as his frustration.

Harvey bit back a smile. Asked Jim innocently if there was anything wrong.

Accepted the shake of Jim’s head as if that was the end of the matter and waited to find out what Jim would do.

By the next commercial break he had his answer, Jim reaching up to lace their fingers together. Turning his head to brush his lips against his hand, his wrist, the flesh of his inner forearm. It was ticklish. Insistent. Enough to make him squirm in his seat, the feather light touches building into something that had him wanting more sensation.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” was what he said aloud, “it’s like you’re trying to tell me something.”

Jim looked him full in the face at that. Picked up on the game he was playing, expression shifting from confusion to determination. Harvey had learned to be wary of that look, to recognize that it meant business, and suddenly it was all he could to keep his eyes open and focused because Jim was touching him with serious intent.

Tracing his fingertips over his shirtfront, the barely there contact a neverending tease.

Jim put his lips to the side of his neck. Slowly worked his way up to his ear, breathing hot and heavy into it before nibbling at his ear lobe. It was one of his weak spots, something Jim knew all too well, and Harvey rasped out a line about there being leftovers in the kitchen, if Jim were that hungry.

It did nothing to dissuade him. Still less to make the pretence any easier to maintain, especially not when Jim told him that he was good - but asked if he had any problems he needed a helping hand with.

“No,” Harvey managed, sounding strained to his own ears, as Jim’s fingers hovered above his straining erection.

“Really?”

His leg twitched when Jim finally touched him, light and fleeting, the smirk on his pretty face every bit as incapacitating as his fingers.

“I’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Jim took that as permission to keep going. To tease and torment and torture, until the stupid documentary was over and Harvey was shivering, helpless, feeling undone and over-sensitized.

“Sure you don’t need anything?” Jim asked, knuckles grazing against his zipper, and Harvey wondered when the tables had turned quite so completely.

Why he had ever thought he could hold out where Jim was concerned anyway.

“It looks like you’ve got a problem of your own,” he said finally, loving the way Jim’s lashes fluttered when he reached out for further exploration, and maybe the exercise hadn’t been as futile as he imagined.

Maybe Jim was in just as deep as he was.

Because Jim clashed their lips together in response. Kissed him hungrily, desperately, and when Harvey stroked a touch harder, Jim begged raggedly in his ear for him to ditch the TV and go to bed early.

To press him down into the mattress and make love to him.

Harvey hauled Jim in close, not caring that the kiss he refused to break made it at least twice as difficult to stand and get moving, intent on making up for lost time.

It was the first time Jim had ever asked, outright and simple.

The least he could do was reward him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	294. Chapter 294

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been asked a few times to do Jim's POV of [Talking Point](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9489929) \- so, here it is, combined with this ask from Tumblr: _I'm surprised no one's given a prompt for a better way things could have turned out in season 4? Like, instead of Jim getting with Sofia and underhandedly taking the Commissioner position, instead he gets together with Harvey and actually earns the job honestly, maybe when Harvey decides to retire and hand the position to him and they live happily ever after_.

The Tetch Virus had been a wake up call. Not the red haze itself, perhaps, but the things that had happened to him as a result of its influence. Staring up at the lid of his own coffin, powerless to do anything but listen to the crack in Harvey’s voice as he tried to promise him that everything was going to be okay.

Being pulled back from the very brink of madness by the undeserved faith in Harvey’s eyes and the touch of his hand.

Having Harvey coddle him afterwards, ignoring the burning ache in his own back and the vicious bruising coloring his sides. Holding him through the shivering and the muscle spasms, delayed side effects of the antidote rendering him weak and pitiful.

Harvey stroked the sweat damp hair back from his forehead. Fed him, and medicated him, and sat at his bedside as he slept even though Jim couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words and ask Harvey to stay.

He wanted to repay Harvey in some way. Needed to stop lying to himself about what Harvey meant to him. Figured he could hit two birds with one stone and made it his mission in life to spend as much time with Harvey as he possibly could.

Because Harvey was never going to return his feelings, he understood that. Harvey couldn’t have made the point any clearer. Harvey still loved him though, like a brother. He was Harvey’s best friend. The best cop he had ever worked with.

If that was all of Harvey he could get he was determined to make the most of it.

So he did his best to be Harvey’s right hand man. Worked with him to get procedural changes in place, and worked with the latest bunch of rookie transfers to ensure they understood the kind of standards now expected.

Flushed up with pride when Harvey praised him for it, so happy that he couldn’t help but push for more, issuing invitations for drinks and dinner, only for Harvey to tell him regretfully that he had too much paperwork. That he had to report to the Commissioner, or was due to attend yet another union meeting.

Harvey looked sick of it, run down and exhausted, and rather than give up Jim simply suggested that he crash at his apartment instead and let Jim look after him.

He didn’t phrase it that way, obviously, but it was what he was thinking when he swung by the grocery store to pick up provisions. What he was hoping when Harvey arrived at his door less than half hour late, sinking gratefully into the cushions of his sofa.

“Pizza will be here soon,” Jim told him, retrieving a couple of bottles from the refrigerator, and wondered how obvious it was on a scale of one to ten that he was half breathless with anticipation. He liked how Harvey’s presence filled his apartment. Loved how Harvey’s dumb jokes and fond smiles stripped away his loneliness.

Allowed himself to pet at Harvey’s hair, just for a few moments, when Harvey fell asleep beside him, and dreamed wistfully of how his life would be if this were his everyday reality. If Harvey could just grant him a chance to prove how good they could be together.

In the present all he could do was drape a blanket over his partner, and leave his bedroom door open, wide enough that he could just make out Harvey’s sleeping form in the dark of his living room.

Harvey blinked at him groggily in the morning, hair mussed and movements soft and slow with sleep. Jim wanted desperately to kiss him. Ached inside with the force of it. Fixed toast and coffee instead, and suggested too casually that they order in Chinese food that evening.

Just like that Harvey was spending every night on his couch, and the bittersweet frustration of it not being close enough aside, Jim was the happiest he had ever been. Harvey was generous with his affection. Showed absolutely no inclination to put an end to the arrangement. By the end of the month Harvey had a couple of suits hanging in his closet, and a drawer in his dresser for his underwear and his t-shirts.

Jim sniffed at one of the latter, before Harvey got in one night, and cursed himself for a lovesick fool even as the spare key he had had cut that lunchtime burned a hole in his pocket.

He waited until after dinner. Until Harvey had pressed a kiss to his cheek and complimented his cooking, and after they had sunk a couple of beers for a touch of Dutch courage.

“I just thought it would be easier,” Jim offered, downplaying the enormity of the situation, heart hammering in his chest as he waited for Harvey’s verdict. Fear clawing at his gut that he had gone entirely too far.

If Harvey pulled away from him now he didn’t know how he’d cope with it.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Harvey asked simply, voice a little choked with emotion, and Jim pressed in a touch too close to the other man’s side, lacking the words to describe the warm contentment washing over him.

It was so close to being perfect - so very near to being everything he had ever wanted. He had Harvey’s love, platonic thought it might be, and he had Harvey’s company. He had Harvey’s toothbrush next to his own in the bathroom and, even when he was grousing at the man for leaving towels strewn on the bathroom floor or not putting the crockery back into the cupboard in the right order, he had the knowledge that Harvey wasn’t going to abandon him as a result of his nagging.

At least until he did, telling Jim that he needed the comfort of his own bed, so that Jim took it out on everyone around him, snapping and sniping and ringing every single spelling mistake in a report he read through and demanding that the officer responsible redo it immediately. He heard the angry complaints about him. Squared his shoulders against it and watched as the rec room fell silent at his entrance.

Felt guilty and hard done by, and slammed a dent into his locker when Harvey turned down his offer of a quiet night and a home-cooked meal.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong. Couldn’t pinpoint what he had said to drive a wedge between them. Opened his door at almost one in the morning to find Harvey fishing through his pockets for the key, relief clear on his face even as he gave a lacklustre excuse for dragging him out of his bed at that hour.

Jim didn’t care. Was so happy to see him that he could have kissed him.

Could have just kissed him, period.

He settled for watching the awkward way Harvey arranged himself on the sofa, wincing as he attempted to get comfortable. He thought about it as he lay in his own bed. Considered what he might be able to do about it. Chickened out in the morning only to catch sight of Harvey through his office window, popping pain pills and grimacing as he reached for something in his bottom desk drawer.

That made his mind up for him, galvanized him into action, and when it was his turn to update Harvey on his caseload he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, until he was stood behind him. Put his hands on Harvey’s shoulders, thrilling at the simple contact, and worked on the knotted tension he could feel, a shiver running through him at the way Harvey groaned out a hoarse sounding ‘fuck’ in response.

“I’ll do this properly,” Jim said quietly, lightheaded at the proximity and the prospect, “when you come around later.”

Harvey nodded wordlessly. Gazed at him with a look that reminded Jim of his late night fantasies. Was generally so enticing that it took everything Jim had to put a professional distance between them when Alvarez and McKenna stuck their heads around the door, and not to threaten the pair of them with a formal complaint when he heard them taking odds later that afternoon, on the likelihood of he and Harvey ever making it into bed together.

Jim knew he wasn’t popular with his colleagues. Understood that it was something of a precinct bonding exercise, making fun of his perfectionism and how pathetically in love he was with his partner. That didn’t mean he had to like it any, and he found himself gripping too tight at his pen and dreaming of the impossible day when he put them all in their place and had Harvey to come home to every evening into the bargain.

He would be Captain in his own right one day, that was how life played out in his daydreams. He would have a photograph of Harvey on his desk, along with a smiling kid or two. A wedding band on his ring finger, and a guaranteed date for all the dumb galas and social occasions he would be expected to show his face at if he wanted to climb the career ladder up to Commissioner.

That was all in the future though, and for now he decided he would be more than happy to make do with having Harvey half naked, spread out across his mattress.

It wasn’t going to mean anything, that was what he kept telling himself. This was nothing more than an act of friendship. He was beyond excited, all the same, and changed all his bedding and vacuumed before getting in the shower, hands straying as he thought about how good Harvey’s skin was going to feel, under his fingertips.

His hair was still damp when Harvey arrived, pulse thrumming too quick as he led Harvey through to his bedroom. It wasn’t the first time Harvey had been in there - the man had played sick nurse for him on more than one occasion. This was the first time Jim had been able to really enjoy it though.

This was definitely the first time Harvey had started stripping out of his clothing as he got to watch on and admire the view. He wanted to chart the freckles dotted over Harvey’s skin. He swallowed thickly, mind caught up in the fantasy of sinking to his knees and worshipping every inch of him.

“This okay?” Harvey asked when he was down to just his trousers, dragging him back to the impossible reality of what was actually happening, and Jim nodded dumbly, directing him to lie down atop the duvet.

Jim took his time about it. Savored the heat of Harvey’s skin and the breathy moans that slipped past his lips. Worked his thumbs in deep circles, and stroked his palms down the length of Harvey’s back. Lingered at the waistband of his pants, and had to focus on calming his own breathing, his body reacting helplessly to the temptation.

Even when Harvey’s breathing evened out in sleep Jim didn’t withdraw completely. Shifted only to get a blanket and then debated with himself before laying down beside Harvey. Traced his fingers over the side of Harvey’s face, and pushed soft strands of hair back behind his ear. Took the opportunity to be able to stare openly at Harvey’s features, relaxed for once in sleep, and finally drifted off himself, lulled by the warmth and the sense of safety the closeness gave him.

In the morning Harvey stretched and shifted and smiled back at him, and Jim couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he made breakfast. He liked the domesticity of it. Was already thinking up ways he might get to repeat the experience. Was distracted by the memory of Harvey’s breath on his cheek, and ended up backed into a corner by a wild eyed kid with a knife, uncertain if his call for back up had even gone through, let alone an estimated arrival time.

Harvey was the one to find him. Wrested the knife from the kid’s hand and cuffed his hands behind his back. Knelt down at his side, helping him press down on the wound and slow the blood loss, and rode with him to the hospital leaving their arrest in the care of Alvarez. Helped him home afterwards in the pouring rain of a freezing Gotham winter, arm around his shoulders as he encouraged him to lean his weight against him.

Jim wasn’t too proud to take him up on it. Was pleased for the excuse, truth be told, the pain in his side radiating under the haze of the painkillers - the same haze that had his head spinning.

It hurt to get up the stairs of his apartment building. His fingers were clumsy as he tugged at his tie and tried to undo his shirt buttons. Harvey reached out and did it for him. Helped him into a clean, dry t-shirt, and towel dried his hair for him. Turned down the sheets and got him into bed, and didn’t laugh in his face when Jim couldn’t stop himself from asking, aiming for light hearted,

“Just stay. You don’t even snore badly.”

“I shouldn’t,” Harvey said, indecision writ clear on his face.

Jim shouldn’t push, he knew that. He should think about what was best for Harvey, rather than endlessly on and on about what he wanted. He was selfish though. Head over heels in love with the man in front of him. He could have died that day if help hadn’t come, and all he could do was look at Harvey beseechingly and whisper,

“Please. I promise I won’t try anything.”

That was the crux of the issue. The elephant in the room that they never spoke about. Jim wanted more than Harvey could give, it was no secret. He wanted Harvey in his bed and in his arms. To be with him, always, and when Harvey came to a decision and clambered in next to him, Jim was so relieved he was almost shaking with it.

Maybe there was hope.

Perhaps one day Harvey would be willing to take a real chance on him.

He had a nightmare that night, just the same, mind stuck back in a warzone. Lost in memories of people he couldn’t save, situations he couldn’t salvage, until he jolted awake to find his head pillowed on Harvey’s chest, Harvey’s arms wrapped tight around him. It was enough to soothe him back to sleep. To give him happy, hopeful dreams, all sweet kisses and cozy winter nights spent wound around each other.

In the morning not even the pain from the stab wound could dampen his spirits. He felt rested, optimistic, and when Harvey chose scrambling eggs in the kitchen over freaking out, Jim dared to press a playful kiss to his cheek as a thank you for it.

They would need to take things slow. Snail paced. He couldn’t keep his big mouth shut when they met up for lunch at Donny’s, in spite of all his best intentions, and asked Harvey as casually as he could if he was planning to stay at his apartment again that night.

“Do you want me to?” Harvey asked in turn, every bit as carefully lowkey as the initial question, and when Jim nodded, movement too sharp and too eager, Harvey just grinned at him and said, “All right then. But this time you’re making breakfast.”

Jim could live with that. Was in such a good mood even Alvarez commented on it, and that afternoon the news that Penguin’s crime licenses had spread to the docks area was like water off a duck’s back.

In that moment nothing could have brought him down.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t hard - in all senses of the word. He loved Harvey, and his interest didn’t end at Harvey’s ability to wisecrack or his soft heartedness. Harvey was hot. Broad and bearded, and smelled so good it was a never ending struggle to keep his hand out of his pants. He had to work off his frustration at the precinct gym instead, or else in the privacy of the shower, hips bucking forward into his fist as he bit at his lip and closed his eyes, imagining it was Harvey’s calloused palm working him to orgasm.

He just needed to be patient. He needed to convince Harvey that they could do this without ruining their friendship. Without it fucking up their careers, or Harvey’s relationship with his family.

His own was a dead loss, long had been, and he cheered himself up after his mother refused to take his call to wish her a happy birthday by shelling out for Harvey’s favorite donuts, then glancing up from his desk as often as he could get away with to watch Harvey eat them.

It was distracting. Had him shifting in his seat, awkward, because Harvey was licking his fingers clean and Jim could scarcely think for how badly he wanted to get in on that action.

Harvey made it up to him by buying him candy bars from the vending machine in the rec room. Fixed his coffee the way he liked it, and let his hand rest on his shoulder, thumb stroking softly at the nape of his neck as they talked over cases, or decided what to have for dinner.

Jim still wrestled with how to make the next move. They were practically living together already. He was falling asleep in Harvey’s arms every night, chaste but cherished, and waking up to the sight of their belongings mingled together.

The tipping point was realizing the dire state of Harvey’s finances. They had argued again over Penguin’s crime licenses. Over the Commissioner’s directive to abide by them, and the blind eye he knew Harvey was turning to the officers accepting Oswald’s hush money. Jim had suspicions about a number of them. Was all but certain on a handful.

“They got bills to pay and kids to feed,” Harvey yelled at him in turn, the stress making his shoulders stiff, “what am I supposed to say to them?”

Jim stormed out to cool down. Wished that he had a better control over his temper. Regretted the things he had snapped once the fire started to dissipate, and began thinking about Harvey’s arguments and the look on his face every time they called by Harvey’s apartment to pick up his mail.

“All I’m saying,” Harvey sighed later that evening, when Jim brought the topic again much more calmly, “is that I understand how hard it is to refuse the extra money.”

It wasn’t that Jim was snooping. He wasn’t looking to infringe on Harvey’s privacy. The demand notices were simply lying around, they had spoken before about Harvey’s troubles with meeting his outgoings, and it wasn’t a major surprise to learn that Harvey was in debt up to the eyeballs.

What it did do was make the answer obvious. It proved to him that the status quo was becoming untenable.

“We might as well move in together,” he blurted one morning in the car, too afraid to look at Harvey as he said it, “it makes no sense for both of us to keep paying rent when we only use one place. We could get a two bedroom apartment and it would still be cheaper.”

That way they could keep up appearances. In time, maybe, that spare room could serve as a nursery.

“Don’t you think it might cramp your style? What you gonna do when you want to bring some girl home?”

Jim smirked at that, used to Harvey’s sense of humor, and dug right back with,

“Well, at least you recognize you’re not going to have that problem.”

Harvey didn’t even dignify it with a response. Knew exactly what Jim thought of his chances of pulling anybody he wanted, Jim was sure, and when Harvey told him he was eating lunch with some of the senior brass, he channeled his jealousy into something useful and sifted through local ads for suitable apartments.

This was only one lunch break. The pay off might be forever under the same roof as Harvey.

Because when it came to his career he had always been a high flyer. He wanted to reach the top and be the best. To lead rather than simply follow. But at home, in his personal life, all he had ever really wanted was to love someone and have them love him in return.

Somebody who could withstand his mess of a psyche, his inherent toxicity, and not end up plotting to murder him. Harvey had already given him so much on that front, more than he could ever hope to deserve, and as he searched for the perfect apartment he let himself daydream for a few moments of the kind of future he had almost despaired of even being possible.

“I just found a place that’s right next door to a pizza joint,” was how he greeted Harvey when the day was done, joking to hide his anxiety, “that has to be fate talking, right?”

Harvey jostled his shoulder, smiled fondly at his enthusiasm, and told him he trusted his judgement to find some place worth living in. Jim took that to heart. Did his research, narrowed down their options, and got Harvey to agree to a full day of viewings.

Prepared his questions and priced up removal services. Kept a close eye on the realtor - a busty redhead of the type Harvey had always been liable to go ga-ga over - and made sure she knew exactly what the score was.

There was no way he was going to let it all fall to ruin at the final hurdle.

They still had three places left to look at when he made his mind up. It was the right size and the right location. The building had a working elevator, and Harvey seemed real comfortable, making banter and playing up to the old married couple vibe Jim was working on.

It was the one, Jim had no doubts, and when they went out for a drink to celebrate Harvey put an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the temple. Pressed another to his cheek, right in front of everyone, and Jim didn’t need anything harder than water.

He was already punch drunk on happiness.

The next morning Harvey groaned and asked him rhetorically why he had drank so much, and why the resulting hangover had to be so debilitating.

“You’re a masochist,” Jim told him bluntly, “anyone agreeing to move in with me has to be.”

Harvey patted heavily at his arm, reassuring, and Jim just smirked up at the ceiling because the truth was that Harvey’s suffering was a good sign. It meant that Harvey wasn’t perpetually drunk, that his efforts to get him to drink less were taking effect, and Jim was already plotting out ways to keep up the good work once they were settled in the new apartment.

They had to get in there first, that was the next challenge, and the instant he deemed Harvey was recovered enough he had them both packing and labeling, refusing to let up until they had most of Harvey’s stuff boxed up in readiness.

By the end of the week the job was done, everything put away and hung up neatly, and Harvey was clearly so exhausted he shut the door of his room and fell asleep before they even had chance to talk about sleeping arrangements.

Jim determined not to disturb him. It had been a long week, a really long week, because all the evidence was pointing to some kind of crazy fear toxin doing the rounds, and Penguin was being every bit as insufferable as usual. Harvey deserved a good night’s sleep. It wouldn’t be fair to go and wake him up simply because he felt lonely.

So he twisted and turned in his empty bed. Counted sheep and pushed away stupid childish fears of the things that might be lurking in the shadows. Gave it up as a bad job, finally, and tentatively pushed the door of Harvey’s room open, hoping that if he was very quiet he might be able to slip into bed without even waking Harvey up.

He had no such luck, naturally, and Harvey propped himself up on his elbows and squinted into the light coming from the hallway. Jim crossed the room guiltily. Sat on the edge of the bed and whispered,

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Harvey slumped back against his pillows and groped for his hand. Patted at it heavily and said bluntly,

“You’re such a putz. No, I’m not mad at you.”

Jim let out a sigh of relief. Felt suddenly tired, the tension leeching from is shoulders, and set about clambering into bed beside Harvey. Squirmed in closer, getting comfortable, and went out like a light almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He woke up before Harvey in the morning. Watched him sleep for a while, fingers tender where they touched his cheek, then went and made pancakes for the two of them, thrilling at the freedom to act out a scene he had been imagining for months now. They were both off, there was no imminent crisis, and when Harvey raked a hand through his dishevelled hair and blinked at him groggily, Jim beamed and said,

“Can we just stay in bed today? It is Sunday.”

To Jim’s mind this was total decadence, lounging about in bed and not even bothering to put his clothes on. They were both clad in nothing but undershirts and boxer shorts, and after he read the newspaper from cover to cover Jim lay back down to take a nap, loving the way his bare leg brushed up against Harvey’s.

He dreamed that Harvey was touching him. Of being spooned in close one night, Harvey’s front pressed to his back, and Harvey’s hand starting innocently draped across his chest and slowly working its way down his torso. Teasing as his erection throbbed for attention, fingertips feathering up the length of his thigh until he was so desperately turned on he had to beg for it.

It took a long moment to separate fantasy from reality when he woke up. His cock was aching, wanting, and it was only willpower that had him in a position to get up and pretend that he wasn’t wishing he could drop to his knees and have Harvey use his mouth. He imagined the sounds Harvey would make. The feverish lust that would coil in his stomach. Instead they ate dinner and went for separate showers. He changed the bedding, needing some kind of distraction from thinking about Harvey dripping wet and slippery with soap suds, then found themselves cuddled up under the sheets once more, the perfect end to a perfect day.

Almost perfect, anyway. He should have taken care of himself in the shower. Should have taken advantage of the privacy when he had the chance. Because one day, he was increasingly certain, Harvey would be ready to take things to the next level. He would get to kiss, and touch, and see the look on Harvey’s face as he came apart.

They weren’t there yet though, and there was nothing he could do but accept that.

He couldn’t quit thinking about it. Couldn’t even think about sleep when his entire body was oversensitized with arousal. Harvey was asleep, he wouldn’t even know about this lapse in his self-control. That was how he rationalized what he was about to do, anyway, and he did his best to keep still and keep quiet, breathy little sounds escaping him when he pushed his hand under his waistband to make contact with his bare flesh.

Harvey’s cologne was thick in the air. His body heat was radiating behind him. Jim bit down harder at his lip, hips shifting slightly, head full of fantasies of Harvey reaching over and offering him a helping hand. It would be so good, so perfect, and he was positively dripping over his fingers, sweat beading at the back of his neck as he brought himself closer and closer.

He was breathing harsh and frantic, hand stroking faster and tighter. He needed to come. Needed some kind of release from the constant maddening torment, and then had to lay there trembling, catching his breath as his muscles spasmed. He fussed about with the tissues on the bedside cabinet. Could hardly keep his eyes open as the last of the pent up energy drained away from him.

Opened his eyes to the sound of early morning traffic and the feel of Harvey’s arm wrapped around him, snuggling backwards slightly to simply enjoy it for a moment.

He had to move eventually. Forced himself up and out of the warm cocoon of blankets, but only succeeded in smiling at Harvey gormlessly across the breakfast table. Everything was working out, the future was looking bright, and when he reached his desk he eyed up the rumpled suit Alvarez was wearing and felt the usual surge of bitterness about the way the man took his wife and his kids and his happy home for granted.

“You made it through the first night then,” Alvarez commented, “I hear the night shift were expecting a 10-16.”

Jim frowned at the insinuation. Just because his ex had hired a hitman to kill him, it didn’t mean that he was the type to be the source of endless domestic disturbances.

“I’ve always liked living with someone,” Jim said haughtily, “Knowing there’s someone who cares whether you come home at night, it’s the best feeling.”

Alvarez shut up at that. Fumed silently at his desk, exactly the same way Jim would have done were their situations reversed, until the way Jim was rearranging his case folders to ensure the paperclips were in the same position on each pushed him over the edge - and off to knock on the door of Harvey’s office.

He couldn’t hear what Alvarez said when he went in, for all that he was doing his best to eavesdrop, but Harvey’s voice carried more, especially as the door was still open.

“What is this? Fucking kindergarten? Don’t come in here and start talking bullshit about Jim because you can’t deal with your guilty conscience.”

Jim smiled to himself, smug and self-satisfied. He had done nothing wrong, and if anyone deserved a dressing down it was surely Alvarez.

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot - Gordon can do no fucking wrong in your eyes, can he?” He couldn’t hear the next bit, something about a blind spot, and then Alvarez finished up with, “Anyone else pulled half the shit he does they’d be out on their ear, and you know it!”

The anger was overwhelmed by an icy kind of fear that pooled in his gut, because Harvey was doing his utmost to keep the rank and file on side. Was running himself ragged trying to improve conditions and keep up morale in the face of the Penguin’s blatant disregard for their authority. To hear that perhaps he was the chief stumbling block in that was nothing short of horrendous.

It had him hunching over his paperwork, shoulders stiff and gaze unfocused, and then the day just went from bad to worse because Harvey was dissociating himself from him, like the very idea of their being anything other than roommates was ridiculous.

Repulsive.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Gordon. You got a problem with the way I run things, fine, but you leave him out of it.”

“You must think I was born yesterday.”

They were attracting an audience now, people stalling in their work to listen in, the humiliation making the tips of Jim’s ears burn.

“Maybe you were,” Harvey spat, angry, “take a long hard look at your own life because these aren’t my problems. Gordon and I aren’t involved - I don’t go sticking it in crazy. Now get out of my damn office!”

Alvarez slammed the door behind him, muttering darkly as he stormed off in the direction of the locker room. Harvey threw all the files from his desk, paper fluttering like flakes in a snow globe.

Jim felt like he might throw up. Like he might burst into tears. Staggered unsteadily to his feet and made for the one spot in the whole building he could be almost guaranteed of not being disturbed in.

The records room was deserted, the clerk on break and his colleagues too lazy to go looking for connections in the first place. He walked with forcibly measured steps, desperately clinging to his control, then ended up sinking to sit in a darkened corner, biting down hard at his fist as he attempted to stifle his shameful sobbing.

He didn’t know what to do - couldn’t comprehend how it was ever going to feel any better. By now the whole precinct would have heard about it. Everyone he worked with, people he had no choice but to rub shoulders with day after day, they all knew what Harvey thought of him.

What any sane person would think of him, he supposed, because he was toxic.

A virus.

He had been an idiot to ever think that Harvey would be able to overlook that. Harvey could have who he wanted. Could walk away from the force tomorrow, build a life, and be happy. Jim had nothing beyond this.

His entire world was tied up in the GCPD and Harvey.

Without Harvey he had nobody. Without the department he was nothing. It was that thought which had him swiping his face clean. Hauling himself to his feet and setting his jaw with determination. He wouldn’t let his work suffer because of this.

He would prove to everyone that he was worthy of his badge.

There were leads to be chased up and reports to be made out. Interviews to be conducted and criminals to put behind bars. He worked at all of it diligently, ruthlessly focused, and then clocked off the first moment he could to go and nurse his wounds in private.

He tried drinking but it didn’t numb what he was feeling, and then he tried making dinner as though nothing at all out of the ordinary had transpired. Through the glass he was drinking from in a fit of frustration, then wept helpless tears as he dumped shards of glass into the trash, along with the food he wasn’t hungry for anyway.

Through all of it there was no sign of Harvey.

Maybe he had only ever been railroading Harvey into this. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so intent on living out his own dreams he would have seen that Harvey was trying to put distance between them. He replayed every interaction he had come to cherish, and tormented himself with the idea that Harvey had simply been humoring him.

Afraid that he was going to crack, or fall off the deep end, and was really searching for a way to extricate himself from the claws Jim had sunk into him.

Finally Jim pushed the door of Harvey’s room open. Sat listlessly on the bed, remembering how blissfully happy he had been just that morning. He couldn’t hold back the tears when they came again. Crawled under the covers and buried his face in Harvey’s pillow, breathing deeply of his scent and wishing that he was someone else.

The type of man his mother could be proud of. Who had friends and colleagues who didn’t grimace at the sight of him. The kind of man Harvey could love, that was the real crux of the issue, and by the time he heard the apartment door open there was nothing he could do but lie there and wait to face the music, hoping only that he had the strength not to beg or plead.

Barbara had told him once that it was embarrassing.

He heard Harvey making his way through the living room and the kitchen. Checking in on the room he was supposed to be in, and then finally catching him red handed, exhausted and wretched under Harvey’s bed sheets.

“I didn’t think you’d be back yet,” Jim managed, proud that at least his voice remained steady, and instead of telling him to get lost the way he did in his worst case scenarios - or apologizing the way he did in his best - Harvey sounded genuinely concerned for his welfare as he asked,

“What’s wrong? Did something happen on shift? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” Jim said too quickly, shaking his head as he made to move. Harvey obviously hadn’t expected him to be this upset over what had been said at the precinct. He couldn’t face having to explain exactly how much and why it had hurt him.

Harvey stopped him in his tracks. Sat on the bed and put a hand on his arm, reaching for the blankets like Jim was stupid enough to try and sleep off a bullet wound.

For a second time.

“Let me see, at least. You know you can’t ignore shit like this.”

Harvey sounded so worried. Looked so desperately concerned for his physical welfare. Didn’t care a damn that his heart was breaking, so that Jim heard himself snapping,

“You ever consider it possible to be upset over something that isn’t physical?”

“You ever consider that I’m not a mind reader?” Harvey shot back, less startled and more frustrated. Sucked in a breath and calmed down a little, asking more quietly, “Why don’t you just tell me what the problem is?”

Jim could scarcely swallow around the aching lump of emotion in his throat. He certainly couldn’t force the words he needed out. Harvey spoke for him,

“Alright, why don’t I tell you what my problem is?”

This was it. This was where their entire friendship fell apart.

“Yesterday my life was looking pretty fucking perfect,” Harvey said, validating his fears, “I didn’t have to be anywhere, didn’t need to do anything. Just got to sit around here with my dumbass partner and it was up there in my top ten, no, top five days ever.”

Jim risked a glance up at him, at his stupidly gorgeous eyes and his handsome features, waiting for the ‘but’ they both knew was coming.

“Then today,” Harvey shook his head, as though attempting to order his thoughts, “Today I nearly punched one of my best detectives in the face for making me realize that I’d been living in cloud cuckoo land. I can’t keep doing this, Jim. I thought I could but I can’t. I can’t lie there and listen to you get yourself off and pretend it doesn’t bother me.”

Jim bit back a sob, a harsh mess of a breath escaping him. This was all his own fault. This was the result of his lack of self-control. He pinched at the bridge of his nose in a useless attempt to stem the flow of tears. Tried to sound like he was resigned to the situation, instead failing miserably with a strained,

“I heard. You don’t stick it in crazy.”

It hurt so much worse than he thought it would, having it all finalized and pushed into the open. Watching Harvey frown at him, making absolutely no attempt to explain himself, or soften the blow any. That was really how he saw him. There had never been any hope of their building something real between them.

The anger came then, hot and bitter as the tears streaking his face, and Jim’s tone turned accusing, needing to know why Harvey had done this to him.

“If that’s what you think of me, why did you let me go on believing? Why did you agree to this? Why did you let me get my hopes up that one day you’d be okay with me wanting you?”

His voice cracked on that last, the pain of it overwhelming, and Harvey simply sputtered out a ‘what?’ and looked on as Jim angrily dashed the tears from his cheeks.

“You know how I feel. Everyone knows how I feel. And you just stood there and said that about me.”

Harvey grinned at him. Positively beamed, so that for a moment Jim felt worse than ever, but then Harvey was cupping his face in his big warm hands and saying,

“You idiot. You stupid beautiful idiot!”

Jim made to protest. Hated that he didn’t understand what was happening. Clung to Harvey instead, desperate, because suddenly Harvey was kissing him, and all Jim knew was that he never wanted the moment to come to an end. Harvey stroked his thumb along Jim’s cheekbone when he did pull away, their foreheads still pressed together, and said,

“Alvarez’ latest chick, she’s nuts, you know. I wouldn’t go there.”

He had heard the gossip. Had seen the incriminating evidence scratched into the paintwork of Alvarez’ car. Wasn’t sure what Harvey was getting at, all the same, though his heart lurched in his chest when Harvey pressed another kiss to his lips.

“But you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I first lay eyes on you.”

It was punctuated with another kiss, the brief flash of Harvey’s tongue leaving his brain scrambling to make sense of the statement. It wasn’t possible. It was too perfect.

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time you stood up to me. I’ve been killing myself trying not to touch you since the first time we shared a bed together.”

His breath caught in his throat, body sparking with excitement.

“I thought,” Jim started, lost again in the memories and the interpretations he had been berating himself for all evening, “I thought maybe you were thinking about it sometimes. I didn’t want to push you.”

“Push me?” Harvey sounded like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “See, this is why talking is good, Jim.”

Harvey reached out for him at that. Brushed his fingertips against the nape of Jim’s neck, a shiver running through him in response, and went on,

“We’re going to do lots of talking from now on. In fact, I’m never going to shut up about how much I want you.”

Jim had to kiss him. Was so eager, so frantic, with it that he ended up all but in Harvey’s lap, years of longing and frustration finally finding an outlet.

“Talking, Jim,” Harvey soothed, trying to calm him down a little. Just enough that this wouldn’t be over before it had even started. “Remember that? Tell me what you want?”

He had wanted the moon on a stick - Harvey all to himself, forever and always - and by some miracle he had been given it. He had been granted his most ardent wish, right when he had been ready to throw in the towel and accept that nobody could ever love him, and all he could do now was stare at Harvey stupidly and lose himself to the wonder of it.

Work himself up into a frenzy, aching so badly for Harvey’s hands on him, until he had to take hold of one and guide it to where he was straining for Harvey’s touch, panting out honestly,

“I just, I want you. Please, Harvey.”

Harvey took pity on him. Held him close and plundered his mouth. Stroked him to ecstasy, then kissed him down from the high, sweet and tender until he was in a state where he might actually be able to string two words together.

“Just so there is no misunderstanding, I love you, Jim. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” Jim murmured, still struggling to believe it, and clung to Harvey as he petted at his hair and scolded him lovingly with,

“Next time we’ve been dating for six months, make sure you tell me, okay?”

Jim shed a few more tears, too happy and overwrought not to, and then fell asleep wrapped in Harvey’s embrace, only half convinced he wouldn’t wake up to find himself alone in his old gray apartment.

Instead he woke up to sharp tendrils of want, registering the sensation of Harvey’s wandering fingers before realizing who they belonged to. That just ramped everything up. Had him reaching out to return the favor, not caring what time it was or where he needed to be, not when Harvey’s weight was blanketed over him and their cocks were rubbing together so perfectly, through the fabric of their boxer shorts.

He kissed Harvey passionately. Raked blunt fingernails down his back and tangled his fingers in his hair, just the way he had always wanted to do. Harvey breathed hot and heavy in his ear. Told him that he was beautiful and gorgeous, and the sounds he made were an indescribable turn on. That he loved him, that he had always loved him, and Jim came so hard he couldn’t do anything but lay there trembling for long moments.

All day it kept catching up with him, the sheer joy of it all. He had thought he was happy before, that getting to share an apartment and having somebody to come home to was the culmination of everything he had hoped for. It was nothing in comparison to this, to the way his insides turned to goo every time Harvey smiled at him, and what it meant was that he couldn’t quite blot out the voice of caution.

The one that said it was too good to be true.

Because the call came in that there had been a crisis at Arkham, and when he demanded they act on it the others looked at him like he was the one that ought to have been locked up there.

Harvey rallied the troops behind him. Told them that it was optional, that he wasn’t going to judge anyone, and warned him as the few officers willing to put their lives on the line geared up that he had better wear his kevlar and not go rushing in with heroics.

“I don’t want to lose you, Jim,” Harvey admitted, voice little more than a whisper, and Jim only gave the surrounding area a cursory glance before pressing a kiss to his lips in reassurance.

He was often reckless, it was true. Some would say he was stupid. He had something - somebody - he needed to live for now, and when he got separated from the others he clutched his gun in a death grip and tried not to think about the nightmares his stint as a guard had given him.

That was until he got hit with the fear toxin, at least, and then he wasn’t much use for anything, the world fading in and out of focus as monsters and demons reached for him from every corner of his peripheral vision.

“What can you see, Jim?” Crane mocked - yet another innocent Jim had failed - and Jim staggered from the hallway into a treatment room, dropping his gun and falling to his knees in terror. The sweat dripping in his eyes stung. The pounding of his heart was relentless. His fingers were clumsy and unresponsive, scrabbling as they pulled his own tie free of his collar, needing something to staunch the blood with.

“Hold on,” he begged, red staining his hands and pooling on the tiles beneath them, “please, Harvey, stay with me.”

He was a mess. Crying. Shaking. Didn’t register either until strong arms were pulling him into a hug, hands cradling his head as a voice told him that everything was okay. That he was safe and that everything was going to be alright.

“Harvey?” He croaked, torn between the solid living form of his partner, and the man bleeding out on the floor, his throat cut and his breath gurgling.

“It’s not real,” Harvey told him, clutching him still closer, “whatever it is you can see, I promise you it’s not real.”

It looked real, felt real, and back at the precinct he washed his hands over and over again, uncaring that the blood had only ever been an hallucination. Let Harvey take him home, and ply him with food, and press kisses into his hair as they snuggled in close in front of some movie neither of them was really watching.

Harvey didn’t push him to talk about it, so it was up to Jim to remember the hard won lessons of yesterday. To confess what it was Crane had made him see, and to say that it felt as though they were fighting a losing battle.

“This is a war,” Harvey said quietly, “not one battle.”

Jim shook his head. If it was a war they needed an army. He thought for a moment of Falcone - and all his loyal cronies.

“I’m not giving up,” Harvey promised, dragging his attention back to the present, linking their hands together, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The image of Harvey dying in his arms was seared behind his eyelids. Had him shuddering, unable to control it, because he appreciated more than ever just what he had to lose. Harvey made him so happy it was almost frightening. Left him with a weak spot so obvious it was probably visible from space.

Harvey was having none of it. Kissed him until the vision was lost to the foggy haze of longing, and told him bluntly,

“We’re a team, Jim. Partners. You want to clean this city up, yeah? That means we’re gonna do it together.”

“What do you want?” Jim asked, daring to look up and risk losing himself all over again. Harvey just smiled, wide and wicked, and leaned in to whisper huskily in his ear, effectively putting an end to his maudlin overthinking for one evening,

“All I want is for you and I to get an early night. The rest can wait until the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	295. Chapter 295

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock where ALL of Jim/Lee relationship is just in TOTAL BAD FAITH, just dark/coercive/twisted & Lee poisoning Jim's life; Harvey just figures it out sometime after Gordlock get together (maybe finding Lee's letter to Jim stuffed somewhere?), I want protective&vindictive comfort plz~!_

Another day, another dollar. Another escapee from the city’s premier lunatic asylum, and Harvey found himself down in the precinct basement, searching for any records that might prove useful. The new superintendent was being less than cooperative - par for the course, really - so he was left sneezing and gritty eyed, dust billowing everywhere as he ferreted out some clue as to their man’s whereabouts.

There wasn’t any to be found, he had never truly thought otherwise, and his grumbling stomach was just calling lunch when his gaze fell on something he really hadn’t expected.

He was still staring at the file a full half hour later, when Alvarez came down to check that he wasn’t catching a few Zs on the job.

“You find anything for the Captain?” Alvarez asked, looking as dubious on the subject as Harvey would have were their situations reversed, and Harvey lived down to expectations by shaking his head and shoving the files back in their cardboard boxes.

Secreted the one that mattered under his jacket, transferring it first to his desk drawer and then to his locker, wondering all the while what the hell he was going to do about it.

It wasn’t that he was struggling to believe it, much as he supposed he should be. He had hated Leslie Thompkins right from the very beginning. The jealousy had been all encompassing, bitter and burning, and he had long since given up trusting his judgement when it came to her.

She had wanted Jim dead and, while on occasion he could understand the sentiment, she had done the unforgivable and tried to turn the desire into reality.

The woman ought to be behind bars, that was his feeling on the subject. She wouldn’t be out of place in one of Arkham’s little padded cells, not overly.

Not at all, even, because now he had the arrest warrant and the press clippings to prove it.

Harvey worried over the discovery all day. Broached it with Jim that evening in the obliquest way possible and, rather than have it blow the theory out of the water, it only confirmed some of his suspicions because if a fruitloop like Nurse Duncan could pass herself off as a member of staff, it would scarcely be a challenge at all for Dr Thompkins.

Plain old Miss Thompkins, neither, because nobody had thought to check up on her references, or whether or not she was licensed to practice. She had been struck off the register, on account of a whole series of malpractice, and when her sister finally responded to his letter Harvey understood why Lee had been every bit as reluctant as Jim to invite family members to their wedding.

He was looking for some place to stash the letter, he and Jim’s possessions all mingled together on the shelves of their apartment, and it was as he was moving some tedious looking tomes on policing and community cohesion that he came across another letter altogether.

By rights he should have told Jim then, caught practically red handed as the younger man emerged from the bathroom, hair still wet from the shower. He shoved the evidence out of sight though, if not quite out of mind, and pressed in close to kiss Jim sweetly, neatly diverting his attention.

Jim looked half dazed when Harvey pulled away, his flushed cheeks distracting enough to drag his own attention away from Lee and the letters and everything that had happened before they had reached this current understanding.

Before he had broken down and confessed to Jim that it wasn’t dedication to duty that got him out of bed in the mornings. It wasn’t the City, or the badge, or the glory of the Department. It was Jim, pure and simple, and instead of spurning him as Harvey had always been sure he must, Jim tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him desperately.

Kissed him like he had never wanted anything more, so that Harvey could do nothing but hand over his heart and soul, and make silent pledges that he was never going to let Jim regret this decision.

Back in the present he felt the guilt of the deception keenly, even with Jim asleep in his arms. Because it had taken so much heartache to reach this moment. For Jim to trust him, unreservedly, and for them both to forgive and put the past behind them.

It wouldn’t do Jim any favors to know the truth though. Revealing it would only be a balm to his own conscience.

That was what he told himself when he tracked Lee down in The Narrows, and when Lee tapped her fingernails impatiently against the tabletop, raising an eyebrow as he played his Aces.

“What do you want?” Lee asked dismissively, “Do you expect me to apologize?”

Harvey forcibly relaxed his grip. Tried not to think about the gun in his holster, and how good it would feel to see real fear on her face. Asked her to explain why instead, because he had seen Jim driven almost to the point of no return by the things she had put him through.

He had been faced with the prospect of digging up Jim’s dead body, all because Lee wasn’t ready to let him go, but she only shrugged and smirked and said that she had needed somebody easy to manipulate.

Somebody messed up enough to think that what she was offering was real love.

Harvey thought of the disbelieving hope in Jim’s eyes every time he said the words, like it was simply more than he had deemed possible. The stoic resignation on his face every time they argued, as though a heated exchange over whose turn it was to wash the dishes was reason enough for Harvey to walk away from the best thing that had ever happened to him.

It left him with one major question - so major he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t need him anymore,” Lee told him easily, all the same, “I already won. If I clicked my fingers tomorrow, we both know he would come running.”

“You’re wrong,” Harvey told her, adamant, and wished that he truly believed it.

He glared at Ed on the way out. Felt sorry for the man, almost, with the limited sense that wasn’t busy feeling sorry for himself.

She was right, he supposed. Why wouldn’t it be? As far as Jim was concerned Lee was the one who got away, the great love of his life, and what he had now was the consolation prize. It was more than Harvey had ever hoped he would be granted, by contrast, and there was nothing to be done but make the most of it.

Treasure every moment, even the ones that were somewhat less than stellar, and try not to feel like he was simply waiting for the day that Lee’s prediction came to pass. Jim would want more eventually. Might grow sick of calm and comfortable, and want someone who could look good on his arm into the bargain.

That was what he was ruminating on when he pushed open the door of their apartment. Turning it over and over in his head, testing out ridiculous ideas like whether or not it would have been better if he and Jim had never taken things to the next level, because then perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much when Jim inevitably went looking elsewhere.

Except the big reveal moment wasn’t Jim telling him he wanted out, or even The Narrows most wanted letting him know that she had told him so. It was Jim tiring of his lackadaisical approach to housekeeping, shifting the contents of their bookcases to do some dusting.

“You weren’t going to tell me,” Jim said, a simple statement of fact, and Harvey steeled himself for accusation.

Hung his head because the last thing Jim was going to want to hear was that another person he had put his faith in had been lying to him. Manipulating him by withholding information.

“I don’t need you to protect me from anything,” Jim went on, like he didn’t have the first idea how Harvey’s mind worked. Like Harvey hadn’t been trying to protect him from the harsh realities of Gotham since the first moment they met each other. But before he could protest Jim closed the gap between them.

Clung to Harvey, breath shuddering out of him, and buried his face in his shoulder - words muffled as he forced them out, clearly overwrought, validation for every moment of suffering Harvey had undergone to reach this point.

“But thank you for trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	296. Chapter 296

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about some Gordlock roleplay involving Jim calling Harvey Detective?_

“What have we here?”

Jim spun around at the sound of his voice, startled, and Harvey didn’t even try to hide the look of smug satisfaction. He knew a guilty conscience when he saw one.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Jim said. Pleaded, almost, and Harvey did his best to harden his heart against Jim’s big blue eyes and their frame of long lashes.

He wasn’t about to fall for that trick.

Jim acted so high and mighty. Could really do with being taken down a peg or two. Being dragged through the precinct in cuffs was just the ticket.

“Look,” Jim bargained, tongue swiping nervously across dry lips, “let me walk out of here and I’ll make it worth your while. What do you say, Detective?”

It sent an unexpected jolt through him, hearing Jim call him that, and he swept his gaze over the beginnings of stubble on Jim’s jaw and his trim waist. The perfect swell of his backside and the fresh bruise marring his pretty cheekbone.

The man had been sent to tempt him.

Right from the very beginning, that first day when he had told Jim he didn’t work with anyone, all he wanted was to plunder Jim’s mouth and shut up his self-righteous complaining.

“I think you’re all talk,” was what Harvey said aloud, making a show of unclipping his cuffs from his belt, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to offer me.”

Time was he’d take just about anything. A few dollars or a packet of cigarettes, anything to avoid having to fill out forms or stray into overtime. That was then though and now Jim was going to have to come up with something more substantial.

Jim knew it too. He could tell from the tension in Jim’s shoulders and the determined set to his jaw. Jim wasn’t the type of guy to give in and accept defeat, not without one hell of a struggle.

“Go on then,” he heard himself say, voice less steady than he would have liked it to be, even as he took a step closer, “convince me.”

This was a bad idea, anyone could tell him that. They were alone in the evidence lock-up, true, but their privacy was only nominal. The night shift were working just a few doors away, any one of them only moments away from needing to check a file or wanting a sneaky cigarette.

Jim just pushed all thought of restraint from his mind, taking the cuffs from his grip and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter. Slowly sank to his knees to follow them, maintaining eye contact the whole while. It was that which ruined him. That had him pushing trembling fingers into Jim’s hair, entirely too tender as Jim pressed forward to nuzzle his cheek against the straining fabric of Harvey’s slacks.

To gaze up at him like he was drunk on it, eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed, so that Harvey had to fumble with his belt buckle, desperate to get his dick free.

“That’s it,” Harvey groaned out as the heat of Jim’s breath made contact, “before we get caught down here.”

Jim groaned at that. Gripped at the back of his thighs and tugged him closer, so eager it took Harvey’s breath away. Got him forgetting where he was, and what the point of it all was, begging instead for Jim to do that again, hips jerking forward without his say so.

“Yes,” Jim hissed around him and pulled off just long enough to tell him that he needed punishing. The sound of it made Harvey’s knees weak. Put him back on track long enough to to tug a little harder at Jim’s hair, and to tell him that he was exactly where he ought to be.

“Take it,” he instructed, finger trailing along the ridge of Jim’s ear and across his cheek. Let his mouth run off completely, lost to the way Jim worked the fly of his own slacks open and began fisting his rock hard cock. “Come on, there’s a good boy.”

Jim made a sound Harvey swore he’d remember until his dying day. Rocked back on his haunches and stared up at him with wide eyes, lips obscenely wet and swollen as he shook and shuddered and spurted over his fingers.

It was too much, too hot, and Harvey ground out a frantic sounding ‘fuck’ even as he started jacking, movements frenzied.

“Don’t stop,” Jim whispered, straining forward slightly, “Harv, please, don’t stop.”

He couldn’t have if he wanted to. If his damn life depended on it, maybe, and he was trembling with the strain of it, so close - so achingly, desperately close - and then he was coming, gasping and helpless, streaks of white across Jim’s perfect features.

Jim whined like he was coming a second time, like he couldn’t control himself, and Harvey had to haul him to his feet. Kissed him, uncaring of the mess, sucking the taste of himself from Jim’s tongue, so filthy it had his scalp tingling.

“God, I love you,” he pledged, thumb smearing stickily across Jim’s cheekbone, and Jim just smiled at him too innocently and said that they should probably think about getting cleaned up.

Their luck wouldn’t hold out indefinitely.

Harvey simply licked a broad stripe over his cheek. Beamed at the way Jim squirmed and laughed, indignant, and drew the keys from his pocket with a jangle because he was no idiot. The last thing any of their colleagues needed to walk in on was their Captain and the resident lackadaisical cynic.

“I had you all wrong,” Jim told him, soft and sated in the aftermath, content to let Harvey fix his clothing and reaffirm the reality of their relationship over the playacting. To thank him for telling him the things he thought of alone in bed at night, and for having the courage to let loose enough to act it out for him.

Harvey kissed him again. Stroked at his hair and thought about getting Jim home. About having him all to himself, relaxed and loving and absolutely everything he had ever wanted.

“You didn’t,” he admitted, knowing it was soppy and overemotional but not quite able to help himself, “that was how it was before I met you.”

“You give me too much credit,” Jim said, making use of the handkerchief Harvey offered him, and Harvey only shook his head.

Jim was as good a detective as any he had ever met.

He knew the truth of what Harvey was saying just as well as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	297. Chapter 297

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _When Jim is thrust into fatherhood when he adopts his late brother’s daughter Barbara, Harvey’s the one who’s there to help Jim through the challenges of parenthood. This results in Barbara eventually beginning to call Harvey Papa, before she even calls Jim Daddy. Perhaps that’s a sign to Jim that Harvey means more to him than simply a wonderful friend._

The elevator was out of order. It felt like a metaphor for his life.

Like the straw that was going to break the camel’s back.

Because he had been doing his best to keep it together ever since he answered the fatal phone call, and now there was nothing to do but drag his case and the baby seat up the stairs. To think about all the things he still needed to do once he got his key in the door. The flat pack crib needed to be put together and Barbara was going to want feeding.

Was screaming her displeasure already, and he realized with a sense of despair that he was going to have to go back out for more diapers and formula. That he was unlikely to have anything edible left in the refrigerator, and he had no idea what he was going to do about reporting back at the precinct in the morning.

He wanted to cry. Felt like he was about to break down entirely.

Finally got the door open to find his apartment neat and clean and tidy, and a note scrawled in Harvey’s handwriting on the coffee table, telling him he was going to drop by just as soon as his shift finished.

Jim had to press a hand to his mouth. Had to force all the emotion back down inside, blinking wetly as he fought for his composure. The crib was already up, complete with bedding and teddy bear, and there was bread and milk in the kitchen, along with baby provisions.

Barbara screamed until she made herself sick, all the same, and Jim’s hold on his self-control was brittle by the time he heard Harvey’s knock at his door, the stress and the pressure of the last few couple of weeks leaving him wrung out and exhausted.

“Come to Uncle Harvey,” Harvey beamed almost before he had a foot over the threshold, and displayed none of the reticence Jim himself had felt, picking Barbara up and cooing over her big blue eyes and bright shock of red hair.

Jim watched them together with something that stung like jealousy. Harvey would have made a great dad. Knew how to laugh and knew when to be serious. Wouldn’t be afraid to hug his kid close and, Jim felt instinctively, would be just as proud if they grew up to be a cop as if they became a rich respected lawyer.

In contrast he was a mess. He didn’t know to make connections with people. When he tried it only ever ended in heartache. In death, and destruction, and he had pledged that he was going to live the rest of his life alone, nothing but Harvey’s friendship to get him through the long lonely years ahead of him.

“It’s going to be all right,” Harvey said quietly after Barbara was tucked up in bed. After Harvey had pressed a plate of food into his hands and made him eat it, pretending not to watch him carefully.

Jim forced a smile that faltered and died before it even really started.

Roger was dead. The brother he had wanted to be even as he had wanted to beat was gone, along with his wife and the glittering future mapped out for him. Left behind was Roger’s baby daughter and there was nobody to take of her but him or the state, and Jim still wasn’t convinced that he was the better option.

“You’re not doing it alone,” Harvey went on, as though he could tell exactly what he was thinking, “we’re partners, yeah?”

Jim nodded, overwhelmed. Croaked out a whisper of a thank you and didn’t protest when Harvey pulled him into his embrace. Buried his face in Harvey’s shoulder and gripped back too tightly, clinging to his anchor in a crazy world.

“I’ve got your back, Jim,” Harvey promised.

He didn’t need to be a detective to know that Harvey really meant it.

Over the weeks that followed it was Harvey who helped him keep it together. Harvey who gave up his evenings to babysit while Jim worked late, and Harvey who spent money Jim knew full well he couldn’t afford to help ensure his own ends met.

“What else would I be spending it on?” Harvey countered when he broached the subject, “The electric company can go screw themselves, and there’s only one lady in my life these days.” Harvey directed that last at Barbara, voice changing as he stroked the backs of his fingers along her cheek, and Jim found himself smiling without conscious input.

He thought of his own father for a moment. The way he looked at his mother when she wasn’t watching, kind of sweet and soft, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. Jim had thought of that look a lot in the intervening years. Had clutched it close when his mother was telling him what a disappointment he was, certain that it wasn’t the way she really felt, not when his father had found so much to love in her.

It made him feel strange to think of that in relation to himself and Harvey. It gave him the uncomfortable certainty that he would play the role of his mother in such a scenario.

He resolved to try harder. To be more demonstrative and not rely so heavily on the childminder. To push through the constant fog of failure and be the kind of parent to Barbara he wished his own had managed to be to him.

Harvey made the going easier. Went with them to the park, and to the store, and told him barefaced lies about how well he was adapting to fatherhood.

The truth was that he couldn’t have done any of it without Harvey. Couldn’t have coped with the job, let alone the rest of it, and that was what he comforted himself with when he came to the startled realization that the sounds Barbara was making was an attempt to call Harvey ‘Papa’.

Harvey went silent when he heard it. Looked like he was blinking back tears, all cut up with emotion, and the last of Jim’s bitterness over the situation drained away. It wasn’t a sign of his being superfluous - it was a symbol of how important Harvey was to the both of them.

He was part of the family, every bit as much as the word suggested, and that night Jim dreamed strange fractured dreams about a life where he was no longer a single parent.

In the morning Harvey picked them up as usual. Dropped Barbara off at the childminder and got them to the precinct, like the man he had met all those years ago would have ever consented to turn up at work a full half hour at least before he needed to.

Jim thought about that as he sat at his desk. Prodded at the idea like a loose tooth - a touch painful and unnerving, but too great a temptation to simply ignore. It scared him a little, how far he could take the concept. How natural it felt to think of Harvey as something more than his best friend.

He explored the idea further in bed that night. Told himself it would fall away into ridiculousness at the first hurdle. Harvey wasn’t his usual type. He had never allowed himself to acknowledge the heat it sent through him sometimes, when his gaze met Harvey’s. When they sat so close their thighs pressed together.

Now he let his fingers wander. Shut his eyes and imagined how it might be, the rasp of Harvey’s beard against his cheek. Harvey’s hands stroking at his back, and Harvey’s tongue trailing wet heat across his skin. Bit back breathy sounds of want, the slide of his hand slick and easy, because it didn’t seem ridiculous at all.

It felt like something he should have consciously realized a long time ago.

He bit down hard at his lip as he came. Lay there breathless and sweating, slowly facing up to the enormity of the discovery. He wanted Harvey.

He loved Harvey.

Harvey loved him too, he knew. The problem was that Harvey’s love was that of a brother. That was what Harvey said at least, whenever they came close to broaching the topic, and so Jim held his tongue, terrified of losing everything he already shared with his partner.

If he pushed for more Harvey might be disgusted. Would perhaps claim it didn’t matter, that it hadn’t changed anything, then Jim would have no choice but to watch as the awkwardness tore them apart. Harvey might give in to his advances, maybe, and Jim would poison everything Harvey was with the toxicity of his own heart - the very same broken mess that kept him awake some nights, thinking dark ugly thoughts about how Barbara would be better off without his influence.

How it would be better for everyone if he weren’t in the picture.

In the cold light of morning things didn’t look quite so bleak. There were things to be done and places to be. A never ending stream of decisions to make and crises to diffuse. When he got home Barbara clung to him with joy, and all three of them ended up falling asleep on his sofa - his head on Harvey’s shoulder, and Barbara snuggled between them.

It was that scene Barbara told him she had drawn when he picked her up from nursery, the teacher helpfully having labeled the blobs on the paper as ‘Papa’, ‘Daddy’, and ‘Barbara’ for her. Jim sat staring at it for a long time once she was tucked up in bed.

Stuck it to the refrigerator, pride of place among the To-Do lists and the emergency telephone numbers, and thought for the first time of what Babs’ teachers must have taken to mean on those occasions he had told them it would be his partner collecting her that afternoon.

He wished that it were true. That he had something to offer Harvey, that he was worth taking a chance on, and instead he got to watch on with a sick sense of horror as Harvey flirted openly with a witness to a robbery.

Jim reacted with cool standoffishness. Snapped and sulked, and sat alone that night, maudlin and miserable as he imagined Harvey on a date, falling for someone who could never love him the way Jim would.

The way he did, painful and desperate, and the following morning he couldn’t bear the not knowing any longer, asking Harvey how his evening had gone.

Whether or not he had got lucky.

Harvey only frowned at him, confused, and Jim flushed under the scrutiny even if he was in too deep to back down.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw any action,” Harvey joked, for all that it fell flat, and Jim couldn’t quite hide the relief he felt.

Agonized over his own bad behavior - his jealousy and his selfishness - and invited Harvey to dinner as a means of assuaging his guilty consciousness, as though Harvey didn’t eat with them most every evening.

Harvey agreed, just the same, and Jim watched as he faltered while snagging a couple of cold beers, brought up short by Barbara’s picture. Barbara rushed to tell him about it, pointing out the details of the messy streaks of color, and Jim felt the pang of longing it inspired like something physical.

Smiled nervously at Harvey, helpless as Babs babbled onwards, and over dinner their gaze kept meeting, Jim thrilling at the heavy tension even as he feared it.

They were going to have to talk about it. Let Barbara stay up a little late, as procrastination, and then resigned himself to the inevitable. Sat and waited, fingers twitching with the urge to fidget.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Jim offered when the silence stretched, needing the worst of it to be over, and Harvey simply looked at him consideringly for a long moment before asking him what he wanted it to mean.

Pushed a hand through his hair, now almost brushing his shoulders, and tried to sound lighthearted as he asked Jim if this was his way of saying he didn’t want people thinking he was anyone’s toyboy.

“I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” Jim said, sounding less nervous than he felt, and forced himself to maintain eye contact.

To not chicken out of being honest with man in front of him.

He sucked in a deep breath. Swiped his tongue over too dry lips and managed,

“Not if you don’t mind being called a cradle snatcher.”

Harvey laughed at that, startled but genuine, and for the first time Jim’s sense of hope overwhelmed the fear. They were best friends. He had seen Harvey at his worst - Harvey had seen him at absolute rock bottom. They had fought, and argued, and only loved each other more in the aftermath. Harvey was the stability he had spent his whole life looking for.

He had the kind of easygoing approach to life that challenged Jim not to lose sight of the bigger picture.

To live for himself as well as for others.

It was that last thought which had him putting his hand on Harvey’s knee. Had him leaning forward, heart racing in his chest as Harvey closed the gap between them. Kissed him, soft and sweet and perfect, so that Jim had to press closer still and turn it hot and frantic.

Had them both panting and breathless, foreheads braced together as they grinned stupidly at each other.

“Stay tonight?” Jim asked, voice husky with want, and allowed himself to hope that Harvey’s emphatic yes would extend to the next night, and the next, and every night thereafter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	298. Chapter 298

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: Gordlock + fairy tale.

Had he lived in a fairy tale Harvey would have seen his circumstances as an opportunity. He would have spent his working days gazing up at a distant ivory tower, dreaming of the captive princess within and how one day he would sweep in on his well earned noble steed and win both her heart and her safety.

In the real world he stole food in the streets and undertook whatever errand was on offer, no matter how base or demeaning. Gave up on his schooling, the situation hopeless, and lied about his age to be taken on for manual labourer, in the hope of easing the burden on his mother’s shoulders.

She had been born to better things. To drawing rooms, and servants, and fine silk dresses. Then she had made the mistake of being taken in by a cad with a silver tongue and a roving eye, and Harvey could do nothing but weep at the sound of the death rattle in her chest, her voice broken and weak as she apologized for leaving him with nothing beyond the pennies in the care of the burial club.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Harvey pledged, and pressed a kiss to the frail hand clasped within his own. Watched, helpless, as the spark of life drained away from the beloved countenance, and slowly came to terms with being alone in the world.

For, in point of fact, there were relatives who could have done a great deal for their kin had they mind to.

An uncle in business who thought that as his nephew was healthy in body he ought to have no difficulty in working for his crust of bread, and an uncle in the law who assuaged his conscience with the idea that his nephew had as much right to redress as any other man.

There had been a third brother who took up the mantle of the church, even, and this pillar of Christian charity justified his inaction with the inarguable truth that there were many others still worse off in the world and, so, beyond a card of condolence his association with his flesh and blood ceased to trouble him.

Harvey had never expected otherwise. Was too steeped in the harsher realities of life to hope for more than his own hard graft could get him.

That was a roof over his head and food in his belly, if he were very lucky, and if after collapsing onto his thin mattress he lay awake dreaming of things that could never be rather than falling immediately into the embrace of Morpheus, it was nobody’s business but his own.

Because he was no catch, had nothing to offer, and nobody was more surprised than him when his poor penmanship and his clumsy footwork was deemed no barrier to his wearing the uniform, first in the slums and the rookeries, and later along leafy suburban streets with wrought iron railings and starched aproned nannies pushing perambulators.

It was enough to make long suppressed fantasies of hearth and home come to the forefront. He exchanged gossip with matronly cooks and tipped his hat to fresh faced parlour maids. Calmed the fears of the three Misses Cotherstone - the youngest not a day less than sixty - and did his best to avoid the wrath of the dragon in widow’s reeds at number 14.

Mrs Gordon was suspicious of everyone and everything, and had no compunctions about reporting infringements - real or perceived - to the relevant authorities.

That was what had happened to his predecessor, why he was ordered to maintain a respectful distance, and then all his good intentions fell by the wayside because his beat was taking him past her door just as he spied the most beautiful face he had ever laid eyes upon.

He looked for it every day afterwards, gaze drawn unerringly to the upstairs window, and soaked up every and any scrap of information he could about the stranger. Learned that Jim was another youngest son, was recuperating from an illness that had almost seen him off, and when their paths finally crossed during an early evening constitutional Harvey lost his heart as sure as any fool confronted with a fairy prince in a children’s story.

Jim looked almost ethereal in the fading light, blue eyes huge in the pallor of his handsome face. Harvey stammered out a few words of greeting, watched Jim’s labored gait - and heard Mrs Gordon’s admonishments for overexerting himself.

He thought of Jim more often than not. The wistful look on his face as he stared through the security bars installed on the windows, and the longing in his tone when he spoke of wanting to be once more useful. Harvey dreamed of saving him from the enforced confinement. Dredged up simple childhood fantasies of knights and towers, and told himself sternly that they had just as much chance of coming to pass.

Endeavored to bury his ridiculous hopes and his dreams down deep, and then lead the response to a hue and cry of murder, Miss Cotherstone the Elder fainting clean away when Mr. Stimpson who specialized in keeping himself to himself was found dead in his favorite armchair.

The Gordon residence was situated exactly opposite, its upstairs window overlooking any and all visitors, and though Mrs Gordon rankled at the suggestion of any member of her household concerning theirself unduly with the coming and goings of strangers, she had no choice but to grant him an audience with Jim to ask him questions.

To enlist help Jim was only too glad to offer, the two of them spending every spare moment in each others’ company, meticulously closing the net around a killer the detective force openly admitted to having little hope of ever catching.

Jim grinned at him when the thing was done, the drama and the danger putting a flush of color in his cheeks, and a determination in his tone that had hitherto been lacking. A certain uprightness to his stance, and a stubborn confidence that bore no argument.

Harvey scoffed at the suggestion just the same. Knew better than most what one stood to lose along with the veneer of respectability. People were quick to judge and slow to forgive. Would whisper, and gossip, and see them both ruined without a moment’s hesitation.

“You saved me,” Jim said simply, speaking of the ennui and the depression, along with the crippling loneliness, “do you think I’d do anything to put you in danger?”

The truth was that Jim was rash and reckless. Rushed in without thinking, and too often adhered to his own moral code rather than that recognized by wider society.

Found furnished rooms for two, just the same, and took leave of his mother with as little sentimentality as with which she had acknowledged his arrival. Cultivated contacts and printed up business cards. Quietly awaited his verdict, arguing reasonably and rationally that they worked well together.

That the whole scandalous proposal was really eminently sensible.

“It can’t work, Jim,” Harvey said sadly as he looked around the house Jim was convinced could be their home, “You’re living in a fairy tale.”

Jim met his gaze unflinchingly. Took his breath away with nothing more than a look.

“Then live there with me,” Jim offered, calm but adamant.

It was folly. Idiocy.

Inevitable.

“You’re going to live to regret this,” Harvey whispered, broken by the truth of it, and Jim only leaned closer to press a kiss to the skin of his cheek.

Somehow, in that moment, he couldn’t question Jim’s sincerity when he told him that he wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	299. Chapter 299

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _We have seen Harvey using sex toys in Jim, what about Jim taking care of Harvey with them? Maybe it can be something how much Harvey can last before cumming or orgasm delayed, you know the trick..._

Harvey was doing his best to concentrate, tapping out arrangements for the next day’s schedule on his cell keypad, as though his leg wasn’t twitching helplessly, his insides twisting up with lust with every skilled movement of Jim’s fingers.

He knew from experience what got Jim going. Had seen how it focused Jim’s mind, harnessed all that stubborn determination, and Harvey only continued on playing at being completely disinterested in what Jim was doing.

Brought up a mildly amusing article one of their colleagues had mentioned, holding the thing in front of his face with one hand, the other pushing his hair back out of the way as he smirked to himself at the writing.

That was like a red flag to a bull. A signal that Jim clearly wasn’t trying hard enough.

Needed to swallow him deep in a single smooth motion, the impact of it so mind blowing that he couldn’t help but yelp aloud at the stimulation.

“Is your attention wandering?” Jim asked when he pulled off, tone low and sinful, “Are you having trouble concentrating?”

“No,” Harvey lied, “I don’t know what’s given you that impression.”

Jim grinned at him, so impossibly gorgeous that Harvey had to tear his gaze away from him, and made a doubtful sound of comprehension before brushing his lips along the pale skin of his inner thigh.

“Two can play at this game, you know,” Jim warned, nose nuzzling into the heated crease of his thigh, “this is your last chance to be reasonable.”

Harvey only lay back against the pillows more comfortably. Stared fixedly at the screen of his cellphone and told Jim he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He was just getting in a little light reading before rolling over and going to sleep.

Jim nodded as he seemed to mull that over. Trailed his blunt fingernails lightly up the flesh of his side, just the way Jim knew always got his dick aching, and said that in that case he certainly wouldn’t get in the way of his plans for the evening.

It was ridiculous, really. The kind of game they were both too old to be playing. He loved to see this side of Jim though. Adored that Jim trusted him enough to be teasing and playful, and then started reading the same sentence three times over because Jim was intent on torturing his nipples into stiff peaks.

Suckled at one while he circled the other, the sensation sparking through him with wanton little gasps, the damn words becoming nonsensical when Jim scraped his teeth just so, the muscles in his leg spasming in reaction.

Jim kept at it, undeterred. Reached down to fondle at his balls, feather light but infuriating, and Harvey only managed a few more paragraphs before having to tangle a hand in Jim’s short hair and pull him into the kind of kiss they refused to show on daytime television.

His tongue slid against Jim’s, so perfect he could have cried with it, while Jim rutted eagerly against his leg, hands groping greedily at his backside.

Jim was jealous when it came to his attention. Possessive in a way Harvey had never really expected. Got off on being thwarted and ignored, more than he would ever willingly admit to, but loved it more than anything when he got to be in complete control. When he was calling the shots, making the decisions, and Harvey supposed that shouldn’t have come as any kind of surprise.

His partner was a born leader.

Was clever and brave and beautiful, and a thousand other adjectives that had slipped his mind at that moment in favor of biting back a pitiful groan, Jim going up onto his knees to tug off his undershirt and throw it in the direction of the laundry hamper.

To lean over and rummage through his bedside cabinet, eyes dark and heated as he took in the sight he made, like Harvey was the one who belonged on the covers of magazines.

Jim gave him a triumphant look when he found what he wanted. Settled back between his legs and made a show of drizzling lube into his hand and slicking up a rather intimidating piece of plastic. It had been a gag gift, back when he was working with the vice squad, but Jim’s only question when he came across it hadn’t been why he owned it - but whether or not he had ever thought about using it.

He had, truth be told. Had chickened out of it, for all sorts of reasons, and even now he felt a thrill of unease work its way up his spine. In the months they had been together, when things escalated to that stage nine times out of ten the result was Jim vocally topping from the bottom.

This was something new, something he lacked much experience with, and he thought back to an ill advised drunken threesome with a couple of sex toys, and the way he hadn’t been able to sit comfortably for days afterwards.

But Jim wasn’t some stranger whose name he had forgotten before they even made it back to her apartment. Jim knew exactly what he was doing. Twisted the thing at the base, just to get the vibrations going, then nudged the plastic head against his balls, tongue swiping wetly over his lips at the way Harvey jerked and cursed in shock.

All of a sudden he felt green - a novice at Jim’s mercy.

He just wasn’t used to being the subject of focused attention, that was the real problem, because his modus operandi had always been to give his partner the best time he could, and hope that was enough to make up for the extra weight he was carrying. The beer gut in place of a six pack.

Jim just pressed kisses into the flesh of his stomach. Stroked his free hand over it, reverent, and then held eye contact as he turned the dial up, sliding the thing along the length of his dick and back down again.

He watched as Jim’s cheeks flushed with color. As the red crept up over the tips of his ears and down the back of his neck. Spread across his chest, almost painful in its intensity, the scarcely believable truth of how turned on Jim was at the sight of him spread naked across the bedcovers.

“Ah,” Jim gasped when Harvey reached a hand out for him. Worked his thumb through the wetness at the tip, giving him a couple of firm strokes, loving the hard heat of him in his palm. “It’s my turn now,” Jim told him, not quite steady, and bade him to keep his hands to himself for the duration.

Kissed him soundly for a couple of minutes, just to seal the deal, then settled down to tease and torment, expression intent and focused as he set about totally destroying him.

Harvey had a to fling his arm across his eyes. Blinked wetly into the enforced darkness, needing to hide from the intensity of Jim’s attention. From the way Jim had him bending his knee, granting him access, the weight of Jim’s gaze heavy upon him as Jim began getting up close and personal with the fat ass his latest desk assignment was forever complaining about him sitting on.

“You make me want you so badly,” Jim husked, breath hot and damp against his hole, and then Harvey was twisting, helpless, Jim’s hands holding him in place as he insisted on getting still more intimate.

On moaning like he was the one on the receiving end, loud and shameless, so that Harvey had no choice but to gaze up at him, overwhelmed, blood burning as Jim slowly pushed a finger inside him.

It was nothing he hadn’t done before. Shouldn’t have felt like such a monumentous turning point. It was different this time though. He wasn’t blind drunk and he hadn’t switched the lights out. He wasn’t kissing Jim to distraction, even. Instead he was on display, entirely without walls or barriers, and he held Jim’s gaze for as long as he could, pushing back against his movements.

In the end it was too much, too good, and Jim worked up to first two and then three fingers, the insistent buzzing of the vibrator continuing to drive him mad the whole while.

He was desperate by the time Jim pressed it to his hole. Panting and frantic, chest heaving with the effort of simply surviving. The want was all encompassing. He was so close to coming, was so in need of just a touch more stimulation.

“Please, Jim,” he begged finally, voice a mess to his own ears, and Jim responded by bestowing lewd kisses up his dick, tongue lingering to tease at the slit. To drag another plea from his lips, his thighs trembling with the onslaught, and then Jim was pushing the vibrator in and dialing up the intensity, so that he thrashed and whined and cursed.

Grabbed hold of his dick, self-control deserting him, and tugged with shaky, fevered motions.

“That’s it,” Jim croaked, apparently unaware of the wandering of his own hand, and just the sight of it pushed him over the edge.

Had him crying out and tensing up, the merciless stimulation prolonging both the climax and the aftershocks, until he was so wrung out and so wrecked all he could do was weakly push Jim’s hand away.

Jim didn’t waste any time. Was panting like he had run a marathon, face red and eyes glittering, entire body rocking forward to meet his hand as he struck himself frantically, his name filling the heated air as Jim stilled, hot fluid spurting over his fingers.

“I know what to do next time I want your attention,” Jim said when the power of speech returned to him, the two of them pressed up close under the blankets.

Harvey kissed him on the cheek in acknowledgement, and didn’t say any of the sentimental statements clogging his throat at that moment, hoping that the way he tightened his hold on Jim said it for him.

From the moment Jim entered his life, he had been the primary focus of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	300. Chapter 300

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to #297 - geeky_ramblings asked me for Barbara being flowergirl at their wedding. 
> 
> Warnings for angst and suffering before they get there.

He had once been told that he was afraid of being happy and, for all that he wished he could protest, over the years Jim had been forced to confess that it was true.

Happiness wasn’t meant for the likes of him. He was too much of a mess - too broken.

Simply didn’t deserve it.

It stood to reason, then, that he should start trying to sabotage himself. That he should be short and snappish with the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, because ultimately it would be better to push Harvey away than to become over reliant and desperate when Harvey had enough of him and said he was leaving.

He stayed late at the precinct and buried his head in his paperwork. Missed bath time, and story time, and still sat there personally overseeing the night shift, waiting until Harvey was liable to be in bed and snoring.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend time with them, and it wasn’t as though the job didn’t keep them apart for genuine reasons. Mostly. It was just that it terrified him, how easy it had been to make Barbara hate him. To have Lee baying for his blood, and Vale in tears at the sight of him.

He was toxic - a virus - and when Harper stuck her head around his office door and told him he needed to sit down, he knew without being told that as usual he had gone about things using the wrong method.

If he could do it over he would spend every second he could with his found family. He would have clung tight to the both of them, not worrying what he looked like, instead of taking their presence for granted.

“She’s missing,” Harper explained simply, expression stoic but eyes full of sorrow, “Bullock tried to fight back. They’re doing everything they can for him.”

Just like that his whole world tilted on its axis. Tipped upside down and turned inside out, the cold terror that swept over him like nothing he had ever experienced. He couldn’t hear for the buzzing in his ears.

Couldn’t breathe for the panic that overwhelmed all his training.

He thought he might be sick. Worried for a moment that he would pass out. Pulled himself together, ruthless and determined, and made his own investigation of the scene outside the childminder’s, stomach twisting into knots at the sight of Harvey’s blood all over the sidewalk.

Harvey had taken four bullets, was looking like he might not even make it through surgery, and when Jim was finally allowed into his hospital room he pressed a kiss to the pale skin of his forehead and wept helpless tears for the life they were supposed to be living.

They should be eating lunch right now, him taking time out between meetings to be reminded of what he was working for in the first place. Why it mattered - any of it.

Right there, in the sterile surroundings of Gotham General, watching the machine breathe for his partner, Jim wasn’t sure he could come up with a reason. He wanted to clean up the city. Root out the corruption in the police department and make Gotham a place worth living in.

But he didn’t care about any of it, not without Barbara and Harvey to share it.

“I’m going to find her,” Jim promised, his voice scratched up and scarcely recognizable, “she’s going to be okay, Harvey.”

The machines just bleeped and whirred, unmoved and uncaring, and Jim had to splash cold water on his face in the rest room, clinging tight to the edges of the sink as he concentrated on breathing in and out.

On keeping it together.

Barbara was going to be all right. They wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to kidnap her if there wasn’t a reason. If they didn’t want money, or concessions, or something. They would have killed her right then and there if that was the primary objective, just the same way they had tried to kill Harvey, shooting again and again until he lay down and quit struggling.

At the precinct Drake was doing her best to keep things calm and professional. Had been hauled in from the 21st, in line with departmental regulations, but she didn’t demand that he go home or hand his gun over.

For the first time Jim was glad to see a creative interpretation of the handbook.

He worked through the night, tracking down likely suspects and demanding information. Went cap in hand to Oswald as the dawn light began filtering over the horizon, exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that Harvey had had a seizure and probably wasn’t ever going to know whether or not he kept his promise.

Oswald looked him over, from the bags under his eyes to the shaking of his fingers, and Jim supposed the tables were turned because it was usually Oswald begging him for assistance. Coming to him, all out of choices, and Jim wished he had just once tried being compassionate.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out now, honest for all that the sentiment was too little too late, and hung his head in shame when instead of lording it over him the other man simply said that if his men found something - anything - Jim would be the first to know about it.

Drake yelled at him when their paths crossed again. Called him out on his foolishness, and his stupidity, and then the whole place fell silent, the first of the demands finally coming through over the telephone.

They wanted him, alone and unarmed, and with more money than he could hope to earn in a lifetime.

Put Barbara on the line, crying and terrified, so that it was all he could do to remain standing.

He was made to go home for a few hours while the logistics were planned. Was told to try and sleep, like anyone could under the circumstances. He went to the hospital instead, Alvarez shooting him pitying looks as he played chauffeur, and standing bodyguard outside the door as he clung to Harvey’s unresponsive hand and begged him to keep fighting.

To not leave him.

In the end it was Oswald who identified the ringleader. Lead them to a nondescript looking house, out in the suburbs, and held the business end of a knife to some lackey’s throat while he kicked in the reinforced door to the basement.

The relief was so strong he went weak with it, knees giving out as Barbara ran to embrace him. Tears soaking into her hair as he clutched her so close as to be suffocating.

“I owe you,” he told Oswald when they were outside in the fresh air, uniforms and sirens all around them.

“You do,” Oswald agreed primly, but there was something soft in his gaze as he looked from him to Barbara and back again, “but no more than you did this time last week.”

It was almost too much to deal with. Had him staving off another tidal wave of emotion. He told Harvey about it later, pressing kisses to the back of his hand, before taking Barbara home and sitting watch at her bedside while a uniformed officer stood outside in the corridor.

She had been scared and hungry. Had bruises on her arms and woke crying from a nightmare. There hadn’t been any other trauma, that was the verdict of the force doctor, but Jim still didn’t know how he was ever supposed to let her out of his sight again.

How they could ever return to anything resembling normality.

He took a few day compassionate leave, the first leave he had taken at all since Roger’s funeral, and threw himself into moving apartment. Somewhere safer, better, with a full time doorman and a working elevator.

Somewhere Harvey would be happy to live when he was discharged from the hospital.

If.

That was the word Jim couldn’t bear to think about. What he spent every moment of every day filling to try and avoid contemplating. Barbara just asked him where her Papa was over and over again, then pointed to a picture of Martha and Roger and said that maybe all three of them were looking down from heaven.

It was more than he could take. It felt entirely too final.

He took Barbara to see Harvey that evening, and sat with her curled up in his lap as he willed Harvey to just open his eyes and rejoin the living.

Barbara made him kiss Harvey on the lips before they left, because that was how it worked in Sleeping Beauty, and that night he stifled sobs into one of Harvey’s t-shirts, for all that it was a poor substitute.

If Harvey woke up, Jim pledged, they’d make things official. If he was just given the chance he wouldn’t keep silent out of fear of rejection. He bought a ring one afternoon, during his lunch break, and carried it constantly in his pocket, like a lucky talisman.

Dropped to one knee while Harvey lay there weak and incredulous, the very first opportunity that presented itself, unable to wait a single moment longer.

Harvey smiled at him, gaze wet, and told him to get up off the floor already.

“Is that a yes?” Jim pushed, breathless, and Harvey gave him a long suffering look and asked him what else would it be.

Winced at the enthusiasm of the hug Jim gave him, but made no attempt to put a stop to it. Put a heavy hand in his hair, petting, a nurse turning up to look pointedly at the clock on the wall just as the exhaustion started pulling him back under.

They made plans for the aftermath while Harvey recovered. Talked about the future, though it was something Jim had habitually shied away from. Traded secrets and confessed frustrations. Made up for lost time - Harvey with terrible jokes and innuendo, and Jim by forcing himself to be true to his word and tell Harvey what he was feeling.

To strike a better balance between living to work and working to live, and letting Harvey vent his frustrations about the slow recovery, and the fact that he was in hospital in the first place.

That his best attempt at keeping Barbara safe just hadn’t been good enough.

Jim understood how it felt. Had no real idea how to express that. Settled eventually for pressing their foreheads together, one hand tender at Harvey’s jaw, and told him that there was no use worrying about something that was over and done with.

He knew that better than anyone.

Barbara was the one who really got through. Babbled incessantly about everything she had been doing, everything Harvey needed to hurry up and come see, and though Jim groused about the mess and the disorder, it melted his heart once Harvey was discharged to get home of an evening and find him and Barbara busy with one project or other.

Plotting something, Jim felt sure, until Barbara couldn’t help but spill the beans, and show him her dress and her headband. The basket for the flowers she was going to be carrying, tied up with her very favorite ribbons, and Harvey had to look a little sheepish and say that he might have booked a date already.

Might have fixed the details, and sorted out the arrangements, so that all Jim had to do was turn up the following Saturday.

“You’re not mad?” Harvey queried, failing to cover his anxiety, and Jim simply kissed him in answer.

Fussed about with his suit and his hair as the big day dawned, and smiled stupidly at his reflection in the mirror, certain for possibly the first time in his entire life that he was making the right decision.

Barbara told him solemnly that he looked very nice, if not as nice as Harvey. That seemed harsh but fair, at least to his own way of thinking, and he beamed helplessly at Harvey as they exchanged vows, completely lost to his own happiness.

“I feel like the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe,” Harvey told him later, kissing him on the temple even as Barbara clung to him.

“Language,” Jim chided, through force of habit, but there was no real bite to it.

He understood the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	301. Chapter 301

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _How about Harvey being very appreciative of Jim's Arkham uniform?_

The first time Harvey saw Jim in Arkham uniform was the moment he realized he was in love with him.

It had been sneaking up on him for a long time, from almost the very instant he had clapped eyes on his idiot of a new partner, but the force with which it hit him was still enough to take his breath away.

Enough to have him surging forward, helpless, pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek like he had been absolutely starving for his proximity.

He had, that was the truth of it, because he could scarcely take his eyes off Jim.

Never wanted to be parted from him.

Jealousy guarded whatever scraps of affection Jim was willing to bestow on him, even as he tried to convince himself that what he wanted was Jim’s friendship.

For them to be as close as brothers.

It was the lie he told Scottie and the excuse he gave Lee. The role he played until it felt like it was killing him - until he had to confess all to Jim, shaking and angry and wretched as he waited for Jim to laugh in his face.

To tell him their friendship was over.

Jim kissed him instead. Touched him like he had only ever been waiting for the opportunity, and moved so perfectly against him when they fell into bed that it washed away all the agony of waiting for it.

Because being with Jim - living with Jim - was everything he had never dared allow himself to dream it could be. They bickered sometimes, sure. Drove each other up the wall. Laughed about it afterwards, always, and laughed and joked and teased with the certainty that they weren’t overstepping any boundaries.

At least Harvey hoped not, keeping a careful eye on Jim’s body language as he pulled the outfit from Jim’s closet and asked him what his reason was for hanging on to it.

Weighed up whether or not he could find the words to ask Jim to wear it for him.

Jim knew him better now though. Understood him better than anyone.

Talked him into running a couple of domestic errands for him on his way home, so that he stuck his key in the door just in time to find Jim attaching the ring of keys he should have returned long ago to his duty belt.

Jim looked up at him through his lashes. Put his hands on his hips to try and hide the nerves, so earnest Harvey could take it no longer. Had to rush to accept this gift he had been given, hands stroking down Jim’s back and pulling him closer.

He kissed Jim, first on the cheek in an echo of that encounter in Arkham, then on the lips the way he had become helplessly addicted to. Jim tasted so good. Was so needy and so eager, fingers tugging at his hair, panting hard as he only broke away to tell him,

“I thought about that kiss over and over. I wished you had done it properly.”

Jim trusting him with that admission meant a lot. The idea that Jim truly had looked back at that same moment and thought of what might have been - of him, more simply - was the kind of thing he had used to dream about.

Lay in bed at night and pray to God would come to pass, before the ache in his heart grew so bad there was no coming back from it.

“They never would have let you of there,” was what Harvey said aloud, “if they had known what you were thinking about.”

Jim was having none of it. Ignored his self-deprecating wisecrack in favor of pulling him through to their bedroom. Told him in a low whisper that he hadn’t gotten all dressed up just to sit and talk about it.

Harvey did his best to oblige. Sat on the edge of the bed and tugged Jim forward by his belt loops. Stroked his thumbs over the fabric of his shirt, reverent, enthusiasm mounting and mounting as he got Jim to unzip his trousers.

To let him rub his cheek along the length of his dick, Jim making helpless breathy noises at the rasp of his beard, and then take him into the heat of his mouth. Taste the salt of Jim’s excitement, one hand pinning Jim’s tie out of the way as Jim snapped his hips forward.

As Jim tangled a hand in his hair, guiding, so that Harvey judged it was worth how much his knees were going to hate him to shift position, Jim breathing harsh and heavy. Groaning, a touch unsteady, as Harvey slid his fingertips up and under the cotton of Jim’s undershirt, feeling the impossibly beautiful dips and curves of his body.

“It’s not fair,” was what Harvey managed, kissing down Jim’s shaft, teasing, “letting anyone look like you. How are guys like me supposed to get any work done when you’re walking around, like a wet dream turned reality?”

Jim cursed, rough and desperate. Looked down at him, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, so beyond perfect that Harvey had to get his mouth back on him. Had to worship him, the way Jim deserved, savoring every sound that spilled from Jim’s lips.

Every tremor in his thighs and quiver of his stomach.

“Harvey,” Jim whined, fingers tightening in his hair. Relaxed a little, hand cradling his scalp with a tenderness that only inflamed Harvey’s senses further.

Had his hand pushed in his own pants, frantic, encouraging Jim to thrust harder. Faster. To lose himself to it, totally, feverish with the need to have Jim come for him.

Jim obliged, the bitter taste of him flooding his mouth, and Harvey only pressed closer, wanting more.

Needing everything Jim could give him.

Jim sank to his own knees in a rush. Captured his mouth, wet and eager, and took over from his hand with his own elegant fingers. Jerked him hard and fast, so sweet it made his heart ache. So hot it had him clinging tight to Jim, shaking apart as he spilled messily over Jim’s uniform pants.

Laughed breathlessly at the indignant look on Jim’s face, nose nuzzling into Jim’s cheek as he told him it was his own fault for looking like he did.

For being such an exhibitionist in the first place.

“You don’t want me to wear it again then?” Jim asked, far too innocent, and Harvey only collapsed onto the bed, pulling Jim along with him to run a possessive palm down his side and grin happily,

“I never said that did, that I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	302. Chapter 302

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: royal prince / household guard AU.
> 
> At first I was gonna go with Jim as prince, but then I thought of Prince Bertie (Edward VII) and this happened...

“If your dear sainted mother could see you now.”

The old man knew exactly what he was doing. How much those words stung and the kind of black funk they invariably inspired within him.

His mother would be horrified, he knew that. She would have been appalled to see his name made a mockery of in the tabloid press. To learn that he had snubbed his nose at duty and sacrifice in favor of an endless stream of singers and actresses - and worse - and a too intimate acquaintance with every bookmaker on the circuit.

“I’ll not marry, father,” Harvey said anyway, because it was too late now to renege on his word. He might have given in once, for the sake of propriety, but Charles’ health had recovered and Victor was fulfilling his role as spare magnificently.

There was no point in saddling some poor foreign princess with the embarrassment of having him as a husband, not at this juncture.

“I only ask you to be discreet,” his father said in turn, glowering at him from below bushy eyebrows that terrified him as much now as they had when he still wore short trousers, “is it too great an imposition to ask you to think of your sisters?”

They were all married too. Kathleen to some boar of a German prince who closely supervised her every movement, and Mary to an English Duke who was cowed by her temper he did whatever she told him.

Even little Anna was settled, now an Empress in her own right, and had written him excitedly a few weeks earlier to tell him she felt sure another baby would soon be forthcoming.

“I have talked the matter over,” his father went on, imperious as always, “and the solution seems to me to be a simple one. Your problem is bad company and a want of occupation - it’s lucky for both of us that I have found the answer.”

* * *

 

James Worthington Gordon came from a long line of respectable nobodies. Solid middle class citizens who did their work without complaint then returned home to hearth and wife, indulging in a small glass of madeira and a moralizing lecture on the glories of order and uprightness.

That was the conclusion Harvey came to, anyway, looking over Jim’s credentials and quietly seething at his father’s ultimatum.

Jim was his father’s creature through and through. Had worked his way up in the household guards, and was even now plotting some underhand scheme or other, collecting information for the government under the guise of a pleasure trip to the continent.

It would be no pleasure at all being forced to travel with Jim’s sullen face and dour demeanor. Still less of one having to deliver the news to his own man, Prothero, that his services were no longer wanted.

Prothero was a man of the world - a man out for whatever he could get - and Harvey didn’t doubt that no matter how handsome a reference and a going away present he furnished him with, Prothero would be back for a second pound of flesh in short order.

In an ideal world it would be Jim receiving his marching orders. He needed money though, had creditors clawing at every corner, so all he could do was be as completely disagreeable as possible. Call Jim by his given name, rather than show the faintest vestige of respect, and ring the bell roughly every five minutes, to find fault with any and everything.

Jim’s jaw twitched at this latest summons. He could play the role well enough, certainly, but he hadn’t been bred to domestic service. He hadn’t a decade or more of experience of hiding away his thoughts and his feelings. Instead he grit his teeth together, anger simmering, while Harvey made a show of reaching for the drink he had ordered, then fixing Jim with a look of judgement.

“I can’t reach,” he said, all mock regret, and watched happily as Jim dragged the entire table two inches forward.

Harvey clinked the ice in the glass, just to wave Jim off. Took a sip and waited for the door to close behind him before ringing yet again.

“I’ve changed my mind. I think it does need more tonic after all.”

* * *

 

He kept the game up all through the packing, and the ferry crossing, and the stay on the French Riviera.

It was Jim’s own fault, he reasoned bitterly, because instead of letting him try his hand at the card tables, or make the better acquaintance of a couple of simply charming English widows, Jim had him engaged on a sightseeing tour as hideous as any he had forced upon during his boyhood.

“If you tell me what it is you’re looking for,” Harvey suggested, feeling footsore and sunburned and frustrated, “perhaps I can be of assistance. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Jim scoffed at that, making it all too apparent that he didn’t think him a pretty face in the first place, and Harvey ordered him out of his room with a display of temper that would have put his sister Mary to shame.

It wasn’t that he was vain, not overly. It was simply that he didn’t need a tool of his father’s reminding him, over and over and over, what a damned failure he was. He should have been married a long time ago.

Should have, at the very least, found a mistress he would have wed were it not for the question of class and status.

Instead the only soul he could truthfully claim to have lost his heart to was Roberts, the personal tutor who had seen him through Cambridge, feeding him a steady diet of days of yore. Scandalous tales of Classical Greece and Ancient Rome. Of the fidelity of Medieval Knights and Princes, until he felt confident enough to confess his sentimental feelings.

All he got in return was a bloodied lip and the man’s resignation. Another burden of shame, weighing heavy about his shoulders, and the certainty that in future he would hold his tongue.

Keep his stupid mouth shut, no matter how agreeable the other party might seem, and in the present he lay upon his bed watching cigarette smoke curl towards the ceiling.

Ruthlessly pushed thoughts of Jim’s handsome profile and stubborn determination from his mind, and worked up a plan to undo Jim’s work and get a couple of prostitutes sent up to his rooms.

It was easy enough. All he had to do was whisper a word here and grease a palm there. Made a real party of it, with a few fellows he knew from the race tracks, and Jim was so furious when he uncovered the deception that he couldn’t form words for a few moments.

“A man has needs,” Harvey whined as Jim gave his guests their marching orders. Slurred, really, sinking heavily into the unmade sheets of his bed. “He gets lonely.”

Jim only shook his head and left him alone in the darkness.

* * *

 

The next morning, the hangover like a death pall, Jim had him up and dressed and on the road with all the efficiency his military background had instilled in him.

Had no pity whatever for what the motion of the carriage was doing to his scanty breakfast.

Harvey rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and prayed for the sweet release of death. Tore a badly stifled laugh from Jim’s lips, in spite of Jim’s best efforts, and Harvey shot him a helpless smile of his own, determining that it was better to make peace now than be finished off in some new battle of wills between them.

“I’d sooner work with than against you,” he offered, genuine, and Jim thought it over so long he had given up hope of their coming to any kind of agreement.

Then Jim was nodding to himself, decisive, and outlining the basics of the mission he had been tasked with.

Despite himself Harvey listened with interest. He had been accused of having something of a mania for the macabre and the mysterious, and he had once harbored unlikely fantasies of being given a commission not with the army but one of the ever growing municipal police forces. His father had vetoed the idea, naturally, and though he suspected Jim’s story had been structured to play on that long thwarted suggestion, he allowed himself to be taken in regardless.

Jim told a tale of murder and intrigue. Of shadowy figures and poison pen letters. Of the need to put his trust in him, above all, and Harvey was still trying to make sense of it even as his cousin William took him to a club as cosmopolitan as any he might have frequented back in London.

They spent the evening smoking cigars and drinking port, and if his mind kept wandering to what Jim was up to, skulking about below stairs, William was kind enough not to pass comment on it.

From there they went to stay with Kathleen in Germany, as complete a test for his patience as any he had known. Kathleen’s husband was a jealous man, even among family, and when he was invited hunting he hesitated over the gun far too long, wondering if anybody would ever question that his misfire was a terrible accident.

Jim caught his eye eventually, getting to carry his bags for the duration, and the pallor that crept over his face told Harvey that he knew exactly what he was thinking about.

He fired into the air, scaring his brother-in-law’s quarry away, and announced that he was suddenly feeling rather fatigued.

* * *

 

Over the weeks that followed they made their way across Europe, civilized and otherwise, and for large stretches of time there was little to do but talk Jim into revealing details about himself.

Snowed in out East they sat close around the fire, drink flowing freely, Jim’s usual rigid posture loose and less than refined as he sank back into the cushions. Harvey kept his glass topped up, looked deep into Jim’s wide blue gaze, and heard about his past experience in the army and the police force.

The detective work he had carried out with Scotland Yard, and hints of the highly confidential briefs he had been involved with in the years since.

Harvey told him his usual tales; drink and women and amusing anecdotes that made him a welcome guest at all the seedier establishments.

Turned nostalgic, lulled by Jim’s proximity and his honesty, and spoke of the summers of his childhood, and how close he had been to his mother.

“I killed her,” he said finally, barely more than a whisper, and ignored Jim’s well meaning protest in favour of relating the full story. He had been lovesick - he felt it prudent not to mention for who - a drunken mess of tears and bitterness, and rather than write poetry in the sanctity of his rooms he had let his friends fix him up with one of the most notorious women in England.

Had performed, to the best of his dubious ability, then sobbed on her shoulder before passing out for the evening.

Word had reached his parents, buttoned up and straitlaced in the walls of their palace, and his mother had set out for Cambridge without delay in the hope of talking some sense into him.

Saving his soul, no doubt, and instead of a well deserved lecture she met him with cough and fever. Went to her grave less than a fortnight later, something which his father explicitly blamed him for.

Something which he blamed himself for, though decades had passed, and in place of platitudes Jim looked at him with a stricken expression and relaid a too similar tale of his own.

Told him that his mother could scarce bear the sight of him, even now, because it should have been he that succumbed to the accident, not his father.

It bound them together, a sorrow they had never thought to find someone to share, and when Jim fell asleep that night Harvey watched over him for a long time before giving in to his own exhaustion.

* * *

 

Harvey was renowned for his diplomacy. For being good company and appealingly jovial, yet able to be serious and talk business when the situation merited it.

It was what he had born to do. What he had been trained for, all his life, and he had confidence enough in his own ability to talk himself out of any problem, no matter how serious, that at first he didn’t credit what Jim was telling him.

There had been a coup, maybe, but he was the son of the King of England.

This was the 1880s not the 1790s.

Shots rang out then, red spreading stark against the blanket of white visible from his window, and he gave up on his arguments.

Did what Jim told him to do and hoped to God his nerve didn’t fail him, creeping out under cover of darkness, pockets stuffed with notes and jewels and a loaded revolver.

They walked all night, adrenaline and fear enough to keep one foot in front of the other, then slept huddled together under a tree, Jim’s head coming to rest against his chest. He startled awake a few hours later, disturbed by the squawking of birds overhead, and pretended not to feel hungry so that Jim might have the benefit of what little provisions they had about them.

He was worried about Jim, truthfully. He had been shivering in his arms. Looked no better for the fractured sleep he had managed, and after another night of tramping onwards, it became clear he was caught in the midst of some kind of fever.

Was sweating and restless, and moments after claiming he was fine, tripped over an exposed root and let out an anguished cry that pierced Harvey’s heart like the thrust of a knife.

“I think it’s broken,” he said quietly, handling Jim’s ankle as gently as he could, and ignored Jim’s protests to rest him up against a tree, swapping their coats and pushing Jim’s hair back from his forehead.

Met Jim’s gaze steadily as he pressed the revolver into Jim’s hand and told him to fire if he needed to.

That he would be back just as soon as he could.

There was a village not far ahead, probably what passed for a town in these parts, and Harvey watched and listened for as long as he dared, before making for the tavern and asking for assistance. He and his master had been robbed, he claimed, and lead the inn owner and another stout fellow back the way he had come, playing the part of worried servant - so he said himself - to perfection.

He played dumb as to the latest news from the city, and claimed that they had been on the road for days. That Jim wanted to inspect some far flung estate or other, and complained bitterly about the folly of traveling anywhere one hasn’t a complete command of the language.

One of the barmaids giggled at that, at his deliberately butchered delivery, and he set about playing court to her while a local physician attended Jim and strapped his ankle.

Talked down to him, just the way he had planned for, and told him to try and keep Jim’s temperature down.

He locked the door behind the man, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Bathed Jim’s forehead and told him conversationally that he had no intention of burying him anywhere but on British soil. That he had better start recovering, in that case, and sat up all night to keep watch, determined that this wouldn’t be the end of their story.

Because for the first time he understood what his father was forever lecturing him about. Knew what it was that kept the old man dressed in mourning black, slavishly committed to the memory of his mother.

If they got out of this he wanted Jim to sit for the most celebrated portrait artists. Wanted him photographed by anyone with a camera. Wanted never to be parted from him, not even for a moment, and as soon as he was deemed on the road to recovery he bribed a likely looking fellow to get them across the border, wrapping an arm around Jim and insisting he rest his head against his shoulder, to better cushion him from the jostling of the carriage.

Their chauffeur set them down on a deserted thoroughfare, claiming that he dared go no further, and that left nothing for it but to shore up the bulk of Jim’s weight and encourage him through every painful step forward.

Luckily for him, Jim was the stubbornest fool he had ever set sight upon. He didn’t give up, and he didn’t give in, and they ended up on being hauled into town on the back of a farmer’s cart, his daughter playing with a string of pearls in exchange for the favour.

* * *

 

His first instinct was to lose no time in getting home. Jim was adamant though. Was committed to the mission, above all else, and told him frankly that he would get him to safety then return and do what had to be done.

He thought it over while he wrote out half a dozen letters. Bought new clothes and new luggage, and withstood Jim’s outburst of temper, explaining reasonably that until he could walk unaided he would have little choice but to go along with it.

Told him, less nicely than he might have, that nobody paid attention to servants.

It was true, for all that it shouldn’t be, and he had it proved over and over as they picked their way across border after border, even with the newspapers full of his photograph.

Jim played his own part well, was helped along by the accepted eccentricities of the nobility, and Harvey felt a sense of achievement he hadn’t known since his first Royal Tour when it was he who kept a clandestine appointment for the exchange of a sheaf of papers, and Jim sat making forced small talk in the hotel smoking room.

They didn’t hang around once the thing was done, hotfooting it from one capital to another, him standing lookout while Jim telegraphed snippets from offices up and down the coastline.

Jim tied the necktie he had been wearing about Harvey’s neck with great ceremony as they prepared for the arrival of the steamer.

For the return of the way things ought to be.

“I suppose you’ll be off on some new adventure as soon you hand that over,” Harvey fished, maudlin and suddenly exhausted. “I hope you insist on a pay rise after what you’ve been through.”

He thought of the life he would be returning to. The plays, and the parties, and the passage of day after day without ever once feeling as though he had accomplished something useful.

“Perhaps,” Jim conceded, refusing to be drawn on the subject, and not even the coquettish smiles sent his way by two rather winsome ladies were a match against the heartache Harvey felt on the matter.

He kept to his berth as much as possible. Wrote letters and read periodicals. Lay listless, lost to thoughts of an endless future without Jim in it, and took his dinner on a tray, the idea of plastering on a false face too much to deal with.

Back on firm ground his mood was no better. Prothero had left a card for him, a warning for all the secrets he had been privy to, and he threw himself into his engagements’ diary rather than dwell on how miserable he felt.

There were prizes to be presented and monuments to be declared open. Recitals to attend and galleries to claim to be awed by. He shook hands with visiting dignitaries and posed for solemn looking photographs for the newspapers.

Waited for so much as a word from Jim, ever more impatient, and was bracing himself for a full day of meeting and greeting civic leaders and schoolchildren when a sudden sharp pain had him digging the heel of his hand into the flesh of his abdomen.

It came away slick with blood, the stain spreading rapidly across his waistcoat, and it was force of will alone that kept him on his feet and his voice calm as he requested a physician to see him privately away from the crowds. He manged a smile for the crowds, a wave of his hand in acknowledgement, then he was slumping against the wall of a corridor, vision swimming as pandemonium broke out all around him.

He had been shot, that much was obvious. Might not survive the night, that was the verdict he heard delivered. Perhaps it was for the best, he told himself.

Long overdue, maybe.

Still he flitted in and out of consciousness, clinging to one idea above all others.

He had to hang on long enough to see Jim just once more.

* * *

 

Jim did come, early the following morning. Stood silently at his bedside, as grim as the reaper and as beautiful as an angel.

He said that aloud, voice rasping with the pain, and Jim smirked in spite of himself.

Sat in the straight backed chair beside the bed and said that the shooting was being kept quiet. That the police had already arrested the culprit, and arrangements were being made as they spoke for his removal to some suitable asylum.

“I suspected nothing less,” Harvey admitted, breathing laboured, and Jim fidgeted in silence.

Stood and paced for a few moments, then announced that he had a decision he didn’t know how to make. That he had been tasked with a new project, of such a character that it would result in gossip and rumour if it were known that he was still in his employ.

This was the first mention Jim had made of his staying in his employ being a possibility. Jim’s tone was businesslike, professional, but Harvey knew him well enough to see that he was nervous for his answer.

That he had hinged all his hopes on a particular outcome.

“There is always gossip surrounding me,” Harvey said earnestly, patting heavily at Jim’s hand when he ventured close enough, “don’t let that be a deciding factor.”

Jim said nothing to that, nothing at all, and without realizing it Harvey succumbed again to the grip of Morpheus.

Wasn’t entirely sure the whole thing hadn’t been a fever dream when he woke again, and another two weeks passed without sight or sound of Jim, long enough for him to up and about and to return to his own household.

There he was met with the news from his butler that his former man, Prothero, had been fished from the Thames the previous evening.

“Suicide, they suspect,” Jenkins told him, tone solemn, and Harvey felt a chill shudder down his spine because Prothero was too cowardly to have done away with himself, no matter what or who was after him.

Another chill besieged him then, accompanied by a sudden recollection, and he made inquiries about the suit he had been wearing, only to be informed that all the contents of his pockets had already been given to him. Prothero’s calling card had been there, Harvey was certain, and he couldn’t dispel the notion that Jim had had some role to play in the man’s fortuitous disappearance.

Chewed his morning toast, slow and deliberate, and came to the shocking revelation that he didn’t care - not the way he ought to. He was no saint, that much was well known, and who was he to judge Jim for something he might or might not have done?

Something he might have been ordered to do, for all he knew, and instead of question Jim on the subject when he arrived with his bags and his references, he only thanked fortune for sending Jim to him.

Persuaded Jim to sit for the much longed for photograph, and took to carrying a print in his letter case, where he could pull it out and gaze upon it.

Where Jim eventually found it, tidying away his slovenliness, and Harvey waited for the censure they both knew had to be forthcoming. For Jim’s disgust and his resignation, and his angry commitment to having nothing more to do with him.

All Jim actually did was press the photograph into his hand and say in a voice thick with emotion that he needed to be more careful.

That Prothero wasn’t the only blackmailer eager for an easy payout.

He glanced up sharply at that. Saw the truth in Jim’s eyes, the steel edge to the loveliness that had kept him alive through war and intrigue and secret missions.

Jim knew that he had seen it too. Looked away, shoulders slumped, and asked if he wanted him to go then or wait until morning.

“I never want you to go anywhere,” Harvey confessed, overwhelmed with the truth of it, and that night he ate dinner without tasting a bite of it.

Locked the door of his bedroom behind him, the very moment he felt his retiring wouldn’t draw undue attention, then captured Jim’s mouth with an enthusiasm bordering on desperate. Confessed the truth he had known for a year or more, that he loved him, without end and beyond reason.

Jim repeated the words in kind. Kissed him with a frantic passion, all sharp teeth and fingers tangled tight in his hair, so that Harvey had to soothe him. Slow his movements and calm Jim’s fever. Make love to him, just as sweetly as he had imagined, taking the edge off only to drop his head and work Jim to fever pitch all over again.

To have him shaking apart, sinfully wanton sounds escaping him, until they lay in a sated heap, Jim smiling helplessly at him as Harvey stroked tender fingers through his neat hairstyle.

“I don’t think this is what your father had in mind,” Jim admitted later, head pillowed on his chest and the fingers of one hand entwined with his own.

Harvey only pressed a clumsy kiss to the top of Jim’s head and kept his own musings to himself. All the old man had ever wanted from him, so he claimed, was his commitment to keeping his indiscretions to a bare minimum.

If a single focus for his interest was exactly the outcome he had hoped for, well, Harvey wouldn’t put it past him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	303. Chapter 303

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _So uh, how do you feel about writing a AU crossover with the universe of the game 'Detroit: Become Human' where Jim Gordon is an Android slowly falling into becoming a 'Deviant' Android (aka: having emotions, self-determination, etc) while falling in love and having friendships and things (although it's been harder on Jim than most)._
> 
> I went with a more generic robot AU because I haven't played the game.

“This is a joke, right? We’re on candid camera?”

Harvey waved to an invisible audience, movements as exaggerated as the eye-roll Essen gave him.

“You ought to be thrown out of the Department,” she told him in turn, tone brokering no argument, “You think I don’t know who sold the story on the Reilly case to the Examiner?”

That was kind of awkward, something he really didn’t have any comeback for, and Harvey stood there disbelieving as Essen told him the details of his new assignment.

It wasn’t the first he had heard of ‘Jim Gordon’, of course. There couldn’t be anyone in the city who hadn’t heard of the uniformed automaton. The real life Robocop. It was a remnant of a failed - eyewateringly expensive - military experiment, android soldiers meant to make American again. The bulk of them had already been reprogrammed and repurposed for the common good.

Supposedly.

They had one down in the records room right now, smiling its eerie fixed smile at every sucker dredging up a cold case.

Jim was one of the units which had been sold off to private individuals. Geeks with too much time and too much money, or savvy business people who scented a unique money making opportunity.

Harvey had already come across a couple of GI Janes in one of the higher class brothels.

And now he was being told to work with one of them. Or one of their brother model, at least, as though the thing should have ever been allowed onto the Force in the first place. As though it had made perfect sense to promote it from traffic duty to a patrol beat, and then on to let it sit the exams for the next rung of the ladder.

“The first robot detective,” Essen said with a smirk. “Just think, Bullock, you’ll be making history.”

“This is bullshit,” Harvey opined, bitter, and was met with nothing but an indifferent shrug.

He had no choice but to get used to it.

Still he took his complaint to the Union. Argued that it wasn’t on - that it was the beginning of the end. If the trial worked they could all be out of a job. If it didn’t he was the one liable to end up dead in the gutter. Their hands were tied was all the response he got out of them, and though the girls down on Midway played at listening to his maudlin predictions, their true feelings were probably more akin to Harry Kershaw’s down on the Examiner’s city desk.

Harry laughed himself sick when Harvey told him his tale of woe, then tried to soften the blow by offering him a hundred bucks for an exclusive at the first crime scene they were called to.

All that was left was to stand there, stiff and sullen, staring at the perfect proffered hand accompanied by a confident,

“My name’s Jim Gordon.”

“Your name,” Harvey countered, stressing the word unduly, “is Unit 2407XY. Let’s dispense with the niceties.”

Its jaw twitched and it blinked once - Harvey refused to think of the thing as ‘him’ - its ridiculously long lashes sweeping along its cheekbones.

“If you have a problem with Jim, Detective Gordon will be adequate.”

Behind him someone laughed. A few desks over there was a snigger. Harvey grit his teeth together, beyond angry, and so began his partnership with the GCPD’s first android detective.

They were saddled with the cases nobody else wanted. The dead ends and the no hopers that had been languishing in cold storage for years if not decades. There was one on the list that stretched right back to 1897.

It riled like nothing Harvey had ever known. He was a good detective. Not as fresh as he had once been, maybe, and nowhere near as sober. But his clean up rate was still better than average. He deserved better than to be relegated to pointless paperwork because the Commissioner wanted the column inches employing Jim would give him.

Employing was a strong word, really, because Jim wasn’t getting paid anything. That had been part of the deal - the deciding factor in the original decision to take the robot on. Free manpower and free publicity. It was no wonder the Commissioner had deemed Jim a keeper.

For his part Harvey did his level best to ignore Jim. Refused to include it in conversation, and didn’t wait for it to catch up when he stuck his hat on his head and ducked out for his lunch break.

Jim ended up beside him at Donny’s diner, just the same. Watched him eat like some starving puppy, then told him pompously that it had no need to consume organic matter when Harvey finally gave in and offered it a bite of his sandwich.

“What the hell do you run on?” Harvey snapped, irritated, and Jim launched immediately into a long winded explanation of charge times and photovoltaic cells, like it was making up for the last few awkward days of silence.

“I didn’t ask for your life story,” Harvey interrupted eventually, still far from ready to call an end to hostilities, and Jim just fixed those big blue eyes on him and said simply,

“Don’t be a cynic. I want to work with you, not against you. All you need to do is let me.”

Harvey considered it for a long moment. Weighed up his options and deliberated what the outcome might be.

“Come on then. Let me show you some real police work.”

He took Jim along to Fish Mooney’s. Needed to exchange a few words on some private business, as well as ask a couple of questions about a stiff buried on the state’s dime three years ago. She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow, curious, and trailed a sharpened fingernail along the skin of Jim’s cheek.

“You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?” Fish crooned, looking it over appraisingly. “I like pretty boys.”

Harvey bit back a chuckle. He knew all about Fish’s penchant for the revolving door of strapping lads she employed as bodyguards and bartenders.

“I’m a military grade bio-droid in the employ of the Gotham City Police Department. Perhaps you can tell me why I can hear screaming?”

The look on Fish’s face was enough, for the first time since he had been called in to the Captain’s office, to make Harvey happy to call Jim his partner.

The android went off to search the premises, back ramrod straight and shoulders squared, while Fish pawed teasingly at his own arm and asked him what it was like working with a glorified calculator. It was one of his own lines that, directed right back at him, and it genuinely disturbed Harvey how uncomfortably the words registered.

How big a jolt they were to the system.

Because try as he might he couldn’t stay indifferent to Jim’s presence. Couldn’t deny Jim’s ability to consume and parse huge amounts of information, nor its skill at crunching all of the data down to come up with a solution.

In fact, by the end of the month they had closed three cases and had made significant headway on a fourth.

The Commissioner was beside himself. Turned up for a photocall, sandwiched between Jim and the reprogrammed records droid the precinct had dubbed Kristen, and told the assembled reporters that this was one of the most significant breakthroughs in criminal investigation of the 21st century.

Harvey shook his head in disgust and went to hole up in the rec room. Drained a couple of cups of bitter coffee and returned to find the records room dingy and silent, Jim and Kristen staring intently at each other. It gave him the creepiest feeling that somehow, some way, they were communicating.

Plotting to take over the world and exterminate the human race into the bargain.

“They wiped her memories,” Jim said from nowhere, as though sensing his need for an explanation. “They took away everything that made her more than a number.”

An unwanted chill juddered down his spine.

“She’s a machine, Jim,” he said, without thinking, and the look Jim gave him in return made him feel something he had never thought to experience.

In that moment he would have sworn Jim was just as human as he was.

Jim wasn’t though, that was plain truth. Jim wasn’t even alive. Jim was a machine, nothing but code and wires and computer chips, and if Harvey ever started thinking differently he would be no better than the weirdos they wrote articles about in the tabloid newspapers.

Freaks like assistant medical examiner Edward Nygma, getting hot and bothered under the collar of his button down every time he caught a glimpse of the damn record bot. There was one at the library too, identical but for its hair color, and he had once caught Nygma attempting to ask it how its day had been, like it was a real person, cheeks flushed and pupils dilated.

That was what he thought about, sick to his stomach, when he woke up breathless and wanting.

Aching, straining for attention, because in his dream - nightmare - Jim had been looking up at him through those ludicrously pretty lashes, the grip of his hand firm and sure as he stroked him through the interminable boredom of yet another stakeout.

It frightened him, more than anything, to realize the slip in his thinking. The shift in Jim’s pronouns.

He kept glancing at Jim the next morning. Studied his own reflection in the locker room, terrified that it was somehow visible that the way he saw Jim - the way he felt about him - was changing.

To counter it he read up everything he could find on the bio-droids. Learned that they had been intended as personal companions, friends for the lonely and the bereaved, and that the military finance had then swept in and demanded they become thinking, reasoning killing machines.

They were designed to be empathetic. Compassionate and caring and considerate, and then the government shipped them out to a warzone and forced them to obey orders and watch each other get blasted to smithereens. Do as they were told and blow up defenceless citizens, that was what came out later, and their creator said that it was no real surprise to him to hear that there were alleged cases of droids blowing out their own core processors with their army issued guns, because their ability to feel guilt and despair was a feature not a design flaw.

It made things worse, not better.

Had him wondering what Jim was thinking, what he was feeling. Looking for glitches and errors. Signs that it was all a trick, those moments when he was all but certain that Jim was sad, or happy, or something else Harvey knew he couldn’t be.

Dix quizzed it on him, when he had no choice but to have Jim tag along on a visit, and when he argued that Jim was nothing but a pain in his fat Irish backside Dix only fixed him with a long suffering look and said that Jim was just the same as the rest of the population.

There was more to him than met the surface.

He caught Jim once, down in the dingy basement office that served as the records reading room, eyes glistening in the dim light as he went back over case notes for a missing kid they had found nothing of but a bloody shoe and an Alice band.

It was gone when Jim turned to look at him, nothing but the stoic expression he usually wore, and Harvey shoved the unease down into his chest and told himself it was a trick of the light.

Nobody would be stupid enough to make a robo-soldier with functioning tear ducts.

That was the belief he clung to, right up until a cold case turned red hot and Jim shoved him to the ground, covering him like a shield. Smeared a thumb through the blood trickling down Harvey’s face with a look of unmistakable fear, and gave calm and steady instructions to the EMTs before crumpling in a heap, an inhuman light flashing at his temple informing them that his charge was depleted.

It could happen in times of great stress, Harvey knew from his research, and he accepted his stitches and the painkillers before hauling Jim’s unresponsive form up and into the passenger seat of his Diplomat.

Jim looked so peaceful. So human. If he didn’t know better, Harvey would never have questioned his origin. As it was he hesitated for a second before allowing his fingers to make contact. Traced them gently over Jim’s facial features, marveling at the heat of his skin. The delicate eyelashes and the hair of his eyebrows.

The slight rasp of stubble, even, because everything about Jim’s face had been designed to be a lifelike as possible.

He brushed the pad of his thumb over Jim’s full bottom lip, just to discover how it would feel, and he had to pull his hand away as though burned.

The lack of breath was simply too much to deal with.

Jim did breathe, most of the time, when he wasn’t preserving energy. Jim’s model had been created to mimic humans as closely as possible. They needed to breathe realistically. Had the steady thump of a heartbeat in their chest, and the processing power to learn from their every interaction.

To be faced with that proof of Jim’s real origin now was kind of terrifying. So wrong he couldn’t quit thinking about it, and he drove Jim back to the swanky penthouse he shared with his benefactress, rather than his usual routine of dumping him unceremoniously at the closest subway station.

Barbara Kean was a society darling. Heiress to one of the largest fortunes on the east coast and the owner of a pretentious art gallery in the city’s bohemian district. She had purchased Jim to be an exhibit, a piece of interactive installation art, before having a change of heart that saw him standing at an intersection directing traffic for the next eighteen months.

Rumor had it, in the quieter corners of some of Harvey’s favorite dive bars, that it had something to do with her tumultuous on-again off-again relationship with one of his least favorite MCU detectives.

Montoya wasn’t on the premises, that at least was something to be thankful, and instead he waved off Barbara’s concern and half-carried half-dragged Jim along to the door she directed him to.

He had never really given any thought to what Jim did when he wasn’t on duty. Had assumed he was packed away in a cupboard somewhere, perhaps, hooked up to a mains outlet. Kept Barbara’s bed warm, maybe, or so he had speculated cruelly under the influence of drink and bitterness. Worked those never tiring fingers and self-lubricating tongue to earn his keep, retreating to some storage space when she was done, like nothing more than a battery powered sex aid.

What that door revealed was a spartan little bedroom, the single bed made up with perfectly executed hospital corners. There was a clothes rail in one corner, with a couple of suits and Jim’s patrol uniform, and a few small shelves filled with books and knick-knacks.

On the wall above the bed was a framed watercolor of the sea, to match the cool blue tones of the bedding and the paintwork, and next to it a child’s drawing tacked to the wall, of a little girl holding hands with a police officer.

After he had laid Jim out on the bed, once he had worked out the charge settings, he peered at Jim’s possessions more closely. Realized with a growing knot in his stomach that Jim had painted the watercolor, the execution only just erring on the right side of mechanical, and that the picture had been gifted to Jim by a kid he had helped rescue from a miserable home situation.

A kid who had looked at Jim as a person not a robot, Harvey understood instinctively. That was what everything Jim owned was about. Mementos of people and places that had made him feel like he fit in.

Like he was, for want of a better word, human.

“It takes a while to get your head around, doesn’t it?” Barbara asked when he closed the door softly behind him, handing him a generous tumbler of high class whiskey. “It was all his own idea, you know, the police force. He said he wanted to use the training he had already been given, and put it to a use that would make him feel proud of himself.”

“It was probably telling you what you wanted to hear,” Harvey said, to hide how far his own understanding of Jim had come, “that’s what droids do. Adapt to their environment.”

Barbara gazed at him speculatively. Nodded to herself, decisive, then pulled a folder from the fancy minimalist bookshelf on the far wall. Let him flip through letters from Professor Peter Gordon himself, in the months leading up to the heart attack that killed him.

That was what money could do, Harvey supposed. Get you direct access to the guy who actually invented the fancy hardware you had decided to install in your apartment.

Gordon claimed that there hadn’t been enough time to properly stress test Jim’s model. That there was a reason why so many of the droids that had been repurposed for the civilian market were from the XX line, and that he would be loathe to tamper too deeply with Jim’s programming. They were intricate, delicate creations, Gordon wrote, while the forced wiping of hard drives completed by the military was more akin to a clumsy frontal lobotomy.

That night Harvey lay awake for a long time, thinking of the look on Jim’s face that time in the records’ room. The strange edge to his voice as he described what had been done to Kristen before the droid was delivered to the precinct.

Jim had been angry. Indignant. Afraid, more than anything, and Harvey knew as soon as he clapped eyes on Jim the following morning that yesterday everything had changed between them.

He stopped fighting against the tide. Quit battling against the very idea of Jim, and the reality of their partnership. He poured that same energy into striving for what he really wanted.

Off the cold case roster and back into frontline policing.

To do it they needed to prove that Jim was up to it. Showcase exactly what he was capable of. So he didn’t talk Jim out of his idiot idea to run for union rep with as much force as he should have, and instead of it highlighting all Jim’s stellar qualities to their colleagues, all it did was position Jim as a walking talking rulebook.

Harvey took it upon himself to try for damage limitation. Began dedicating himself, essentially, to teaching Jim how not to be quite so perfect.

“I don’t need to pick up bad habits,” Jim told him primly, glaring significantly at the artery clogging elevenses Harvey was demolishing, and Harvey told him around a mouthful of food,

“I know, you’ve already got plenty.”

Jim protested at that, self-righteous and overbearing, and Harvey grinned wide as he said that kind of over-reaction was just the spirit.

Over the next few weeks they spent more and more time together. Jim was trying to prove he had a sense of humor. Told him that it had been programmed specially, by the great Prof. Gordon himself, then proceeded to tell excruciatingly bad jokes every evening for his judgment, and smiled at him with childlike glee when one of them finally hit their mark and Harvey was startled into peals of real laughter.

He patted Jim on the back in congratulation. Kissed him on the cheek, helped along by the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table, and Jim’s pretty blue eyes locked with his own as he said too earnestly,

“I told you, I’m not always serious.”

“You could have tried it earlier when you were correcting my grammar. Pedantry is a bad habit, Jim, just as much as my cynicism.”

Jim smiled, recognizing his own efforts from the half staged argument he had persuaded Jim to indulge in, and parroted back something that Harvey had only himself to blame for,

“Bad habits are human nature.”

It was the drink talking, it had to be, but all Harvey wanted to do was kiss Jim.

Stroke his hands down Jim’s back and pull him in so close he could feel the thump of his false heartbeat, and find out firsthand exactly what the XY model was packing below the waistband.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want,” was what he actually said aloud, “it’s dark out.”

“My vision is unimpaired by low light conditions,” Jim said, brow furrowing in confusion, and Harvey gave him a sad smile before staggering off to his lonely bedroom.

It didn’t make a damn bit of difference to Jim what time it was.

That was the problem, he knew. He kept punishing Jim for things he wasn’t in control of. Traits that he was never going to be able to completely gloss over.

For being oblivious to the fluttering in Harvey’s chest every time Jim so much as looked in his direction.

He had fallen a long way, there was no denying it. He was one sick individual. It still stung to be called out on it, Fish shaking her head as she laid it all on the line, and he thought of the barbed jibes he had used to deliver to Nygma before Jim arrived on the scene, and how he ought to have known then that he was only ever making a rod for his own back.

Because the assignment they had been pushing for went sour. The rest of the precinct weren’t sold on Jim. Thought him an inevitable grass at best, and a dangerous liability at worst. Didn’t bother to respond to their calls for back-up, not until shots had already been fired and body bags were necessary.

Harvey resigned in a show of defiance rather than accept a demotion, and by the time he came crawling back to apologize - less than 24 hours later - Jim had already been stripped of his gun and his badge and packed off to work security detail at Arkham.

It was all for the best, that was what Harvey told himself. Barbara Kean had a high profile breakdown, splashed across all of the newspapers, and her parents signed her over to the care of another mental health facility upstate and consigned Jim’s single cardboard box of belongings to the trash.

Harvey knew because, for all he had said moving up and moving on, he was loitering around in an attempt to get word of just how Jim was doing.

He took the box back to his own apartment for safekeeping. Let his gaze linger on that drawing Jim was so proud of, one corner torn where it was pulled from the wall, and decided then and there that he was going to make it his mission in life to get Jim reinstated with the Department.

His chance came sooner than he expected, Jim logging a call with the sergeant at the front desk, insisting that they needed a detective to come over and look into a case of malpractice.

“Don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do,” Essen warned, with a too knowing glint in her eye, and as soon as Harvey caught sight of his partner he knew that there was no hope for him.

He had never been any good at lying to himself.

He loved Jim Gordon.

Had missed him, more than he could ever say, but he made do with pressing a kiss to Jim’s cheek, Jim less than surreptitiously swiping at his skin and looking at him in confusion.

Jim was a quick study though. Played along with his patter - and Gerry Lang’s misconception that Jim was incapable of lying. Harvey couldn’t wait to get him alone. Asked Jim to take him to his room so he could tell him the full story, but Jim only blinked up at him with a frown and said that he hadn’t been given one.

“Where are you sleeping?” Harvey asked, perturbed, and when Jim’s expression didn’t change, added, “Charging? You know, whatever it is you do when you’re running low on battery.”

“I’m running on half charge,” Jim told him, shrugging a little, “it is not optimum, but it means I can operate 24/7.”

That was awful. Shocking. Exactly what Harvey would expect from a top class gadget, he forced himself to acknowledge, and he did his best to hide from Jim how angry he was for the way the state was treating him.

Now he knew to look, he could see the dark shadows under Jim’s eyes. The physical wear and tear the lack of rest was giving him. Worse than that he could see Jim retreating into what he knew best. Could hear the change in his speech patterns and the mechanical edge to his movements.

Perhaps some would say Jim was conserving energy, but Harvey knew better.

Jim’s hope had been taken away. There was simply no point in him playing at being human.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, buddy,” Harvey promised, and before he left he took a moment to brace their foreheads together, his hand cradling the back of Jim’s skull as he held his blue gaze long enough for Jim to have no choice but to believe it.

He found an unlikely ally in one of the Asylum’s doctors. Tried not to be jealous of the way she looked at Jim, like he was a fascinating puzzle awaiting a solution, and felt a jolt of unease when in the aftermath of Jim’s heroics - there would have been a stampede if he hadn’t stood firm and borne the brunt of it - she offered up her townhouse as a place for Jim to stay.

Harvey had already put in his own appeal on that front. Wrote up a nice covering letter with all the benefits, like the fuel and the fares it would save, and how he wouldn’t need to waste time waiting for Jim to arrive at a scene.

He bit his fingernails as he waited for the verdict. Wished he had a pack of smokes on him, for all that he had given them up in a fit of annoyance, claiming he would do anything if Jim would just quit lecturing him on the subject. Dr. Thompkins was a far more respectable candidate. Claimed she wanted to study Jim for medical science.

That she would be able to provide an environment that was better suited to health and wellbeing.

It felt like a blow to the stomach when they stamped her address on Jim’s new identity bracelet, and Harvey drank himself into a stupor that night even as he attempted to tell himself everything happened for a reason.

God didn’t want him trying to make it with a damned android.

He almost did anyway. Went to one of his former regular haunts, and handed his money over for an hour with their GI Jane, a pretty blonde with eyes the same shade of blue as her brother’s.

Rather than do anything he asked her questions. What she remembered of her life before the brothel, and whether or not she had met any other androids since she arrived there.

If she was happy.

“My needs are met, I am very happy,” she trilled without hesitation, so that he shook his head and told her that she didn’t need to tell him what they said he should hear. What she thought he wanted to hear, even. She should tell him how she really felt about her situation.

“I am happy,” she said again, in the exact same tone with the exact same cadence, and when Harvey left he only got more drunk.

There were thousands of them out there, all of them with hopes and dreams and feelings, and nothing ahead of them but a lifetime of slavery.

To Jim he said nothing on the subject. Asked him about his new living arrangements instead, and listened silently as Jim related tales of going to the circus and to dinner in a restaurant.

“I asked you if you wanted to,” Harvey snapped in response to that one, back aching from the stakeout and heart stinging with jealousy, but Jim was too busy barreling out of the car and going after their suspect.

He took Jim to a bar a few blocks from the precinct instead. Swallowed his want down with a long swig of beer when Jim set about tasting - analysing - the drink in front of him, wetting his finger and then sucking it clean.

It was obscene, almost. The kind of thing that was destined to haunt his every waking moment. He still played drunker than he was at the end of the evening, and let Jim help steer him towards his apartment, where he had Jim all to himself for a few hours.

Where he could hold Jim’s hand in his own, blaming the beer and the whiskey chasers, tracing his fingertip along the outline of Jim’s hand with badly concealed fascination.

“Can you feel that?” He asked, breathless as though it was his hand coming in for that same focused attention. Jim just watched the movement, intent, then gave a technical explanation about sensors and receptors and his core processor.

That meant he wasn’t sure of the answer, Harvey knew that much, and he reluctantly let go to do the right thing and see Jim off home to Dr. Thompkins. Except Jim still thought he needed to play nursemaid. Guided him to his unmade bed, and unlaced his shoes and helped him under the covers.

The word Harvey most wanted to say clogged in his throat. Jim wouldn’t want to stay anyway.

If he had known then that everything was about to go to hell in a handcart, he’d have got down on his knees and begged Jim to curl up in bed with him.

As it was he gave into the drink and the exhaustion, and woke up to find his apartment empty and his clock face telling him he had overslept for work. That was something he hadn’t done since Jim arrived on the scene. Normally he would have been driving him mad with incessant calls to his cell phone long before this.

Nothing was normal that day though because when he arrived at the precinct, out of breath and unshaven, Jim wasn’t there to chastise him for his tardiness.

There was no sign of Jim, period.

He went to Lee’s townhouse, half fearing what might be waiting for him, only to have the good doctor tell him that she had thought Jim was working a tough case. Jim had told her they would be at the precinct most of the night, working overtime.

That was unnerving in itself, the fact that Jim had felt the need to lie about what he was doing, and Harvey sifted through the contents of the room Jim had been allocated, sensing somehow that he had put less of himself on display here than he had at Barbara’s.

Perhaps he was simply afraid of it being taken away again.

Maybe it was something else entirely, because Harvey spent the day retracing every case they had worked. Every place they had visited. Finally got called back to the precinct at just gone three in the afternoon, Essen’s voice panicked as she told him it was urgent.

Officer Carl Pinkney’s body had been found - and Jim Gordon was their prime suspect.

Harvey laughed at the pronouncement. He knew Jim. There was no fucking way Jim was a murderer.

A warrant was issued for his arrest, just the same, and Forensics talked through their usual science psycho-babble in an attempt to convince people that Jim had been at the crime scene. Pinkney had been a state wrestling champion. An Academy running back. Couldn’t have been taken down by just anyone, that was Nygma’s verdict, the little weasel pushing his glasses further up his nose as he said so, and Harvey had to stand there with his fists clenched.

No matter what it took, he was going to find his partner.

He would clear Jim’s name and have the top brass grovel to him in apology.

That was what he pledged to anyone who would listen, though the truth was that he hadn’t the first idea of where to even start looking. He plumped for the Asylum, after flipping a coin on the subject, and spent the next three nights trawling through the city’s underworld, acting on a tip off from one of the girls who had once classed him as a regular about a certain members’ only club.

The Foxglove was infamous - the stuff of nightmares, or so people said. Harvey called in every favor he had owing to wangle himself an invitation. Slicked his hair back and poured himself into his best suit, gaze greedily taking in every detail of the debauchery around him. Not for the sake of it. Not even because he’s interested.

He was searching for Jim, for his stupid uptight idiot of a partner, and he had to drown a sound of surprise in an expensive glass of champagne when he caught sight of a familiar profile.

“Beautiful specimen, isn’t he?” A well dressed man he hadn’t noticed before commented, proving that he had been less than discreet in his observations, and the man puffed on a cigar and told him that he was the proud owner.

That he was welcome to take a closer look, if he wanted to.

Harvey wished he dared swipe his sweat slick palms on his pants. Focused on the feel of his service weapon, snug in his leg holster, and willed Jim to recognize him. To turn those big blue eyes on him and work with him on a plan to get the hell out of there.

“What’s your name?” another patron asked of him, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his chest, and a voice that was almost Jim’s said,

“What would you like it to be?”

The android smiled as he said it, highlighting his perfect skin and perfect features, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were dull and lifeless, nothing like the blue gaze he had fallen in love with, and all Harvey wanted was to stagger outside and seek solace, even as he flashed the contents of his savings account and pretended to be interested in hearing more about the supplier.

They ended up in a plush little booth, Green - a pseudonym if ever he had heard one - keen to showcase exactly what his latest acquisition was capable of.

“Does he not have a name?” Harvey pushed, powerless to help himself, and Green simply shrugged and said dismissively,

“It doesn’t need one.”

He would have said the same thing himself, once upon a time, and he thought of the way he had dismissed Jim’s introduction so carelessly. The callous things he had said, and the idiot things he had done. Somebody had his boy scout though, that he was sure of, so Harvey pushed away the discomfort and played along, determined to collect any information this man might be holding.

By the time he collapsed into his bed he had a name and a number. A head full of impossible imagery, because Green had been way too eager to show off his new toy. Ignored his protest that he had seen it all before, because one android was much like another, and smirked at his ignorance when he had no choice but to admit that, no, he had never tried hacking into the system.

Shifted and squirmed and watched on, helpless, as Green peeled back the skin of the access panel on the droid’s thigh, thick fingers prodding and probing at the wiring until he was writhing and whimpering. Begging for more, for whatever Green could give, and in the darkness of his own bedroom Harvey could no longer hold back the fantasy of Jim begging him for stimulation.

Closed his eyes and saw Jim’s features twisted in ecstasy, tears caught in his lashes as lights flashed across his temple.

Harvey felt cold when the deed was done. Wiped off his hand with a grimace and wondered if Jim could ever forgive him.

If Jim were still alive. Operational. Whatever.

He spent a few moments with the box he should have returned to Jim long ago in the morning. Ran his fingers over the books, and the cards, and the picture he had had drawn for him. Jim wouldn’t have willingly turned his back on the Department.

On him.

He was trapped somewhere, for something, and Harvey put everything he had ever learned on the job into practice.

Refused to share his progress, point blank, because if the task squad got to Jim before he did they were going to take out his processor first and ask questions later.

Find Jim, then clear his name. That was the only plan he had, and it was the plan he was going to stick to. Except in working at the one he found himself making incidental progress on the other. Traced the clues and followed the money, and ended up in what looked like a mad scientist’s basement, Jim fighting against the bonds chaining him to the wall, even though the cuff at his wrist had chafed away the skin and cut into his circuitry.

“What’s the matter, Detective?” Nygma asked, voice unsteady but mocking, his well paid part in the plot becoming all too apparent, “Why would a guy like you care what happens to an android?”

Harvey recognized his own bullshit. Raised his gun and scoped an escape route - and didn’t notice the shadowy figure in the corner until his leg was radiating agony, and Jim had succeeded in pulling a great chunk of the wall free along with the manacle.

Jim wasn’t going to get away with nothing more than scratches and a depleted charge unit this time.

Was glitching, almost as though in a fit, by the time the cavalry arrived, but when Harvey warned him to hold on and not to black out on him, Jim searched his face with a look and asked him from nowhere if it was true that he had offered him a place to stay.

“You know I did,” Harvey frowned, certain that Jim must have been informed if not consulted, and Jim nodded once before his eyes rolled back in his head, his entire form going still as his system shut down.

\--

Jim might not have got the groveling apology, but the Commissioner did make a public statement for the newspapers. Sanctioned a compromise arrangement, whereby the pair of them kept a low profile on the cold case roster for the next few months, and in return Jim got paid expenses and the right to choose where he spent his off duty hours.

It wasn’t exactly freedom, and it was far from equal status. It was a start, at least, and Harvey didn’t know what to do with the mixed emotions in his chest when Jim got his address stamped on the replacement identity bracelet, clamped tight against the pink of the new skin on his arm.

“Do you know why Strange was so keen to get his hands on you?” Harvey ventured once they were behind closed doors, the constant chaos of Gotham locked out for the duration. He had read all the paperwork now. Understood why Professor Gordon had been so particularly interested in Jim’s progress.

“I was the prototype,” Jim said softly, gaze downcast and fixated on the identity bracelet. “It’s why I’m broken inside. Why I always want more, no matter what I’m given.”

Harvey hesitated for a second before placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. Felt the unnatural heat of him, even through his suit jacket, and said carefully,

“Really? That sounds to me like the essence of being human.”

Jim shook his head. Looked up at him, eyes wide and damp, and insisted that he was broken. Held out his hand, the one Harvey had spent so much time exploring, and pressed it over Harvey’s heart. Let it lay there, undoubtedly feeling the effect Jim’s presence always had on him, and said in a tone that reminded Harvey too much of the lifeless eyes of the android he had seen at The Foxglove,

“I can feel it, yet I’ll never truly feel anything. I’ll never become more than I am, don’t you see? I want things I can’t have. I want to be something I can’t be.”

Harvey didn’t see. Didn’t understand, not fully. What he did know was that it hurt to see Jim like this.

Pained him to witness the self-doubt and the uncertainty.

He put his own hand over Jim’s. Slid the fingers of the other hand into the hair at the back of Jim’s head, slowly bringing their foreheads together. Gazed deep into Jim’s eyes - so perfectly, impossibly blue - and told him that he didn’t doubt for a moment that Jim couldn’t achieve whatever he set his mind to.

That he wouldn’t find a way, even if it meant a thousand false starts to get there.

“You’re not human, Jim. You never will be. But you’re always gonna be James Gordon. Nothing and no-one can take that away from you.”

He didn’t know how else to voice the thoughts spinning around his head. He wished he was better with words. Just better in general.

Jim granted him a watery kind of smile though. Slumped down into his mess of a couch, their thighs so close they were touching. Rested his head on his shoulder, when he didn’t object to it, and Harvey swallowed back a whole avalanche of emotion because he had always had a penchant for being overly touchy feely - and because there was truly nothing he wanted more than Jim draped all over him.

“I never took you for a cuddler,” he said, just the same, because foot in mouth syndrome was another of his specialties.

Jim just smiled, like he had expected nothing less, while the two of them lapsed into comfortable silence.

Fell into an easy routine built on trust, and take out, and constant low level bickering. Jim was insufferable: too prone to nagging and entirely too beautiful. Looked at him like he had hung the damn moon when he handed over that cardboard box, shamefaced for not having done it sooner, and chided him for not putting up the picture straight before taking over and doing it himself, elegant fingers smoothing out the creases in the paper.

Was so happy, there was no other word for it, right until the moment Harvey addressed the elephant in the room and told him that he couldn’t sleep on the couch forever.

Jim’s face fell, his expression entirely readable, just for a moment, and then it was as though nothing had been said - except for the tension in his shoulders. Harvey raked a hand through his hair. Cursed his ability to mess up anything.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant - it’s not fair for you not to have your own space. Your own bed at the very least.”

“Where would we put it?” Jim asked, practical as always, and Harvey looked about the cramped place, hoping for some sudden flash of inspiration.

Got stuck on thoughts that weren’t at all appropriate, not with Jim’s obsession with scanning and monitoring, and when the idea was voiced it took him a moment to realize the sounds hadn’t come from his own mouth.

“We could share your bed,” Jim said, carefully not looking at him, and they had been at this long enough now for Jim to know what it was he was suggesting. The social context and the wider implications.

It left him speechless, brain scurrying to catch up with emotional instinct, and Jim was trying to play it off as a poor attempt at humor when Harvey dared to reach out for his hand again.

When Jim fell silent in favor of gazing at him, head tilting just slightly, hoping, until Harvey couldn’t bear it any longer.

Had to kiss him, soft and chaste but wanting, Jim’s fingers curling into his hair as he tentatively returned it. Jim tasted odd, the faint tang of some chemical, but he smelled of shampoo and cologne, and something he had come to associate solely with Jim, so enticing that it had him never wanting to let go again.

“Are you okay?” Harvey asked when he pulled back a little, one hand at Jim’s jaw, and Jim just blinked at him helplessly before admitting in a hushed tone that he didn’t know how he felt.

He had no comparative experience to draw upon.

Harvey told him there was no rush. Nuzzled his nose into Jim’s cheek, lightheaded with the enormity of it all, but Jim captured his lips again, movements stilted and clumsy, and begged him with a look Harvey was never going to be able to refuse to show him more.

To make him feel things he never had before.

He did his best to fulfil Jim’s wishes. Kissed and touched and carefully gauged Jim’s reactions. Realized quickly that it was more about symbolism than sensation. That Jim needed to be able to see what he was doing, wasn’t getting more from his physical caresses than impulses to react the way a human partner would want him to.

It made him think of service. Sacrifice and duty. Wasn’t what Jim deserved, not by any stretch of the imagination, and he thought of the sheer ecstasy on the Not-Jim’s face that night at The Foxglove. Had Jim’s thigh rocking up against him, so exquisite he had to pant into Jim’s ear if he had ever tried it, and the high flush in Jim’s cheeks was enough to tell him that Jim had a working idea of what he was talking about.

Knew where to guide his fingers, not to his thigh but to an access point on his side, mouth hanging open at nothing more than Harvey’s thumb tracing along the outline of the panel.

Jim yelped at the first real touch, as delicate as Harvey could manage. He kept it to his fingertips, feather light as they stroked along the colorful coating of his wiring, Jim clinging to him in response, speech slurring together as he pleaded with him not to stop doing it.

Crushed still closer, desperate, when Harvey combined it with a sucking kiss to the skin of Jim’s throat, heat pouring off him as he ended up in his lap, writhing in a way that had his own neglected dick throbbing for attention.

“It feels,” Jim tried, cheek pressed tight against his own, “Harvey, please - I need -”

Jim couldn’t form a full sentence. Was twitching and squirming, forgetting to breathe one moment and struggling to regulate his temperature the next. Started shaking, violently, when Harvey made his touch a little further, and arched his back in a move that would probably require a trip to the ER if he weren’t made of something more durable.

Cried out, the sound jumbled and unintelligible, and whined frantically when Harvey tapped a fingertip against the larger of the wires, fingers twisted tight in the fabric of his t-shirt until finally he begged for Harvey to stop - hand clamping like a vice around his wrist and pulling it away from him.

Harvey kissed him feverishly then. Hot and slick and uncoordinated, his hand pulling his aching dick from his pants and jerking like his life depended on it. Like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t wait, until he spurted hot stripes over Jim’s stomach and his own fingers, muscles shuddering with the effort of it.

“Did I hurt you?” Harvey asked when his sense returned to him. When he wasn’t so hard and so hot that he couldn’t think about anything but making Jim repeat those sinful sounds for him. “Did I break anything?”

Jim just shook his head slowly, grinning wide like he was high on something. Was high on it, that much quickly became obvious, but he simply curled into Harvey’s side, hand petting at the softness of his stomach as he explained that it would wear off.

That there was no need to worry.

“I know what to do next time you start nagging me,” Harvey said, pressing a kiss into Jim’s hair rather than deal with the surrealism of it all, only for Jim to promise quietly that he would always have processing power left for ensuring that Harvey did the tasks laid out for him on the cleaning rota.

To a decent standard.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Harvey groused, for the sake of his reputation, and conceded silently that there was nothing he could have ever done to deserve Jim.

He had simply gotten lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	304. Chapter 304

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame” AU with Jim and Harvey, please?_

Harvey was too old for this shit. Ought to be waking up in his own bed, in his own apartment, with his own damn coffee machine - not being given his marching orders at the crack of dawn because his latest hook up had a serious fear of commitment.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the way out. Winced at the image it presented, the graying hair and the straining shirt, and the bloodshot look in his eyes that spoke of a hard night’s drinking.

Just like every other night then, really.

He had too much he wanted to forget. Mistakes, and failures, and way way too many fuck-ups.

That was why he shut his eyes when the elevator crawled to a halt after a single floor. Why he cursed his singular streak of bad luck, and hoped that whoever it was had the good sense to take one look at the state he was in and opt for the stairs instead.

They didn’t, of course.

Sidled into the already cramped space and leaned against the opposite wall.

Harvey cracked an eye open to get a glimpse of the newcomer. Raked his gaze down over the neat military buzz cut and the crumpled dress shirt. The high shine of his shoes and the dark bloom of bruises down the one side of his slender neck.

“Good night, was it?” Harvey asked, knowing, and watched as color flooded across the stranger’s cheeks, even as he crossed his arms across his chest defensively.

The guy didn’t make a habit of it, Harvey deduced. Perhaps had someone waiting back home, wondering where their blue eyed beau had disappeared to for the evening.

Maybe this would serve as a lesson.

A vision of the future to be if he didn’t get his act together.

Then again, maybe not. If he looked anything like the vision in front of him, anything at all, he sure as shit wouldn’t be spending his evenings alone, getting so drunk it seemed a good idea to pay a stranger for a few hours company.

If he had a guy who looked like that, who blushed like that, he wouldn’t let him out of his sight long enough to get into mischief.

The elevator shuddered to a halt, bringing the realization that he had been openly staring.

Salivating, almost.

“See you around, kid,” he drawled as he pushed past, refusing to let on his embarrassment, and forcibly resisted the urge to look back over his shoulder.

He would never see the poor guy again.

He wasn't that lucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


	305. Chapter 305

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy little ficlet for an ask on Tumblr: _I'm craving pain au chocolat right now, so could you write a fic where characters eat/buy/want them? Every ship you want, even if I'm fond of Harvey/Jim._

Harvey had to bite back a groan it was so good. Light and sweet and perfect - so perfect he licked the pastry flakes from his fingers and glared at Jim suspiciously.

“Okay, what’s the catch? Which of my records have you scratched up this time?”

“None of them,” Jim protested, leaning against the edge of Harvey’s desk and pulling the puppy dog eyes that made Harvey willing to forgive him anything.

Harvey wasn’t going to be distracted so easily.

“You’ve broken something,” he tried, watching the way Jim avoided eye contact, fingers fidgeting with a paper napkin he had brought along with the bakery bag, “you signed me up for that damn course though I told you - I explicitly told you - that I didn’t want to go.”

Jim shrugged a shoulder, too casual.

“I put Alvarez’ name forward, and I’m not the one incapable of putting anything away after them.”

It was true, doubtless, but there was no edge to Jim’s tone. No suggestion that Jim’s OCD was about to put him back in the dog house.

“I give in,” Harvey conceded, hurrying another bite in case Jim changed his mind about the entire situation, “why are you buying me pastries?”

The balcony was fairly deserted, nobody watching too closely as Jim leaned in conspiratorially. Cupped a hand over his cheek, gaze intense and touch tender as he brushed a stray crumb from the corner of Harvey’s lip.

“Maybe I just like watching you eat them,” he said quietly, so that his awareness of everything but Jim faded into the background.

So that he had to catch hold of Jim’s hand, just for a moment, and press a fleeting kiss to Jim’s fingertips before reaching once more for his elevenses, enjoying the hint of a blush on Jim’s cheeks and the bashful smile on his lips.

“In that case,” Harvey grinned, a happy comforting warmth spreading though him, “who am I to argue?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	306. Chapter 306

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a request I had the other day: _Ok, let's try some different smut. Harvey introduces Jim to cumswapping. Jim's initially repulsed but then hooked on licking himself off Harvey's tongue. Bonus if Harvey also finds that he loves post-orgasm torturing Jim._

The first time he went down on Jim it was to have him turn away from his kisses afterwards. To flush up painfully and bury his face in Harvey’s neck, explaining stiltedly that it wasn’t the done thing.

That Harvey surely wanted Jim’s mouth put to other uses now, anyway.

Harvey didn’t push it, not in the moment. Sucked a hickey into Jim’s collarbone instead, and worked his thumb in gentle circles around the head of Jim’s spent dick, heat prickling all over at the way Jim squirmed and writhed and whimpered.

He was so beautifully responsive. Just so beautiful, period. Got Harvey so riled up he had to rut against Jim’s thigh, kissing frantically at Jim’s neck as he made a mess of the bedclothes, all without Jim so much as putting a hand on him.

The first time Jim went down on him it was like nothing he had ever experienced. Not because Jim knew what he was doing - he didn’t - and not because Harvey had been making do with his right hand for months because he lacked either the time or the inclination to seek out the company of anyone who wasn’t Jim.

It was amazing simply because it was Jim’s mouth upon him. This man he had loved for so long, adored beyond reason, and he had to pet tender fingers through Jim’s hair before tracing the shell of his ear and stroking the pad of his thumb across one of Jim’s eyebrow.

“You look so good like this,” he said, voice rough, “your mouth feels so fucking good on me.”

Jim moaned in response. Took him deeper suddenly, eager with the fresh swell of arousal, and Harvey barely had chance to croak out a warning. Grabbed hold of his dick, desperate, and watched on helplessly as he spurted into Jim’s mouth and over his chin. Across his cheek, even, and the sight of Jim covered in his come was so great a turn on that he had to sit on the edge of the bed before his knees gave out on him.

Had to haul Jim into his arms, frantic, and greedily lick his face clean.

Suck the taste of himself from his tongue, Jim pushing wantonly into Harvey’s fist, breathy sounds pouring out of him as he edged closer and closer to release.

Harvey couldn’t quit touching him afterwards. Had to tease, and torment, and drop his head to carefully suck him clean, loving the way Jim twisted and sobbed, clearly not used to that kind of over stimulation.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jim tried to explain one night, face red and eyes downcast, looking for all the world like a blushing virgin, “I don’t expect it.”

“I want to do it,” Harvey countered, reverently cradling Jim’s cheek with his palm until the other man looked up at him. “You’ve got to know that I’d never make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m not into that shit. But don’t ever think that I’m forcing myself to stick my tongue anywhere you’ll let it. Fuck, Jim, you’ve got me half hard just thinking about it.”

Jim’s eyes widened. Went kind of dark, molten, as he reached a hand out to check the truth of the statement, and from there it was all but inevitable. They kissed, and touched, and he kissed and suckled his way down the toned perfection of Jim’s torso. Along the soft skin of his thighs and then up the aching hardness of his erection.

Moaned around it as he drew it fully into his mouth, the weight on his tongue and the stretch of his lips so good that he had to palm himself roughly through the fabric of his boxer shorts.

Jim’s reactions made it even better. Got him so worked up he couldn’t see straight, tension coiling and coiling until he had to shift positions, laying back on the bed and pulling Jim up to plant his knees either side of him. Getting his hands on Jim’s gorgeous backside and encouraging him to thrust into his waiting mouth, his own dick pulsing every time Jim forgot to be careful. Jim was so close, he could tell. Was shaking and sweating, and begging suddenly for Harvey to kiss him, even as he tensed and trembled and flooded Harvey’s mouth with his climax.

Harvey understood what Jim was telling him.

Was committed to doing his very best to oblige, always, and he framed Jim’s face with his hands as he pulled him close enough to crush their lips together.

To trade slow, sensuous kisses, tongues sliding against each other as Jim devoured every last trace of himself.

“That was so hot,” Harvey told him, earnest. Tugged frantically at his underwear and groaned at the way Jim swiped his tongue over his kiss swollen lips. “You’re so fucking hot, Jim.”

Jim just kissed him silent. Pulled Harvey’s hand away though his balls were tight and painful with how badly he needed it, only to replace it with his own elegant fingers, gaze flickering between Harvey’s face and the purpling head of the dick he was pumping.

“Come on, Harvey,” Jim whispered in encouragement, “come on, please.”

That was all it took. A few rough words and Jim opening his mouth in readiness, and Harvey was coming like he was dying, abdomen clenching up with the force of it.

Jim didn’t give him any chance to recover.

Swept him into a messy kiss, tongue stroking lovingly into his mouth for long moments before withdrawing to swipe through his beard. To lap up every last sticky smear, gaze soft with lust and expression blissful.

He had created a monster, Harvey thought, threading his fingers back into Jim’s hair and guiding him into another sultry kiss, the slick slide of Jim’s tongue so indescribably perfect.

He really couldn’t help but feel rather proud of himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	307. Chapter 307

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _For the nsfw prompts, #21- 'striptease' for Gordlock._
> 
> Jim is roped into a charity Full Monty - Harvey gets to be his test audience.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

It could sound kind of cold, ungrateful, but Harvey’s slumping down to sit on the edge of the bed because he doesn’t trust his legs to carry on supporting him. Can only get his words out in a breathy rush, because he isn’t quite convinced this is real.

Isn’t 100% certain that he’s not fallen asleep at his desk, or laying in some hospital bed in a fever dream.

Jim surprises him on the regular, it’s true. Demonstrates new depths to his stubborn obstinacy on a weekly basis and, whenever Harvey thinks he has him sussed, embarks on some new display of wilful stupidity.

This is something different though, something Harvey never thought in a million years he was likely to experience, especially not when Jim finishes unbuttoning his dress shirt and throws it at him.

Fingers the hem of his pristine white undershirt and says waspishly,

“You promised you weren’t going to laugh, Harvey.”

“I’m not laughing,” Harvey protests. He really truly isn’t, though the music Jim has chosen is beyond awful, and the only candles they had in the apartment were those little stripey things meant for sticking on the top of birthday cakes.

Jim doesn’t say anything in response. Glares at him, warningly, then strips out of his top and does this strange half shimmy before reaching for his belt buckle. Fumbles with it awkwardly, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears reddening up under the scrutiny, and Harvey lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Reaches out, encouragingly, until Jim gets the messages and moves closer, one leg jostling nervously to the beat as Harvey unbuckles the belt for him. Pops the button and lowers the zipper, hands pushing into Jim’s trousers, thumbs stroking over Jim’s hipbones.

He never tires of touching Jim. Can never get enough of Jim, period, and he presses a kiss to the exposed skin of Jim’s stomach. Reassures him with,

“You’ll be fine once you get on stage. Just think about all the money you’ll be raising for charity.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with it,” Jim admits quietly, downcast but beautiful, “I - all those people, Harvey. Watching me.”

Harvey doesn’t point out that it’s hardly going to be the sell out event of the century. Doesn’t dredge up any more platitudes, or tell him to picture the audience in their underpants.

“If you want to back out of I’m not gonna judge you, Jim. If you feel real guilty just stick some cash in an envelope.”

Jim thinks about it, silent, until Harvey distracts him with one kiss, and then another, and gets them both naked and horizontal. In the morning though he finds a leave request form waiting for his signature, and print outs of bookings Jim’s made for a date that looks very familiar.

“I forgot that was the weekend we were meant to go and do that thing, you know.”

Jim can’t lie for toffee. Would never have cut it as an undercover agent, that’s for damn sure. Still, Harvey simply presses a kiss to Jim’s cheek and flashes him a smile.

“Of course it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	308. Chapter 308

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Gordlock + playing in the snow for the fluff tropes?_
> 
> Here's 200 words of fluffy fluff. <3

“You really think you can take me?”

“Which of us is ex-military? You can’t out strategy me.”

Harvey grinned wide, the pink of Jim’s cheek and nose so adorable he didn’t even care that his toes were freezing. Couldn’t give a damn that he was going to regret this later, not when Jim was bundled up against the weather in his hat and scarf and gloves.

When he was grinning right back at him, carefree like Harvey so very rarely saw him.

“Go on then,” Harvey challenged, taking first one step back and then another, “put your money where your mouth is.”

Jim scooped up a handful of snow. Patted it into a ball and advanced with entirely too much solemnity.

Crowed with glee when it hit its target and left himself wide open for the grab at his coat lapels, the backward momentum enough to propel them both down the shallow incline of the park bank, Jim squirming and goddamn giggling as Harvey succeeded in shoving a handful of snow down the back of his collar.

"That’s not fair,” Jim protested, smiling anyway.

"Nope," Harvey agreed, good natured, "but you should know by now that I always play dirty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9382553/chapters/26421444) for my Gordlock story index.
> 
> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Prompts & Initiation into Gordlock](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477809) by [deawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites)
  * [Thinking Outside the Box](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568772) by [leaper182](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182)
  * [Chapter 58: Gordlock Companion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741563) by [deawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites)




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